Beneath the Rose Garden by, Lisseth

       

The rain thumped against the window quickly as my car drove at a fast but steady speed. I feel quite calm on a day like this where all I can focus on is each individual drop; but of course the road as well in my position at the moment. It has been a while since I have visited these parts, the parts in where I grew up in, so my sense of direction is a bit rusty. I do my best to not get lost by paying attention to all my surroundings, something my seventeen-year-old self would have never listened to, yet alone do it. Times like these make me remember how stubborn I was back then which was probably the reason why I was always so difficult to deal with.

            The year 1957 began with a loud bang. My New Years’ that year was spent at the hospital, where three minutes after the clock had struck midnight, my mother passed away. No eleven year old should’ve had this happen to them because a mother is crucial to their life. Shortly after her funeral, my father was never the same again. In the months that followed, he distanced himself from the world and it deeply affected my relationship with him. Instead of teaching me to fish or building some wooden contraption, he spent a lot of his time in his room. I could only wonder what was behind that closed door and my only answer to that was a stranger.

            Although my home life was not all that great, I managed to mend for myself in the absence of my father. While the kids from the block played outside in July, I stayed in trying to repair the TV. During the winter, I overlooked the boiler in the basement to make sure that heat went around our home when I could have been playing in the snow with my friends. I was given a lot of responsibility at such a young age and it seemed like I lost most of my childhood but I couldn’t complain, someone had to do it.

            In spite of my predicament, I still led a normal life. Fending for my father and I became a routine where I couldn’t part from. My days consisted of going to school and coming straight home to either clean or fix something, finishing my schoolwork at night and repeating it the next day. I felt that life wasn’t meant to be the way I was experiencing it and the thought of being ordinary frightened me a lot. I had so many expectations towards my future, a future where I would be a zoologist in Africa exploring the many features the savannah offers. This dream of mine made me determined to follow through with it; I earned stellar grades in biology and ecology. School, however, became a huge burden once I got into the bad side of some kids I supposedly pissed off.

            “Hey Vince,” called Marc from across the room. “Do you want to help us give Mr. Herich a taste of his own medicine?”

            Marc and a bunch of his friends are one of the most arrogant and dumbest people at school. The only reason why they have invited me to engage in their revenge is because Mr. Herich sarcastically called Marc in front of class, which was harmless teasing. Unfortunately, he didn’t get it.

            “I think it would best for you to leave me out of this one,” I replied. “Besides, I like Mr. Herich. He’s a good teacher”.

            “If he’s such a good teacher, he wouldn’t have told me that glaciers moved faster than I did,” Marc said.

            It was a good comeback coming from Mr. Herich but nobody appreciates good sarcasm nowadays.

            “Well he wouldn’t have said that if you weren’t so late all the time. If anything, it’s your fault for being slow.” I said.

            “Vince,” said Marc. I could tell that he didn’t like what I was getting at. “Please stop acting like my mom and help me destroy his crap of a classroom.”

            “Look dipshit, I told you I’m not getting involved. Now buzz off.” I yelled.

            I walked away from this terrible mess as fast as I could; where I heard Marc call me a buzz kill under his breath. The next day, I was called into the principal’s office while I was in health. I walked in the hallway confused, I mean I didn’t do anything wrong. It was only after I saw Marc sitting outside on the bench, looking pleased with himself, when I figured out that the no good busybody ratted me out for something that I didn’t even do. I stayed inside the office for a few hours until they had finally reached out to my father, requesting him to pick me up from school. This was one of the very few instances where he gets some fresh air. Once he sees me, he thanks the secretary and dashes outside where I knew that he was upset with me.

            We face the burning cold and walk into the vacant parking lot, where there were few cars in sight, including ours. For some odd reason he decided to park at the edge and I tried to make the best of the moment.

            “Hey Pop!” I yelled. “Slow down will ya?” I heard no response but I knew that he was listening.

            “I swear it wasn’t me, I must’ve angered those guys so much that they decided that I should take the fall for their shenanigans. At least look at me!” I pled.

            My father paused and turned around, facing me. “Don’t you dare turn this situation around and blame it on someone other than yourself. Boy, at least take responsibility for what you did,” he said. He turns around and once I look down, I heard him mutter, “This is what you’re capable of”, and continued walking. There was this boiling temper that lay inside me for the longest time and what my father told me sparked an explosion.

            “No!” I hollered. I ran in time to stop him from opening the door and pushed him back, pointing a finger onto his frigid nose. “You don’t know what I am capable of. In fact, you don’t even know me at all.” This time I knew he was listening since he had a blank expression. “All you do all day is mope in your room and hide out in the shadows like a bat with no outside contact whatsoever. Do you know what it’s like to come home everyday watching you do this to yourself? I am always the one who gets stuck doing everything to keep us together as a family because there is only one man in this house.”

            The cold weather wasn’t enough to cool me down and I was ready to say more but I focused on my father’s reaction. He then looked at me, his eyes weld up in tears, and looked down onto the wheel.

            “Son, I don’t expect you understand. I really miss your mom and ever since she died, a part of me felt broken. She was the only one that brought out the person in me and I know that I haven’t been there for you,” he admitted. “But I can’t take back those years that were lost. You are almost eighteen and I know you aren’t going to stick around for that long so once you are ready to leave, I’m not going to stop you.” He then sniffled and went inside the car before I can say a word.

            “I think it would be best for you to walk yourself, I need some time to be alone. I’ll see you at home” my father said before he drove away, leaving me in the middle of a cold world.

            Due to my misconduct, the school board had agreed to let me go easy and complete some community service as a punishment I didn’t even deserve. I tried to oppose and stand my ground but none of them listened to me; instead they scared me with expulsion and I wasn’t going to let that happen. I came in the following morning prepared until a fellow police officer escorted me to the public service building in Milwaukee instead of the school building, where I would check in and out for the next 65 days of my sentence. 

            Unlike most juvenile delinquents, I was given an easier task than my peers but it wasn’t one I wished to do. I had hoped to work in a soup kitchen or pick up trash on the highway but instead I was given the duty of being some old bag’s babysitter. I made my way down south to the wealthier side of town that I have always dreamed of visiting, I just never thought that I would be forced to do so. After fifteen minutes of driving, I pull up in front of a decent Victorian looking house, with brass door handles and mildly scratched windows. I let out a deep sigh and slowly walked up the steps with both of my feet landing on the same step to pass the time. In doing so, I accidentally tripped and landed into the bed of red roses beside me. The beauty of these roses mesmerized me as if I was looking into a gleaming ruby and its scent of light rain brought my nose to its tip, it was really an amazing sight to see. As I got up, the tiny thorns prickled my knee and jabbed itself into the palm of my hand, blood running from the cut.

            “I guess you took a good look at my roses, right boy?” boomed a deep voice. I look up to find the old man struggling to walk.

            “You can say that sir,” I responded.

            “Don’t play games with me, you’re late. I don’t appreciate it when I know I have company showing up,” said the old man. “Get your ass into the house as quickly as you can.”

            I didn’t want to risk any more disappointments so I obeyed my instruction and ran inside. Turns out the old man had a strong passion for roses since there was a vase of them in every corner. The house looked very disorganized, a sight so horrifying for me to see so I immediately went to work. The clutter was everywhere and as I picked up a book, I was startled by a shriek.

            “Jesus boy!”

            “I was just pickin-“

            “Put the book down right now!” demanded the old man. “Immediately!” I dropped the book on the floor in disbelief. “Sir, I was helping you tidy up,” I said.

            “That is not what you are here for. Did you really think they would send you all the way here for you to be me maid?” He had a good point. “Then why am I here?” I asked. The old man led out a deep sigh and sat in his chair. “Believe it or not, I was forced to do so.” Before I could say a word, he put his arm in the air and said, “The name’s Rick, Rick Nayworth” and let out a genuine smile.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a pain to be in and out of Rick’s house everyday helping him with the oddest chores, with not one of them saying to clean up his living room. Even being nineteen days into my sentence, I longed for the feel of a classroom. On most days, I was able to read some books I find lying around the house, proving to be a favorable way of relaxing myself. Rick had happened to walk in on me reading instead of organizing his tools so I prepared myself to be yelled at. Instead, he lift the book from my legs and grinned as if he knew I would do this.

            “That is my favorite book,” said Rick.

            “It hits close to home, you know? I like how he is able to tell whether people are using him or not.” I stated.

            Rick looked at me strange and had trouble with what to say next. I could tell from the silence that he was taken aback from my comment. I suddenly realized that I wasn’t thinking straight, that I let out something that I wasn’t ready to deal with.

            “You’re young. How could you know exactly what the character feels?” Rick asked.

            “I dunno, it says it in the words.”

            “One does not say that they sympathize with the protagonist so easily during the first read,” Rick assured. “Is there something else you are hiding?” For the first time, someone had finally asked me about me.

            “You wouldn’t understand,” I replied.

            “Boy, I am much older than you are. I may know a little something here and there”, Rick argued. Indeed I was desperate to let my guard down but no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t. Part of me thought that telling Rick might tell him that I‘m not all that independent as I show. It was internally devastating to my mind and me and especially to Rick, who is patiently waiting for a reply. The patience, however, did not last too long.

            “Vince, it is a good thing to let out what you are feeling. I can see it in your eyes that you are struggling to maintain this strong front, when in reality you just want someone to see you for you, am I right?” he said.

            “My father told me a few weeks ago that he doesn’t want anything to do with me,” I sighed. “Or at least he implied so.”

            “And why is that?” asked Rick, intrigued.

            “My mom’s death had taken a toll on him and it has affected him for quite a while now. Just when I needed someone to help me with this loss, he couldn’t even deal with seeing my face everyday,” I then continued while shedding a tear. “I guess I’m the constant reminder that triggers painful memories. All I ever wanted was a loving parent and I couldn’t have had either. Maybe it is for the best though.”

            “It’s your dad’s loss. You turned out pretty okay without his guidance,” chuckled Rick. “I can tell you that it gets better later on. And your old man will come around soon, I can not imagine a father not wanting to pursue a relationship with his own son.”

            “Yeah right,” I muttered.

            “You may not think that now since your brain is still developing. What I am telling you now is the truth because I sort of went through the same ordeal with my dear old mama,” said Rick. I began to listen. “My mother was very unfit to be a parent and who could blame her? My dad left us when I was a baby and she loved to have fun, so there would be times where my sister and I slept alone in our rooms while she drank with her friends. When I was around fourteen, I told her that I wasn’t happy with her irresponsibility and when she didn’t listen, I left and didn’t speak to her for 13 years. It wasn’t until she sought out to find me after the Great War had ended because she was concerned about me. We made up quickly after she realized what she did wrong and our relationship was fixed. I can only tell you that your father will do something similar.”

            I park in front of the green lawn that surrounds the cemetery, carrying a bouquet of red roses in my hand. I take big steps walking to the top of the hill until I stumbled upon the leg of a park bench. From there, I spot Rick’s headstone and I kneel upon the soft ground. I am a successful forty two year old man that had great luck financing the top wildlife organizations in the country. I smile at the fact that the old man was right about everything he had told me when I was younger. After I had completed my community service, Rick had given me a reasonable amount of money to start my life anew, which was quite hypocritical of him. I left my town and started working in the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago, where I was approached by a professor to take interest in   wildlife biology and of course I went for it. Years later, my newfound success in the sciences made me yearn for someone to share it with so after much investigating, I reunited with my father who was delighted to see me after all that time. I am truly grateful for being wrongly accused of vandalizing my teacher’s classroom because without all that trouble, I wouldn’t have met Rick. I carefully place the bouquet on the ground and walk away, turning around one last time.

“Make sure you don’t cut yourself,” I joked.