A rose. So simple, so small, so stunning. Synonyms, romantic parables, and many a love story has centered around its delicate folds. In fact, a rose symbolically parallels the great mystery that we call love; seeming to frame it perfectly.
“A Rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.”
We’ve all heard it, thought we understood it, and come to dismiss it. Yet, does anyone take time to truly consider this statement? A rose is a delicate creature; an elementary affair. No secrets or blemishes hidden within. The outside product a result of its being. Healthy blossoms bloom and flourish. Others, ones in which a sickness has taken hold, quickly whither and die; leaving this world with a glimpse into its frailties. In the end, however, a simple story is left behind: they burst into season and fade with time.
Still, one thing it was taught, one thing it learned. A need for thorns to adorn its flesh was a lesson the rose once heard.
Home. This one word rang throughout her mind. A sad smile sat upon her lips as an uneasy worm wiggled its way through her insides. Taking in the sorry site of her family’s one story rambler, an assuage of thoughts and memories assailed her.
Adjusting the bag of groceries at her hip, she started up the crumbled walkway. From the front window, two sets of eyes peered out at her. Quickly disappearing behind the makeshift blanket curtain, she heard her name being called from within.
“Rose is home! Rose is home!” yelled two shrill voices.
Rose reached out to grab the wobbly door handle as she ascended the two steps to the front entry. They never had fixed the knob…
Hiding in her bedroom, Rose tried to block out the shrill words rising from the other room. This, however, was like trying to block the wind when in the middle of a hurricane. Her four-year-old ears could not hide.
“How could you?! You were mine! How dare you go off and get yourself pregnant with another man’s seed!” her father’s voice was laced with heated venom.
“But you said it yourself! We needed the money. So I…”
“Went and sold yourself! You promised Larraine, you promised,” his voice was now a low growl.
“I know! I know. Just give me one more chance. I promise I’ll…”
A loud slap cut off the sound of her mom’s voice.
“No! You had your chances. I guess I should’ve known. Once a whore, always a whore.”
One angry footstep after another brought him that much farther out of their lives. The last thing to be heard was the slamming of the front door; the handle falling out from the force of his goodbye.
Shaking her head, she forced her mind back tens years to the present. Unflinchingly, Rose eased the door open. As soon as she set foot inside the door two bodies flung themselves at her, clinging fast.
“Ha-ha, well hello there! And how are you boys doing?” Rose smiled down at them.
Two sets of blue eyes stared up at her. “We’s are doin’ mighty wonderful!” proclaimed Timothy.
“What’d you bring us, sissy?” cried Ben.
Breaking her gaze with the two spider-monkys on her legs, Rose looked up and met the gaze of Rachel, eight years old, leaning against the wall.
“Ben, Timothy, let Rose at least come into the kitchen. She just got home for crying out loud!” Rachel ordered.
Silenced for the next five seconds, the five year old twins slid down Rose’s legs, clinging to her ankles. Slowly, Rose dragged her feet, children and all, down the entry hall and left into the kitchen.
“Well, I brought you lots of vegetables,” reaching into her grocery bag, Rose pulled out a can of green beans and set them on the counter, “some soap…”
“Eww! We can’t eat soap! Where’s the good stuff?” Ben demanded.
“And… a bag of gumballs!”
Her proclamation was met with high-pitched squeals of delight. Extending her hand, Rose offered the bag of candy to her brothers.
Eyes wide, Ben and Timothy echoed one another. “Thanks sissy!”
Barely a moment passed till she heard the one voice she feared and loved the most of all.
“Rose Elizabeth!” came the shrill cry.
Snapping her attention off of her little brothers, Rose fixed her brown eyes upon her mother coming down the hallway. Quickly turning back to Rachel and the boys, she shooed them out the back door to play.
“I can’t believe you! I send you out for food and you come back with gumballs. We can’t afford to live in luxury, Elizabeth! That was hard earned money! And here you go wasting it on candy!”
Larraine had grabbed her by the shoulders and started to shake her, as if to emphasize each word.
“No! I didn’t spend your money. I promise! I used my own for the candy, ma,” Rose’s voice pleaded.
Fixing her with a hard gaze, Larraine questioned, “What money? You don’t have any money.”
“Mrs. Johnson, down at the grocery store, gives me money for a few odd jobs that she has me do now and then. Like taking out the trash and stuff. It was just enough to buy the gumballs,” informed Rose.
“Uha. That money should be going to me, ya hear? Now lets see what else you wasted it all on.”
Trifling through the grocery bag, Rose’s mom pulled out some cans of soup and a few apples. Suddenly, her hand stilled.
Lifting out a bag of flower seeds, she asked, “What’s this?”
“For my garden,” Rose’s voice sounded small and feeble.
“Oh they’re for your garden are they? And where’s my liquor? Don’t tell me you bought these stupid flower seeds instead,” Larraine’s eyes flashed angrily.
Avoiding her mother’s last question, Rose spoke quietly, “Ma, you don’t need that liquor. It doesn’t do you any good.”
“You little brat! Weren’t you thinking at all? How am I supposed to relax after working all night?”
Her voice was nearing a danger zone. Rose knew she had to calm her down now or else she’d lash out again. At least Timmy, Ben, and Rachel were outside.
“You… you could go outside and see my garden. That always helps me.”
“Are you really that selfish? You don’t think of anyone but yourself, do you? This whole family depends on me, and here you are wasting all my money on flowers! And all your time on that stupid plot of dirt! What am I suppose to tell the kids when we end up on the street? That liquor does more wonders than these stupid seeds ever will!”
Taking the bag, Larraine ripped it open and threw the seeds at her.
“There! Have your precious seeds! I hope they make you feel better cuz this sure ain’t,” her voice rang throughout the house.
Grabbing a metal spatula, Larraine started towards her. Just then, Ben opened the sliding door. Rose’s heart stopped.
With tears in his eyes he questioned, “Mama, what you doin’ to sissy?”
“Ben, it’s all right, go back outside,” her voice struggled to keep the panic out.
Larraine’s eyes shifted between Rose and Ben. Settling on Ben, she started towards him.
“No! Ben close the door!” Rose ordered
Reaching out, she stopped her mother’s advancement. Locking gazes, Larraine’s seared right through her. A string of horrid names gushed out of her mouth as the spatula found it’s target.
She hated lying. Deceit always sat in her stomach like a hard, unmovable rock. She’d found out early on that scars seemed to scream out and grab people’s attention; their burning gaze filled with unspoken questions. Rose couldn’t stand it. She hated people staring, hated that none cared to voice what everyone else was wondering. But more than this, she feared that, one day, they would ask.
Only one person had ever dared acknowledge her scars to her face. And she’d lied, despising every word that left her mouth. What could she have said? Telling the truth would only bring damage. People would come to take her away, take all her siblings away. If that happened, who’d protect Timothy, Ben, or Rachel? She couldn’t risk it.
So, whenever her mom had one of her episodes, Rose sat at home, and hid from the world. That was how she came to discover the one beauty she possessed; Her one sanctuary.
Kneeling down, Rose sifted her fingers through the rich, brown earth. The dirt’s cool touch a balm to her soul. Overhead, the sun stretched out its dancing fingers to comb the earth. Hanging loose around her, Rose’s coffee-colored hair reflected the golden rays of light.
Reaching inside her pocket, Rose pulled out the few seeds she had scavenged from the kitchen floor. Gingerly placing a few in the holes she had made, her eyes drank in the colors around her. This was her haven.
After placing all the seeds in the ground, her hand smoothed dirt overtop. Beside her, she grabbed the tin bucket that served as her watering can. Lifting it above the newly buried seeds, Rose used her free hand to monitor the water’s flow.
A sudden thought occurred to her. How very much like a grave this seemed. To dig a hole, placing something devoid of life inside; sad for the moment, but how beautiful the outcome. A little water mixed with the sun’s healing hand made for an unexplainable miracle.
Wanting to reassure her little companions, Rose spoke, “You’ll not be in the ground for long, my little ones. ‘From ashes to beauty[1].’ One day, you’ll be as beautiful as your brothers and sisters. Just you wait and see.”
Contentment stole through her. Leaning back on her hands, Rose angled a look at her garden’s most delighted treasures. Rose buds in full bloom greeted her with their soft composure.
Mrs. Johnson, the owner of Bigfork, Minnesota’s only grocery store, caught her ogling the rosebushes for sale once. Then twice. Then finally, after catching Rose staring in bewilderment for the umpteenth time, she had wrapped up a plant and given it to her. Rose had been so enthralled she ran the whole way home, clutching the bundle of a bush to her chest ever so gently.
Now, she sat staring at her pride and joy. Cultivated by her own hands, it thrived in the middle of her garden; the crown pronouncing royalty. Its buds were so handsome, so full of life. Studying its many folds, her eyes traveled to the leaves, and ultimately, to the stem.
Brows furrowed in concentration, a slight frown creased her face, “Why hold a grudge against the world, mon est peu monte?”[2]
Several hours later found Rose still tucked away within her stronghold. Hearing a car engine approaching out front, she stood up. As she did, the last of the sun’s dying rays leveled with her eyes. Enjoying its last touch of warmth upon her skin, Rose took in a satisfied breath.
Seconds later, the backdoor of her house shot open. Bolting from within, Ben made a beeline for her.
“Sissy! Sissy!” His little voice was laced with alarm.
Bending down, Rose opened her arms wide, waiting for him to find comfort within her embrace. Running straight into her arms, Ben clutched to her tightly. Little sobs shook his body.
Kissing him on the head, Rose questioned, “What is it my little cherub?”
“Sissy, there’s a strange man in the house. I never seen him ‘fore. He looked at me and Timmy and Rachel all funny like. I don’t like it,” a small pout drew his lips downward.
Instant rage flared inside her. Usually Larraine told her when she was bringing a costumer home. That way Rose could tuck the rest of them in, helping them escape reality the only way she knew how.
Feeling a prickling sensation run down her back, Rose looked up at the house. Her eyes met that of a stranger’s. This man she’d never seen before. He was watching her, studying her. Several seconds past till the man realized she was returning his blatant stare. Keeping eye contact, the stranger flashed her a sickening smile. Rose’s rage turned into fear, settling in her veins like lead.
Inside, the man turned and said something to whom Rose could only assume was her mom.
“It’s ok, Ben. You’re safe now,” she said the words as much to encourage Ben as she did herself.
Only, Rose wasn’t so sure.
A week later, Rose found herself walking home from the grocery store once again. Overhead, the sky was thick with clouds. Few birds sang from their lofty perches up above. Off in the distance, Rose heard the lone cry of a crow as it observed the world below.
Despite the dismal day it was turning out to be, Mrs. Johnson was as pleased as ever to see her. She’d even snuck a packet of sunflower seeds into Rose’s bag. A small smile graced Rose’s lips at the very thought.
Nearing her home, Rose noted the stillness from within. Once on her driveway, she heard something crash inside. Quickening her pace, Rose made her way inside.
“Rachel? Timothy? Ben? Are you hear?” her voice was met with a charged stillness.
Something wasn’t right. Entering the kitchen, the sound of small sobs drew her gaze downward. Amidst shards of glass, her mother lay crumpled on the ground.
Alarm spread through her like a bullet, “Mom? What’s wrong? What happened?”
“We… we lost the house,” each word was interspersed with a sob.
Setting down the grocery bag on the counter, Rose knelt down beside her mother.
Ignoring her daughter, Larraine started to ramble, “I didn’t know what to do. They set me up. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Mom, what are you talking about? Who’s ‘they’?”
A sudden thought struck Rose. Where were her siblings?
“Mom, where are Timothy, Ben and Rachel?” urgency threaded her voice.
Wit bloodshot eyes, Larraine looked up at her. A dark look crossed her face. Sneering, she said, “At least they promised to take care of one of my problems. Now for them to follow through.”
Shock pinned Rose to the ground. Her mom was talking nonsense; she had to be. Glancing up, Rose called out again, “Timothy? Ben? Rachel?”
When she received no response, she straightened and started for the backdoor. Slamming it open, she stepped into the backyard. With each step her pulse heightened.
All calm gone, she screamed out her siblings’ names a third time. Tears started to form, freely cascading down her face.
Making her way to the garden, she scanned its content for any sign of them. Not seeing them, she sat collapsed next to her rose bush. Pulling off a bud, Rose cradled it in her hands, while she curled herself into a little ball.
Her body wracked with sobs, she spoke one question, “Where are they?”
Rose couldn’t breathe. Her head pounded, waiting for her to take a breath, but no release came. What did Larraine do this time? Pain screamed from within her hands. Opening her palms, she noted cuts from where the rose thorns had punctured her skin.
Another sense registered within her brain. The sound of approaching footsteps became louder and louder. Hope flared inside her.
Razing her head, two men stood about five feet away. Panic shot through her. Rose shot up, dropping the flower in the process.
“Who are you?” her voice shook every so slightly.
The man on her right cocked his head, a lazy smile cracking his lips. “Now Rose, you don’t recognize me? I’m offended!”
Studying him, her mind flashed an image of her kneeling on the ground, Ben held tight within her arms. He was the stranger Ben was afraid of. Rose’s eyes widened with recognition.
“Ah,” the man said, “I see you do know me. Well, no worries, no harm done.”
Nodding to the man at her left, he said, “Now, to take care of Larraine’s problem.”
The other man took a cigarette from his mouth and threw it towards the rosebush. Then, he charged her.
“NO! MOM! NO!” the scream tore from her lips, but no one came to her rescue.
The man’s hands were rough when he grabbed her. Pulling her to the ground, he knocked her out, binding her hands together.
Picking up her limp body, he noted a rose lying close by. Scoffing, he picked up his foot and crushed it, causing the petals to separate at its core, its seeds spilling onto the barren ground.
Turning, he followed the other man back into the house.
Once inside, the man without Rose turned to Larraine. “Nice doing business with you, m’am. One less mouth to feed, just like we promised.”
And with that, he turned to go.
Outraged, Larraine yelled at his backside, “What about my money?!”
Turning to meet her gaze, he drawled, “She hasn’t made none yet,” and left her with eyes wide, mouth gaping open.
A rose is a delicate affair; simple really. When fed with darkness, cruelty, and death, there is no life left for it to thrive. Veins soon run dry, leaving its velvet petals no choice but to turn into dust.
Once so vibrant and full of life, now it lies brittle and dry, without reason to fight. Alone in the dark, craving a forgotten light, slowly, so slowly, it’s withered petals fall to the ground. Tilting ever forward, it hangs its head in shame.
From ashes to beauty this rose may be taken, but a hand to plant the seeds is sorely needed. One must search their heart and ask a simple question: Is its life worth fighting for?
“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those who are perishing. Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice.” –Proverbs 31:8-9
