The Hanahaki Club: Episode 4
Episode 4: Losers in Love, Part 4
So far…
A Thursday afternoon in January: Remi, Emery, Taran, Merryn and Hassie have all gathered in the Blue Room at the Fenway Community Centre for the first session of their hanahaki support group.
Episode 4: Losers in Love, Part 4
Why blue? Hassie wondered. Was it because blue was supposed to be calming? The pale blue of the walls was inoffensive, but the dark blue accessorising, not always in exactly the same shade, was a bit much: blue chairs, blue tables, blue blinds, blue carpet; the shades of the wall up-lights were blue; the radiators, the skirting boards, door and doorframe—all blue. There was a counter and hatch that opened onto the kitchen and they were both blue too. The only parts of the room that weren’t blue were the ceiling, the projector that hung from it, and the very bright, very red, fire extinguisher in one corner.
Too much blue, Hassie concluded. Was blue paint on sale at the time the community centre committee decided to decorate this room? Did the treasurer enforce a strict budget and this was all they could afford? Did the chairperson’s cousin’s husband happen to have some cans left over from a paint job at a local primary school, and generously donate the cans for half their retail price? The rest of the centre, from what Hassie had seen of it, was all neutral tones—magnolia, sand, natural wood, pale grey and cream. There had been a sign to the Green Room in the entrance hall. Hassie had assumed that meant the room behind the main hall stage. But was that room actually all green too? Hassie had a strong urge to sneak a peek on her way out.
“Now we’re all here, let me give a proper introduction.”
Hassie shifted a little in her seat at the end of the semi-circle, and turned her gaze from the sickening sea of blue around her to Anabelle, who had taken her seat two chairs to Hassie’s left.
Ah. They were starting. Wonderful.
Hassie ran her eye along the rest of the semi-circle and saw mostly pink ears and cheeks, and a general avoidance of eye-contact.
Well, this wasn’t awkward at all. Clearly everyone was extremely keen to be here.
“I’m Anabelle, and I’ll be your facilitator over the next few months,” their group leader began: her tone was as soft and as warm as her smile, but there was nothing patronising or pitying about it; nor depressingly-grave or falsely cheerful, which made Hassie feel a smidge less desperate to get up and walk out. “The idea of this group is to provide a safe space to share your concerns, ask your questions, and find support in navigating your condition and the big decisions you are each facing about your future,” Anabelle continued. “So, before we begin, I’m obliged to remind you that—as stated in the policy agreement you signed when you registered for this group—everything that’s shared here is confidential, unless, of course, it raises a safeguarding issue, and therefore anything shared with the group mustn’t leave this room.”
With a light touch, and in as concise a manner as possible, Anabelle went through the rest of the admin: attending the group was voluntary, they could leave at any time. They would be invited to a private group-chat via a special app. They didn’t have to accept the invitation, and if they did, they could leave the group-chat any time they wished. Anabelle would be keeping notes on each session, and these would be stored in an encrypted, password-protected document, on a password-protected device that would be kept under lock and key in the offices of the health department responsible for the support group. Then there was the usual information on data storage and rights, how to contact the appropriate authorities if they had any complaints or concerns, etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah, blah.
Hassie half-listened, slightly more preoccupied with trying to decide if she would feel better if the fire extinguisher was painted blue too, or if its glaring crimson was the only thing guaranteed to keep her sane should she ever find herself stuck in this room for more than an hour.
“Anyway, that’s the officious, boring stuff out of the way,” Anabelle concluded.
Oh shoot—Hassie thought, bringing her full attention back to the meeting—is she finished already?
The nervous anticipation in the room was palpable. It was clear what the other four members of the group were thinking: now it’s our turn. Hassie would not have been surprised if one of them did actually bolt—make a run for it through the door, along the corridor, down the steep steps of the centre, and into oncoming traffic… it would probably be the boy, sat on the far end of the semi-circle. He’d kept his head down this entire time, clearly willing a sniper to take him out and add a splash of colour to the blue headache they were all trapped in; or for his cap to suddenly grow in size and swallow him whole. A bolter for sure. Hassie would put money on it.
“I had the operation, when I was seventeen.”
Hassie’s gaze snapped back to Anabelle, who was leaning back in her chair, ankles crossed as she stretched her legs out in front of her and her fingers tapping the electronic notepad as she held it on her lap.
“My hanahaki was for a boy at school. I was in the middle of my A-Levels and I didn’t want the operation. I didn’t want to leave school, I didn’t want to forget this boy who was my friend and my first love. I waited, and waited, and waited, hoping things would change—that my feelings would change. But in the twelfth month, since I also didn’t want to die, I had to have the flowers removed from both my lungs.” Anabelle got up from her chair and strolled to the table to grab a biscuit in the slightly stunned silence that followed. When she returned to her seat, she tapped on her notepad to open up a file before meeting their stares. “I’m only telling you this so you know I’ve been through what you’re going through now. There wasn’t any support group when I had hanahaki—which is why I volunteer for this role. I wish there had been. I’m not saying it would have changed the outcome, but I think it would have made the process a little easier. I would have at least felt a little less like a freak.”
There was an amused snort from the strawberry-blonde girl—Emma? Emily? Em…something. Hassie hadn’t really been paying attention when the girl had voluntarily introduced herself with a brief wave from the other side of the semi-circle; she’d been too fixated on the blueness of the room and how it was making her feel the need to breath a little deeper and a little faster.
The boy in the cap also sniggered. He was actually looking up now, straight at Anabelle, teeth showing in a grim sort of grin, clearly having forgotten that he’d been religiously trying to hide his face for the entire meeting so far.
“We are freaks,” he said.
“We’re not freaks,” the girl in the red blazer said with a bored sort of sigh, still staring at spot on the floor somewhere under the tea and biscuit table. “We can’t help our genetics.”
“All right then,” the boy conceded. “Not freaks, but losers, then.”
The girl in the red blazer turned her gaze to him, and although she was facing away from Hassie, there was something about the stiffening of her shoulders and the change in her voice that suggested she was suddenly no longer bored. “Speak for yourself,” she said. “I am not a loser.”
“Of course you are” the boy replied. “We all are—we wouldn’t be here if we weren’t. We’re all losers in...” he faltered for a second and then rallied with a grimace, as if about to take a bite of something bitter. “Love. Losers in love. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t be spitting up petals every day.”
The girl in the red blazer turned to glare at the biscuit table. “Damn,” she said, dryly. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Me neither,” Merryn said.
Hassie had met Merryn in the entrance hall. She’d looked as sick as Hassie felt, but she had still smiled and readily introduced herself as they’d headed to this cursed blue room together. Hassie thought her name was cute, which was the only reason why she’d remembered it.
The boy in the cap seemed to suddenly remember he didn’t want to be looked at and tucked his chin into the front of his hoody with a murmur that may or may not actually have been a swear—it was hard for Hassie to be sure from her end of the semi-circle.
“How do you know you’re a loser?” the Em…something girl asked.
The boy tilted his head a fraction towards her. “Huh?”
“I’m guessing when you say everyone here is a loser, you’re talking about having unrequited love for someone,” the girl explained. “How do you know your feelings are unrequited?”
“I know,” the boy replied.
“I’m assuming you declared your love and got rejected?”
The boy looked horrified. “Piss off.”
Em-something-or-other was not put off and simply turned to the girl in the red blazer instead. “What about you, Remi?”
The girl in the red blazer looked startled at being addressed so directly and for a moment Hassie wondered if she was about to witness the start of a fight, but then Remi just shrugged. “I might as well go first,” she said with another sigh. “Otherwise there’s not much point in any of us being here. I’m Remi and I have hanahaki for a boy at school. Actually, he’s the Head Boy. I’m Head Girl. I’m ninety-nine percent certain he’s not interested, but I haven’t actually…asked. And I don’t intend to. I’ve got more important things to deal with than some silly crush. I’m going to get over these feelings, so that’s why I’m here, to see if this…” she gestured vaguely at the little group bathed in the depressing blue shades of the room and the January gloom outside the windows, “Helps.” She paused for a second and then added. “I don’t want the operation, but I’m seven months in and I’ve got exams in five months, so the timing is rubbish.” She looked at Anabelle and shrugged again. “That’s me.”
“Thanks for sharing, Remi,” Anabelle said. “You must be feeling a lot of pressure with your deadline coinciding with your exams.”
“That sucks,” Merryn agreed gently. “I’m only four months in, so my symptoms aren’t so bad.”
“How far along are you, Taran?” Em-whoever asked the boy in the cap, clearly, and bafflingly, unconcerned that he was looking at her like he wanted to thump her for suddenly drawing everyone’s attention back on him.
“Five months,” he replied through gritted teeth.
“And you…?” This time the question was directed at Hassie.
“Oh,” Hassie replied, caught off-guard because she had momentarily forgotten that she was technically a participant in this group and not just a spectator. “Uh, not that long… I’m still on petals only…” —with everyone’s eyes on her, she felt a strange pressure to keep talking—“My hanahaki is for this guy at uni… he’s in the theatre club with me. We’re just friends. I’m going to have the operation after my exams. In May.”
“You’ve already decided?” Remi asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you in your final year?”
“No—second.”
Remi frowned. “You’ll stay and finish your final year though? Aren’t you worried about triggering your symptoms again if you see this guy at uni and your memories of him return?”
Too late for that—Hassie did not say, because no way was she going to admit that she’d got hanahaki again for the same person. Like an actual (in Taran’s words) loser. Instead she gestured vaguely and gave a one-shouldered shrug.
“What will you do?” Remi persisted.
“Leave theatre club?” Hassie offered, watching the unimpressed look spread over Remi’s face in real time as the words left her mouth. “We do different courses. I’ll be busy with my final year. He’s a first year… he’s only just settling in. We probably won’t cross paths much? Or at all… probably… ? Once he gets established in his studies and…makes new friends…”
Why am I answering this as if I’m the one asking a question?
“But you’re here,” Merryn said, rescuing Hassie from the danger of unconvincing herself of her own decision with her own reasoning. “So you haven’t definitely decided on the operation?”
No, I have, Hassie wanted to say. I’ve done this once before; I know how it’s going to end.
“I promised my brother I’d come,” she said, which was true.
“Have you told this guy how you feel?” Em…?—screw it, Hassie was just going to call her Em—asked with genuine interest. “Are you sure you’re definitely a ‘loser’?”
“No,” Hassie replied. And then amended. “Yes. I mean… yes, I’m sure I’m a loser; and no, I haven’t told him how I feel. I don’t need to.”
Em opened her mouth to probably ask ‘Why?’, but was interrupted by Taran.
“What about you, Emery?” he asked, with a teasing tone. “What’s your loser story?”
Ah, Emery. Hassie had gone to junior school with a boy called Emery. He’d been shy and quiet, and afraid of rabbits and unicorns; which, Hassie was now just realising, just went to show that names did not predicate personality: this Emery seemed unafraid of anything and she was grinning good-naturedly, perhaps even delightedly, as she answered Taran’s question.
“I’m Emery,” she said. “I’m eight months into hanahaki—that’s the hacking up whole flowers and blood stage—and I’ve been on a bloom-inhaler for three weeks. My doctor says my condition is progressing slower than average, so I have at least four months before this thing kills me. I’m not a loser but I am a freak. I’m not in love with anyone. My hanahaki is a rare form and it’s caused by my body confusing another strong emotion with unrequited love.”
Before Hassie could ask the question that immediately leapt to the tip of her tongue, Taran voiced it, with a wary air: “What ‘strong emotion’ is that, then?”
Emery’s grin widened further and her tone was playful, but a veil of something darker fell over her eyes as she replied: “Hate.”
Next time: Episode 5—Losers in Love, Part 5
Teaser:
The silence that filled the room was so complete, Anabelle could count it out on the crisp ticking of the wall clock.
One. Two. Three. Four.
No one knows what to say.
Surprise, confusion and disbelief sketched their way across the other four faces in the semi-circle. Although Emery’s smile didn’t alter in the face of it, her shoulders hunched a little and she quietly curled her fingers over her knees.
The Hanahaki Club Index
Welcome to the index page of The Hanahaki Club. Please scroll down to find links to each published episode. If you need any help, let me know via the message button at the bottom of the page.
Author’s Notes:
I really wanted to do something a bit different with the hanahaki trope, so… Emery. My little freak.
We’re five episodes in now, so let me know if you think the episode lengths are ok/too long/too short and if the format is working for you.
I hope you’re enjoying reading The Hanahaki Club.
Next week: Episode 5—Losers in Love, Part 5
PJ
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The length is perfect