Judith loved putting her hands in the dirt, so it was no surprise to anyone when she became a flower seller. Seeking to add continual beauty to yards, she did not find time for anything else in her life. Friends tried to interest her in dating and finding joy in the company of people, for peonies and daisies cannot hold your hand or keep you warm on cold winter nights.
But, nothing they said made a difference, for Judith’s one goal in life was to create beautiful garden settings in which people could sit and admire her workmanship. Nobody understood that just as roses and dahlias seem not to be substitutes for human bonding, neither would they hurt her or denigrate her intelligence.
Her flowers cared nothing about her beauty or level of sexiness, so she did not have to change how she dressed, for the petunias and geraniums never worried if her dresses did not reveal enough of her body to keep the boys interested. She could sit among her botanical friends without any complaints of her dressing to make other men jealous.
Even the wilting efforts of her azaleas did not cause her the kind of distress of always having to be alert to what she said or did, avoiding making someone hurt her. Even a day of digging, mulching, and weeding did not leave the types of injuries that she would declare to the emergency room doctor resulted from walking into a door.
So, Judith preferred going through the world solo, sitting among the opulence of her beautiful gardens, free from the anxiety of man’s inhumanity. She has created a personal world free of the suffering that she witnessed her mother endure and which she endured in the only two relationships she has allowed herself.
Flowers are perfect for her, for they are non-judgmental of the gardener, and their beauty soothes the pain that still resides in her heart at being treated so disrespectfully and callously by another human being. Her friends complain about her being taciturn about why she prefers to be alone, and she really does appreciate that they believe that she needs male contact, which is, to her, a very quaint idea in this age where women can survive alone.
Human beings can be so destructive to each other. She would rather stay alone and enjoy the majesty of her garden spaces, reveling in the safety of marigolds and violets, laying among the clover, and drinking in the vibrant colors of the amaryllis. She would not trade it for any other world.