Though the Rose was Fake
The young man’s gallantry was real.
The Gallant Courtier
Memories of the faux red rose kept my dreams afloat during a rough patch in my teen years.
It was Valentine’s Day at Central High school. I was a senior making my way to my next class in the crowded halls.
I heard a student’s voice call, “Margaret. . . Margaret. I have something for you.”
I didn’t think he meant me until he stopped me and said, “Margaret. Margaret. Look at me.”
He was thin, with wispy brown hair and long bangs. He wore a cheap baseball cap, probably a leftover from childhood, and a soft blue jean jacket with matching pants.
The crowd parted as he presented me with a red silk rose wrapped in plastic.
I knew the student council was selling fresh roses that day and delivering them to students with individual messages.
I looked at him in confusion. I didn’t know what to do. Because I couldn’t recall ever seeing him before.
“Do we have a class together?”
“No. I see you in the lunchroom . . . and around.”
“Oh.” That explained nothing.
