The Red Rose

    Here I stand again before your name with a bouquet of roses, white like you always liked.  There was always a fresh white rose on the kitchen windowsill in the morning.  A long time ago you told me that you put it there to brighten up the day.

*     *     *

    I peek through the stair railing at Darek standing by the kitchen window.  My six year old eyes watch as my fifteen year old brother places a single white rose in the small glass vase on the windowsill.  He notices me watching and gives me a hint of a smile, something he won’t show to anyone else.
    “Morning Natia.”, he says to me, positioning the rose in the vase so that it is facing the morning sunlight pouring in from the window.
    “Morning.”, I say back sleepily as I tuck my mess of blonde curls behind my ear, then make my way down the stairs to start my day.

*     *     *

    I think about that memory often, although it isn’t really significant in any way.  There were many, many mornings when I came down the stairs to watch as you would place a beautiful, white rose into that same vase.  Maybe I remember it just because of the smile.  You rarely smiled, and I wish I had known why.  It’s been ten years now, and I still don’t completely understand, but I wish you would have told me what was going on.

*     *     *

    “Darek!”, I yell up the dark stairwell, “Supper’s ready!”, but I hear no response.  Thinking that he might not have heard me, I shout up the stairs again, louder this time, “Darek!”, but still get no answer back.  I decide to go up to his room and see what’s going on.
    I run to the top of the stairs and make my way to the end of the hallway toward my brother’s room.  He usually has his door wide open, but it’s almost all the way shut today.  Not wanting to make too much noise, I knock softly.  He doesn’t answer so I peek through the space in the door.
    The state of his room is shocking.  There are clothes everywhere, as if someone had pulled everything from his dresser and thrown in around the room.  His sheets are piled at the end of his futon, which he uses as a bed, and right in the middle of the mess is Darek.  His short, black hair is messy and he’s sitting on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.
    “Darek?”, I whisper quietly, a bit scared.
    He turns toward me and I notice that he’s crying.  I never see him cry.  He’s always been the strong one, the one that doesn’t cower in the face of fear, and the one that picks you up when you are down.
    “Why is this happening to me Natia?”, he says to me softly with tears running down his face.

*     *     *

    That was the first day I saw that something was wrong, but it definitely wasn’t the last.  I didn’t know what to do or what to say.  You were nine years older than me, and I was only six.  You were supposed to be the one that helped me with my problems, not the other way around.  If only I had told mom or dad, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.  They could have done something, but I didn’t know that keeping a secret would cause all of this.  You just kept slipping farther and farther away from us, and by the time our parents were aware of what was going on, it was already too late.

*     *     *

    I’m writing on my wall, a habit that mom and dad tried to get rid of when I was younger, but failed at, when mom walks into the room.
    “Have you seen your brother anywhere honey?”, she asks me, looking a bit distracted.  I notice that she keeps tucking her hair behind her ears, which is something she only does when she is worried.
    “Nope.”, I say back quietly and continue to write on the wall.
    “Oh. Just let me know if you see him then, okay? He’s been gone since this morning.”
    I mumble a, “Mhmm.”, and grab a different colored pen to write with.
    “What are you writing honey?”, mom asks curiously, trying to get a closer look at my wall.
    “A poem.  It’s for Darek.  I’m going to show it to him when I’m done.”
    “That’s sweet honey.”, mom replies with a hint of a smile.  “I’m sure he’s going to love it.”

*     *     *

My wall is almost completely covered in scribbles and words.  I wrote the alphabet on my wall before I wrote it on paper, and I have always had a gift with words.  You were the one that encouraged me to keep writing.  That’s why I love to write poetry.  Now, when I have an idea to write a poem I just write it on my wall. I never did get to show you that poem, though.  I wrote it down on a piece of paper, in the original colors, to give to you today.

The White Rose

You are the white rose of my life.

You are always tere there for me

like the rose in the vase

sitting in the kitchen every day.

You brighten up my day

like the shine on the rose

from a drop of sunlight

in the early morning.

And you are as sweet

as the smell of the rose

filling my day

with happiness.

    It’s such a simple poem now that I look back at it.  It’s kind of stupid really, but I couldn’t write over it like I’ve done for countless other poems and phrases on my wall.  It was a way to remind of me of you after everything that had happened.

There was no word about you for a week after that day, and I didn’t realize that the day I wrote that poem would be the last day that I would ever see you.

*     *     *

    There is a sharp knocking on the door.  I open the door to see a tall, dark haired man in a police uniform.  He looks past me into the house, then down at me with a look in his eyes that I had never seen before.
    “Are your mommy and daddy home, sweety?”, he asks me nicely.
    I nod my head and run to tell my parents about the policeman at the door.
    “What do you need officer?”, my dad asks worriedly.
    “Is this the Grey residence?”,
    “Yes, it is sir. What’s this about?”
    “We’ve found your son.”
    “Really?”, my father’s face changes from worry to happiness as soon as he hears this. “That’s great! Where is h-”, but he stops as he looks at the man’s face.
    “I’m sorry, but he was found dead in the woods about half a mile away.”, the policeman explains sadly, then looks down at his feet.
    Everything stops all of the sudden.  I can’t hear anything, not even myself as I burst into tears.  That one word is stuck in my mind.  Dead.  It can’t be.  There’s no way my brother is dead!  Darek can’t be gone forever, can he?  Who will put the rose in the kitchen every morning?  Who will be there to help me with everything?  Who will be there to read my poems?
    I can feel my mom’s arms wrap around me in a hug, but I still can’t figure out what’s going on.  How can I lose my role model when I’m only six?  How will I live without him?  Someone can’t just be dead when they are fifteen!

*     *     *

    After mom had carried me up to my room, she sat and talked to me for a while.  She asked me if I had heard how you died.  I had not.  I was too busy trying to tell myself that it was all a mistake, that they had found someone else and not you.  She explained to me that you had committed suicide, because you were to scared to tell people what was actually going on.  The police found your suicide note next to you on the ground, which said that you had killed yourself to protect the family from what you were afraid of.  Mom said that I was probably didn’t quite understand what was going on, but it would become more clear when I got older.
    I eventually came back to reality, but that took years.  I lived in a deep state of depression for a long time, and mom and dad had me going to therapy sessions for about five years after your death.
    When I was thirteen mom gave me a note that you had written for me on the night you died.  She said you had written on the front not to show it to me until I was ready.  I was scared to read it at first because I didn’t know what it would say, but I eventually read the whole thing.  I decided to bring it here today because I’ve realized that I don’t need it anymore.  I know that you loved me and mom and dad, and I don’t need this note to tell me that.

Dear Natia,
    If you are reading this right now, then I must be long gone.  I know that my death is probably very confusing, but I want you to understand that I didn’t kill myself because I don’t love you or mom or dad.  I did it for a reason that I can’t tell anyone.  If you guys knew, then you would be in as much trouble as I was.  I did it to protect the family, and I’m guessing you will never forgive me for it.  I’m sorry.

I just want to let you know that I’m going to be waiting for you in heaven.  I hope I’m going to be waiting a long time, but I will be there for you when you come.  I’ll be singing with the angels as they open the gates of heaven to the most wonderful, beautiful sister the world has ever known.

                            Love forever,

                                Darek

I love you, and I leave these roses, this poem, and your letter here on your name carved in stone to keep you company in death.  I look forward to meeting you again in heaven Darek.

I know I will never truly know the reason why you shot yourself that night, and I don’t think anyone will ever know except for you.  What I do know is that no matter how much I want to keep seeing a white rose on that windowsill in the kitchen, I don’t see it there anymore.  My image of you has been tainted by the thought of what happened on that fateful night, and you are no longer the white rose.  You are now the red rose of my life.

Author's Note

I had to write a story for Creative Writing, and this is what I ended up with. I might still go in and fix up a few thing, but I actually really like how it turned out. I'm sorry if the format is a bit messed up. I copied this off my gmail, and writer's cafe doesn't work well with copy and paste for some reason. The letter and the poem were supposed to be handwriting fonts, but they didn't work on here. :(

Reviews

[Layla J Omorose]

I would have to disagree with the other reviews, though not on the grammar and spelling part since that does distract the reader from the story. With that being said all I can is wow this was a very powerful piece to me. It is much similar to the type of story I had to write for a communications class I took a few years ago. Since you wrote this for a class I am going to assume that you had limits on pages and what you could write. Anyway there seems to be a calm acceptance through all the sorrow and pain over the loss of a loved one. Something that is achieved only after years of grieving. In my opinion the transition between the past and present flowed beautifully and conveyed the emotions of someone who is remembering a tragic past, especially when you are vising that persons grave site. I don't think the story was too short for the feelings conveyed in it. Mainly because it was taking place at a specific moment in time when after years the memories of something so traumatizing become brief and short and all that pain is still there. Pain has no length nor does grief or suffering. The whole time I wanted to know why he killed himself but then I realized it doesn't matter in a sense because most times when a loved one commits suicide the family doesn't know the reason why though they may have seen the trouble or problems there they wont know why their son, brother took his life. It also adds a little mystery to the story that I feel compels the reader to keep reading, maybe twice to see if they could understand a little better why. This story works perfectly just the way it is. I feel if you add or expand you risk adding in unnecessary information and things that don't need to be added in. Death is a part of life and though she is only 6 they also know about death. To simplify the little girls words when they don't have to be simplified would take away from the story in my opinion. I found nothing wrong with her words because though she may have been 6 it is the older version of her that is having the memory so therefore the little girl in the memory may have a different voice then when it actually happened. This was very good.

[Arsh]

yeap........that's a vu=irtual spirit......very nice..it flutter's me.............
carry on...

[patricia]

a painful and emotive piece for those who have this kind of tragedy in their family. I found the way you gave it touches of the present, via hair tucking, and wall writing made it feel very real. The suicide letter was a treasure for closure here, you write with sensitivity. Thanks.

[Brook Hughes]

i read this in Creative Writing:D lol u have an amazing gift Katie:D!! u shld think about publishing short stories:) haha but yeah, wonderful font style and word choice.. very descriptive and imagery was wonderful:D keep up the good work:D

[Coyote Poetry]

Follow Sammie advice. Story had great possibility. The use of the rose and poetry give balance and strength to the story. The story is too short for the feel of real life and pain in it. Expand the key parts. Brother and sister friendship and learning of the death. I like the story as is. Thank you for the excellent story.
Coyote

[Sammie]

This is really good but may I offer some advice from an avid reader?...Be careful of grammar it will distract readers from the power of your words..Also it's obvious that the 6-year-old is beyond her years, a little more mature and smarter but she's still just a 6-year-old and some of the things she would think just doesn't seem real (I have a 6-year-old who is a little more advanced then usual so I know) Also, why was the reason Darek killed himself? Something like that in a short story shouldn't be hinted at and not resolved it will frustrate readers to no end. I think if you were to simplify the little girls words, make the story a little longer and resolve the Darek killing himself mystery and fix up a couple of grammar mistakes you could enter this into a comp.. Your writing is really well done, I felt sadness and emotions when I was reading it which is something you want your readers to feel, it means we have made a connection with your plot and characters. Great stuff, look forward to reading your other work.