Author's Notes:

I've thought of this idea for awhile now, although it took awhile for me to really put pen to paper. I really like this story; it was inspired by the song Roses, by Meg & Dia.

Roadside Roses

It’s an unusually quiet day in the city. The air is dreary, but not bleak. The sun only shines through cracks in the pale clouds. It is around two o’clock in the afternoon and normally, the marketplace would be busy this time of day. However, today is an exception. Less people roam the streets and it makes for more space on the pavement. I push little Helena in her pram as we wander along. I have some errands to run and would not usually have my daughter out with me, but the nanny is having an off day.

She’s a beauty, my daughter. Close to two years old, she is my angel; a God-sent gift that I do not deserve. She is perfect in every way. She remains asleep in her pram, her light hair ruffling in the soft wind that rocks her in her slumber.

The creaking wheels of a street side vendor’s cart catch my attention and I turn towards the noise. The cart has a small bell tinkling at the edge of its roof. It chimes a happy chirp as the old vendor pushes his cart towards his usual spot on the pavement. I see this vendor every time I run errands in the city. I have never bought anything from him before, but I know he sells roses in singles and in bunches for shillings and pennies. He is always cheerful and always friendly. However, I feel as though my heart is wrenching in two as I stare at him hand out the flowers he sells to passersby; mostly children with their parents, or lovers on dates…

I do not buy flowers out of ceremony – I am not a huge fan of them – and therefore, I surprise myself by walking up to the cart and greeting the man, “Hello, I was wondering, how much does a rose cost?” He smiles a toothy grin at me and I can’t help but smile back.

“Two pence for a rose, love. But buy a bundle of three and I’ll give it to you for five.”

My brain told me to buy a singular rose, but for some reason, all I said was, “I’ll take a bundle then,” and I fished the money from my purse a little too hastily. I drop some coins on the ground and scramble to pick them up. A young man stops to help and the vendor chuckles.

“What’s the matter, love? What’s got you all jittery?” he asks as he hands me my bundle of roses. My cheeks feel warm as I shake my head and smiled softly at him, assuring him I am all right and I go on my way.

The dance floor is alive as people dance to popular tunes with their friends, family and partners. I sit awkwardly in a corner, sipping lightly on my glass of sherry and just keeping quiet. Few men have caught my interest for me to leave my seat to dance. However, after awhile, there is an itch – an urge – for me to hit the floor. I gaze around the room, my eyes falling on the back of a man’s head…

“Excuse me, miss, would you care to dance?”

My head snaps towards the voice and I am immediately met with a pair of big, chocolate-brown eyes. So similar to that of his…

“Of course I would,” I reply indifferently and let myself be led to the middle of the floor.

The song changes to a more intimate one and my eyes continually scan the party. I do not doubt that I am looking for someone. I honestly wish I could forget about him, but even after so long, my memories still come back to trouble me. His face still haunts my thoughts every now and then and that day was no different.

I finally find him; in perfect view. The way his hair slicks back, the way his eyes shine brighter than Orion, the way he smiles as though he could not be happier in any other moment than that particular one, the way he seems to be having the time of his life…with another woman, it cuts me deep inside. I feel my heart wrench all over again as I see him slip a rose into his date’s maple curls.

Why am I even here?

I request to stop dancing and am relieved at my partner’s kind response. I leave the floor and make for my purse, ready to leave. I have to remain in a sane state of mind, I tell myself. What happened is in the past. There is no need for you to be digging up ghosts from the grave.

The streets were quiet as I walk towards the carriage that will take me home. I pay the driver six pence for the trip and settle myself in, my feelings floating through thought and time.

“Cassie! Get back here!”

Laughter ensues as a man and woman chase each other around the large pasture. The sunset is beautiful against the pink-tinted sky as he catches up with her and wraps his arms around her, locking her in place and preventing her escape.

“Let me go!” she screams, laughing as both of them fall over on the soft grass. She rolls off him and lies on her stomach next to him, still giggling. He kisses her nose lovingly and strokes the black of her hair. The thick curls messily framed her sharp features and her normally-pale skin was shaded in a baby pink colour.

She smiles at him as she pulls herself to her feet, stretching her hand to him and helping him up. He pulls her into a soft, loving embrace and for the moment, things seem perfect the way they are.

They make their way towards a small hut in the distance, all the while muttering sweet nothings in each others’ ears…

“Miss,” the driver shakes me awake and I jolt up, wondering where I am for a minute. “Miss, you’ve arrived.”

I hurriedly get out of the carriage and thank the man for the trip, shaking my head at myself. Am I that tired? I never fall asleep during short carriage trips. It must be the sherry…

I walk into my home and immediately head for the one place I go the very moment I step into this very house and that is Helena’s room. I have to constantly make sure she is okay. Her nanny does a good job, but I still prefer seeing as much of my daughter as I can.

I carefully open the door and creep towards her crib. She is sound asleep, her mind somewhere with ponies and toys galore. She looks so peaceful that it is hard not to feel relaxed while I watch her. I reach over and stroke her hair away from her forehead. She has her father’s soft blonde hair, as well as his smooth jaw line. I sigh inwardly as I pull back from the crib and make my way to my own quarters for the night.

I sit at my dresser and stare at my reflection, wondering about a few things. What did I ever do wrong? Was it something I could have fixed? Why did it have to end this way? ...

More and more questions flooded my mind and I immediately feel the effect of it as a huge rush floods my head, as though water has been ferociously pumped into it. I place my head in my hands and lean forward on the table, rubbing at my temples. It is then that I notice the roses that I had bought that very afternoon.

You used to buy me roses just like these, my conscience whispers at nothing. They’re all worn out and withered, somewhere in the compost pile though. What happened?

I am desperate for answers, but I know I cannot get them. Try as I might, I still do not know if what happened between us was wrong or right. It was love for a moment, but as time past, it faded very slowly. Similar to how shoes and their laces wear out over time, our relationship emaciated like dying roses. Already, I can see the roses from this afternoon changing colour, after being out of water for a few hours. I did not bother to place them in a vase when I arrived home as I had the party to prepare for. I had just placed them on my dresser without a thought to sustain them.

Maybe that is what’s wrong. Nothing seemed spontaneous after awhile. Everything just died with the weather because none of us bothered to take care of what we had. Times have changed and the situations have become irrelevant. He undressed my heart for a time and he still holds some of its secrets with him. It will forever be an open door now, until somebody comes along and mends it.