“The Rose”

The study of roses demands diligence and precision. One must examine each petal like a drop of water. One must immerse oneself in its energy. It is not enough to look from the outside. You must fold yourself in its beauty. You must grow thorns. You must brave the cold and seek out new possibilities in the changing of the seasons.

At first you will not notice the change. The world will grow softer around the edges. The air, perfumed, and mysterious. There will be a lightness in your step that did not exist before. You will feel that you are something else…..

Gregory walked through the door and kicked off his boots in the corner. He reached for the large vase behind the drying dishes. He clipped the bottom of the each flower with over-sized shears and placed them, one by one, through the lip. It was oddly satisfying to watch them acclimate to their new order, as if by knowing their death would come much sooner, they became more ambitious is their display of beauty.

Beside the vase there was a mug. He lifted it to ensure the letter was still intact…

Be right back darling. Please water the roses for me…..

The words were blurry. Some water must have escaped from the vase.

He walked into the living room and sank into the sofa. The rustling of a branch scratching the window. An orange tabby emerged from the shadows and brushed against his leg. He remembered there was no cat food. Probably a can of tuna would suffice.

The phone rang. Probably his brother. He waited for it to stop, than walked back into the kitchen. Already, the roses had shifted. One of them had drooped down, almost touching the counter.

He turned on the water. A thin stream of silver liquid. There was music playing in his neighbor’s basement. Like clockwork. It comforted him somehow to hear it at the same time every night. Wafting notes dissolving into the air. He felt the boundaries softening. He cracked open the window. Then he closed his eyes and waited…..