He stretched his arm before me, offering me a small, single white rose. I couldn’t help but to take it. It’s not often that someone forces a flower into your hand as you’re walking down a street, minding your own world, talking to your friend, occupied in conversation. We both accepted his flowers; it was impossible not to. He said he does this to make people happy, because after all, flowers are supposed to make us happy. He asked for a dollar; S reached into her purse and handed him a bill. And then he was gone, leaving us a little dumbfounded in the middle of K Street in DC, the roses in our hands. We’d forgotten what we were previously talking about; instead we talked about the man and the flowers. That it was nice of him to carry them around in the hopes of pleasing a few faces and some cash, even in the late hours of dusk.
I wondered if anyone else would bother to accept his offer. But then I figured most people would probably ignore him, thinking he is just another beggar who has no life. But is it really insane to make someone happy and get a buck in return? Is it really that insane to accept a rose? Why do we always run away from the unexpected, from someone on the street who makes music or sells flowers or simply says hello to us? Why are we always scared of what or who we might run into? Why are we always afraid to look at them in the eye and answer back?
In a culture of right and wrong, we’ve been taught to be careful, to avoid strangers, to keep to ourselves. We’ve been taught to not take chances, to think of the consequences of our actions. We’ve been taught to think before we speak. It is no wonder that we’ve become such difficult beings, calculating and meticulous. It is no wonder that we look away at those who don’t fit our definition of sane, normal and appropriate. It is no wonder that we are so good at avoiding the unexpected, the unknown, the unfit.
I don’t want to be like that anymore. I don’t want to be afraid. I want to say hi back to a stranger. I want to forget the ideal that defines our norm. I want to watch and listen to a man who plays drums on plastic buckets and shopping carts. I want to listen to a man who talks to himself, or sings in public. I want to laugh with them, even if no one else does.
He also advised us to keep the flowers in water, so they live on. I liked that he cared so much, that he wanted to make sure we took care of his gift. That night, I filled a small cup with water and put my white rose inside, happy that I had listened.