I Can Smell the Honeysuckle Bush || Elyssa Diamond



by Elyssa Diamond

I drop the chalky orb into the just too-hot water, releasing its perfumes. The bathroom is heavy with steam, the air tinted hot pink by my t-shirt draped over a desk lamp—a sad excuse for mood lighting and a fire hazard in the making. Dried honeysuckles burst from the dissolving bath bomb and sink to the bottom of the tub. I inhale, and I’m in my parents’ front yard in the suburbs. It is mid-June in the Saturday morning sun. My dad drives home with the bagels. He parks on the street, the front of his Hyundai edging just past the plants that separate our yard from the neighbour’s. I watch him gingerly open the drivers’ side door, as to not crush his precious honeysuckle bush. He insists on parking as close to it as possible, as if he runs the risk of the flowers dying in the time it takes to get his nose from inside the car to above the petals. He rushes to smell them as if he’s fighting against the clock, which, in a sense, he is. Tucked away in the euphoria of his favourite scent is the knowledge that it won’t last forever. Summer will come and go, the flowers will wither away. We’ll do it all again next year but only if we’re lucky. I watch him slowly exhale, and I’m back in my college bathroom, crouching in a tub of shallow water that is just too hot for me to fully submerge myself into. It is March in upstate New York, which means I haven’t seen the sun in two weeks. But summer will come again. 

Image Credit: Pinterest


ELYSSA DIAMOND is a third year law student at Fordham Law School in New York City. She has a B.A. in creative writing and a B.S. in Human Development from Binghamton University. When she is not doing homework, she is an amateur poet, hopeful world traveler, and avid concert-goer.


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