Wild Roses

A brief idea that came into my head, tell me your thoughts!! Where should I go from here??

 I was fifteen years, eight months and two days old that day I discovered that my father had died. Auntie Pip uttered the words and I could feel her brace herself for the onslaught.

Almost in an instant gush, something that felt almost pre-rehearsed, I sank to my feet, clutching my head as if for protection. I remember feeling my wiry ebony curls in my hands and absentmindedly wondering whether I had left my hairbrush at Lolas'. I tried to distract from the raw ache by pulling a single curl between my forefinger and thumb. I had seen this, long before any one else, even the detached doctors that offered me candy in return for paper thin smiles. I still hadn't felt quite prepared for the way my heart felt like it was literally snapping in two.

I felt the drawn out sigh of Auntie Pip as her bony hands stroked my head in an almost patting fashion.

I hate to cry. She knows this only too well. "Darling....I'm so very sorry..we..we did the best we could. We all did. I'm sorry"

I remember looking up, bleary eyed and her almost owlish face kindly smiling back. She patted my head again. I flinched. She didn't know him like I did. She couldn't possibly understand.

His heart was so huge,  huger even than his ever radiant grin. His heart was so big, so overworked from giving love to others that one day it just caved in. And with it, so did my daddy, his twinkling brown eyes, his long piano fingers and his radiance. He was the only one I could have depended on and now I felt like all hope was lost, buried in the ground like his frail, shrunken body.

Uncle Sam, towering over us both, said nothing. His black eyes, same as my own seemed to reflect everything I felt. His frame filled the doorway, his hands as big as car tyres, his denim overalls stained with whatever "project" he was currently working on.

He lead me over to the window where five dead bluebottles, their legs in the air were lying. "Look Marina! Five now! Five! Soon I'll have enough...just about, I think.....yes.."

His goofy grin and the sheer delight in his face made me crack a smile. Uncle Sam was what some would refer to as "mentally disabled". But there was nothing disabled about my Uncle. He was an idiot savant, a mad genius and a giant teddybear.

He grew the most delicate, lucious and heavenly roses I've ever encountered. Just one whiff will have you amourous and head over heels in love. These plants probably account for all five of Sams failed marriages and dozens of ill-fated romances. The local boys knew well of the rumours and were quite fond of sneaking into Sams Utopia to steal his beloved plants. The next morning he would moan and grumble but secretly he was pleased that his roses were the main cause of passion in our sleepy little town.

I watched him grin in excitement and I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him to the best of my ability, a single tear trailing down my cheek. Auntie Pip sighed loudly before  running about the kitchen, in the attempt to look  busy but in reality, we were all lost. Life felt like it had come to a stop. We tried to commence our daily routine but what is there to do when your whole life is gone, vanished, almost like it never existed in the first place?

(found carved on a tree in Abbey Park)

When I was four

I was afraid of the dark

So daddy held my hand

He told me

"Mari, monsters can't ever hurt you

Not when Im here"

And he was there

Now hes gone

And the house is more empty

Than Sams garden.

It was a week after the funeral and Auntie Pip and I had both decided we were sick of wearing black. Uncle Sam never had this problem as he insisted on wearing tye-dye even at the funeral. 

The three of us put on big smiles, big horrible fake ones. We said thank you to the Reverend, we said thank you to all the well-wishers, we said thank you to the funeral home. Our faces were sore from grimacing. The three of us grabbed Sams hemp blanket and lay on the grass, inbetween the roses and looked up at the July evening sky. The sky swirled with pinks, yellows and oranges and I remember wishing if only Dad was here to see this. The grasshoppers chirped in unison and we heard the rush of traffic from the road. "Do you think that if we wish hard enough, whatever or whomever we like will come down from the sky? Do you think all beautiful things come from the sky?" Sam mused. Auntie Pip scrunched up her face, appearing to really think this through. "Well, Sam darling, if anyone can do it, you can! What would you wish for any way?"

Sam,his dreadlocks spread out like Medusa's snakes giggled, his hands weaving together an inticate daisy chain. "I would wish for Mari to find the love of her life! A proper Mr. Darcy! She needs some passion I think. A good whirlwind romance, one with roses, a handsome lover and some sort of ultimatium!"

I scorned outloud. This grown up hippie is 57, I thought to myself. I clearly need to get out more!

The grasshoppers chirped and for the first time in a long time I actually felt whole again, no more nightmares, salty tears or the echoing silence in Pips kitchen. 

The sounds of clip clop came from the road, not so far into the distance. Auntie Pip raised her head to see the incoming sound that was coming our way. Apart from Sams absentminded humming we waited in absolute silence.

So, where do you think I should go from here?? Tips?

Reviews

[Emma Flemming]

Loved it! Very well written, well described. You just need to improve on spelling and grammar :)

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T..]

Go for the magic... inherent in tempestuous human weather. Perhaps throw our little Mari into a magnificent multidimensional plot that is an allegory (cum allusions, or illusions if you prefer or both) of Beethoven's Violin Sonata No 9, Op 47 (kreutzer) as performed by Jasper Wood or Anne-Sophie Mutter. She could be the reincarnated girl in Rita Dove's poem, "The Bridgetower." Will there be another trio? How might it turn out this time? Why should we wonder or care? Give us the desire to love these characters; to frown upon their misdeeds as life ensnares them in mystery, intrigue and danger. Compel us to weep as something that starts out so frivolous becomes every mind's template for the deepest and darkest of romance. Most importantly, bind us with your words.. bind us to know them at a pace and for reasons that keep us flipping the pages until we cannot eat, cannot think, cannot sleep for we are there; until the end. Please!!