The Flowers on the Fence

Every morning at exactly 7:15, seventy-three-year-old Arthur Bennett walked to the end of his driveway to collect his newspaper and every morning at exactly 7:16, eight-year-old Lucy waved at him from across the street while waiting for her school bus.

They had never actually spoken. Arthur would lift his newspaper. Lucy would wave both arms like she was directing an airplane. That was their entire friendship. Until one Monday morning when Arthur didn’t come outside.

Lucy watched his driveway from the bus stop and 7:15 came and went.

There was no Arthur. Tuesday was the same and by Wednesday, Lucy was worried.

“Maybe he’s on vacation,” her mother suggested.

Lucy frowned.

“Old people don’t go on vacation without telling their bus-stop friends.”

Apparently, three months of silent waving had promoted her to bus-stop friend. That afternoon, Lucy knocked on Arthur’s door with her mother beside her. Arthur eventually answered and he looked tired.

He explained that he’d recently had surgery and wasn’t allowed to walk very far for a while. His daughter had been bringing groceries and checking on him, but he mostly spent his days inside.

Lucy nodded seriously and then she asked the important question.

“So who’s getting your newspaper?” Arthur laughed for the first time in days.

The following morning, at exactly 7:15, Lucy marched across the street, collected Arthur’s newspaper, placed it beside his front door and hurried back before the school bus arrived. She did it again Tuesday. And Wednesday. Soon, something else appeared beside the newspaper.

A yellow dandelion. The next morning there were three.

Arthur put them in a drinking glass on his kitchen windowsill.

When Lucy noticed the flowers through his window, the operation escalated.

Daisies appeared. Then clover. Then leaves she thought were particularly pretty.

One morning Arthur discovered a pinecone sitting on top of his newspaper with a note:

“This isn’t a flower but I liked it.”

Arthur kept that too.

Eventually he was well enough to walk outside again. At 7:15 one morning, Lucy looked across the street and there he was. Arthur stood at the end of his driveway holding his newspaper.

Lucy grinned and waved both arms. Arthur didn’t wave back. Instead, he pointed toward the fence separating their yards. During his recovery, he’d asked his daughter to buy several packets of flower seeds. Whenever he felt well enough, he’d slowly made his way outside and planted them along the fence.

By summer, the entire thing was covered in sunflowers, daisies and brightly coloured wildflowers. Arthur had even attached a tiny wooden sign.

LUCY’S GARDEN

Years passed and Lucy eventually became too old for the school bus. Arthur became slower, and eventually his daughter began collecting his newspaper permanently. But every spring, Lucy still scattered seeds along that fence.

When Arthur passed away several years later, his daughter came across the little drinking glass he’d once kept on his windowsill. Inside were several dried flowers and a pinecone.

And one crumpled piece of paper written in a child’s handwriting:

“This isn’t a flower but I liked it.”

Arthur had kept them all. His daughter brought the glass across the street and gave it to Lucy.

“He called you his first friend of the day,” she told her.

Lucy cried and then she laughed because all those years earlier, neither of them had realized they were becoming friends. They were simply two people standing on opposite sides of a street every morning.

One waved.

The other lifted his newspaper.

Sometimes friendship doesn’t begin with a grand introduction.

Sometimes it begins when somebody notices you weren’t there. 💜🌻