Red Rose Petals

There’s an obnoxious ring echoing through the hall followed by an angry pounding on the door. I can hear my mother crying in the other room as I continue to draw my picture of the sun. The sun is bright and warm unlike the dark rain clouds making noise outside. The pounding finally stops, and mother does too. I watch as she tiptoes towards the front door and cautiously peers out the front window. She notices me watching so I turn and look away. I hear her bare feet walk across the creaky floorboards and into the living room where I am drawing. Her toes are painted dark red which matches the flower petal I just colored in.

“You think this is funny?” Mother asks me in her calm, icy voice.

I continue to finish drawing the flower. Mother likes flowers, especially the red ones, it makes her feel happy.

“Stop it.” She commands with her cold voice slightly raised.

I draw even faster to fill the page full of red flowers. She snatches the paper from under my hand which finally makes me look up at her. Her eyes are red, just like the flowers. I watch as she looks down at the paper for a moment before crumbling it up in her hand.

“You’re pathetic,” she tells me before picking up the crayons. “This is all your fault.”

Mother takes the crayons and puts them back in their spot, just above my head and back on the bookshelf. Her eyes study my face before moving down my body. My grip tightens on the red crayon in my hand. I know that’s what she wants.

“Red flowers make you happy,” I said before realizing my mistake.

Her eyes went wide and her face changes. Fingernails dig into my bare arm and I find myself standing on my feet. I stare up at mother as her hand wraps tightly around my wrist. I don’t protest or complain as she pulls me across the living room. We walk up the splintered stairs and into the bathroom. She lets go of my arm and waits for me to take my position. I walk up towards the sink and push the stopper down. Then I turn the right knob and watch as the water begins to pour out.

“No,” my mother says with disapproval. “The left one.”

My hand trembles a little as I stop the right knob and turn the left one. Mother never uses the right one but then I remembered that it was the weekend. I watch as the mist rises into the air as the water continues to fill to the top of the sink. I stop the water from spilling. I can feel the heat as my hand passes over it. My whole body starts to shake, and I freeze.

“I…” but my voice does not seem to work.

Mother takes a step forward and I flinch. I look up and see her eyes follow me as I take a step back.

“Please,” I whisper as she takes another step forward.

I hold up my hands and close my eyes as I hear her take another step towards me. She screams and pulls me close to her. Her face is white, and her eyes are looking at my hand. I realize that I am still holding the red crayon. I open my hand and hear the crayon land on the floor. I watch as it rolls and stops at the bathroom sink. For a moment, my mother looks frozen and her face looks sad. But as soon as she saw where the crayon had rolled, my mother became my dad. She grabs me by my hair and drags me over to the sink.

“No!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

I don’t know how much time has passed as Mother continues to play the dunking game. Finally, I can hear her counting as it vibrates under the water. She always counts to see how long I can last. I know that this is the end of the game. If I can just hold on a little longer, Mother will pull me out. I feel my lungs start to burn almost as intense as the water. I begin to struggle but she doesn’t let me out. Her voice starts to distort, and I feel very lightheaded. Mother--

A loud crash jolts me awake and I take a deep breath of the cold winter air. My heart races as I look around my bedroom. After all these years and now I start getting nightmares? I shake my head and then take my pills which are sitting on the nightstand. I hear voices downstairs that are warm and friendly. I smile before getting out of bed. It sounds like Juno found the pancake batter. I quickly change and then walk downstairs to see Allen cleaning up the mess.

“Well good morning, sunshine” he states with his eyes still watching Juno who continues to wag his tail in excitement.

Juno turns and sees me walking down the stairs. The big golden retriever sprints my way and barks at me. I crouch down to give him a good head rub before walking into the kitchen. It looks like the morning wasn’t a total loss. Allen had managed to bake most of the pancakes before Juno decided he was hungry too. I sat down at the counter and eyed the food hungrily. I waited as Allen made himself a plate before joining me at the counter. I immediately cut up the pancakes before Allen had even opened the whipped cream.

“That hungry, ay?” Allen laughs as he watches me finish off a good half of the pancake.

I shrug before cutting up the rest of it.

“I can’t help it.” I teased, “you know I love pancakes.”

I pause realizing that Allen hasn’t even touched his stack. I look up at him with my head slightly tilted.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, “not hungry?”

I lean over with my fork and hover over his pancake. Before I can make contact, Allen whacks my hand away.

“Hey!” He shouts but I just laugh and continue eating my pancakes as nothing happened.

Allen looks at me and then looks at his plate. I notice that his fingers are fiddling with the fork. He always does that when he has something on his mind.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice drops to a more serious tone.

He looks at me with a pained expression. “Caitlyn, there’s something we need to discuss.”

And just like that, the room got colder. I should have put on some socks. My feet cling together to stay warm as they touch the cold tile floor. The doorbell chimes, breaking the tension that Allen began. Neither of us moves and the doorbell rings again. I start to stand up, but Allen gently places his hand on mine. I look over at him confused.

“Allen, who’s at the door?” I ask.

I see him squirm a little in his seat like a child with something to hide.

“Allen.”

I watch his eyes look at me and then downward at my stomach and the at the door.

“Allen, what did you do?”

The doorbell rings a third time, which starts to make me feel unnerved. Realizing that Allen wasn’t going to answer me, I walk cautiously up to the front door. The doorbell rings a fourth time. I grab the handle and I can hear Allen race over to be with me.

“I had to,” he finally answers. “I didn’t want our child growing up with any grandparents.”

My hand grips the doorknob as I slowly make eye contact with him.

“You didn’t.” I hiss, feeling anger rise into my throat.

I recalled the conversation we had the other day about the baby’s future and all the blocked-out memories came flooding back to me. Selfish. Allen is being selfish and inconsiderate about what I want. I growl at him and then say, “and this is why I never told you about her.”

He fiddles with the bracelet around his wrist that I got him for Christmas. A thousand thoughts came running through my head with a bunch of scenarios playing out. I knew that something like this would happen if I told him. He’s all about forgiveness and letting go of the past. So naïve. That’s not how all life works. The doorbell rings a fifth time followed by a gentle knock. I take a deep breath and then open the door. A plump older woman stood outside in a pale-yellow dress and black shoes.

“My how you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman,” she exclaims in a cheerful customer service voice.

If I hadn’t recognized her eyes, I would have thought she was a nice old lady who bakes cookies to give to all the children in the neighborhood. She leans in for a hug, but I step back and into my husband. Before I can even say a word, the old woman stepped through the door and entered my house. Juno came running over and began to wag his tail at the uninvited guest.

“I came over because your husband called,” she said with a smile. “I hear you guys are expecting a little girl. How nice.”

The old woman starts to tour the first floor of the house before eyeing the stairs. I step in front of them, blocking her path. We both stare at each other not saying a word.

“Let’s all go into the living room,” my husband suggests.

We all enter the living room without another word. The old woman sat on the sofas while my husband and I sat on the couch across from her.

“What a lovely house,” the old woman says as her eyes began to wander around the room.

She finally stops looking after spotting the picture hanging up on the wall above my desk. It was a bunch of flowers in an open field. Her smile drops a little, but she just shakes her head.

“You always loved to draw flowers,” the old woman states. “I’m thrilled to hear that you have become quite the artist.”

Yeah, no thanks to you. It took me years to finally pick up any art tools and begin to draw again. It was one of the things that helped me process my thoughts and now, she just made me feel sick looking at it.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice as cold and icy as hers once was.

The old woman pays no attention to my threat and begins to open the bag that she had brought along.

“I brought you some toys and clothes that you might like to have for the baby.”

I watch as the old woman started to pile the items onto the floor. She finally takes out a used box of crayons. She looks up at me and smiles.

“Maybe she will become an artist just like her mommy. After all, it does run in our side of the family.”

I feel the world start to spin underneath me and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I start to recall the story of how my birth parents met at the art gallery, her art show…just like I did. Like Mother, Like Daughter. I don’t know whether it was intentional or not, but the things this woman said made me nauseous. I jump up off the couch and ran upstairs to the bathroom where I---. After a few minutes, I finally brush my teeth and rinse my mouth of this morning’s breakfast mixed with stomach acid. I stare numbly at the sink as the water drains into the pipe below. This is where it all started in a bathroom with the sink.

I stare into the mirror, remembering how my childhood home never had one because my birth mother hated looking at herself. I had a happy childhood once. I remember drawing with chalk in the driveway with my uncle’s wife while my birth parents talked with my uncle on my mother’s side. It wasn’t until much later that I found the truth. It was an arranged marriage because my birth mother became pregnant with me and their parents pressured them into it marrying. When my birth father’s art museum closed due to the struggling economy, my birth parents got desperate. So, they tried to sell me off to my uncle. I would have play dates at their house, but I always liked playing with their baby rabbit, Spike.

“Do you like him?” My uncle had asked putting a firm hand on my shoulder. “Would you like to know where babies like that come from?”

At that moment, I knew that something felt off, but I was naïve. He took me towards the basement and opened the door. I was expecting to see a bunch of baby bunnies but instead he—

“Cat, are you all right?” My husband’s voice calls through the locked bathroom door.

Another knock brings me back to the present. My heart is pounding again as I turn off the water.

“Why would I be fine?” I snap, angry at him for inviting her here or even telling her where we live.

“Listen I told her to leave.”

“Why? So that she can just come back here another day?” I start to yell.

“Caitlyn, can you just open the door?”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. Tears start to form in my eyes.

“How could you?” I scream, “don’t you even care about what she did to me?”

I hear the doorknob rattle, but I refuse to unlock it. After a few more shakes, my husband stops trying to open the door.

“I’m sorry, Cat.” He finally says, “I just…I just wanted our daughter to have a normal life with at least one grandparent in her life.”

“Normal?” I spit out, “if that woman ever comes back here again…my daughter will never have a normal life.”

There is a slight pause as my husband realizes the full consequences of his actions. “Caitlyn...I’m sorry. That was stupid…I am stupid. I should have talked to you before contacting her. It’s just she’s changed. I ran into her last week at the grocery store and she told me all about how after you were taken away by CPS, she…”

“I don’t want to hear about it!” I interrupt, “I don’t care whether she got her life together or invented the best cure for cancer! I don’t care and I am never going to forgive her! Do you understand? Just because your family is full of licensed therapists who can work out their conflicts, doesn’t mean that my birth mother has the right to come back into my life or be a part of our child’s! Not everyone can forgive and forget.”

Tears continue to stream down my face as I collapse onto the floor. I hear my husband’s hand graze the doorknob.  

“I know…I realize that now.” My husband answers, “I’m sorry. I promise to be a better husband and father. Will you please unlock the door?”

 I answer him with silence. I hear him sigh and then I listen to the sound of his footsteps walking downstairs. I continue to cry for the next half hour before standing up and staring back into the mirror. My eyes are just as red as hers was that day when she wouldn’t let him back inside the house. Every morning they would argue, he would leave for “work,” and then come back in the evening, apologetic with a gift.

I listen to the sound of Allen cleaning up the kitchen from our special breakfast. I never dared to tell him about all the details of my past, even after five years of dating and then finally getting married. Maybe it’s time I tell him everything that way he’ll understand why I could never love my birth mother again. I open the door and then walk downstairs. Allen stands there, quietly watching me.

“I’m sorry, Caitlyn. I shouldn’t have invited her without your approval.”

“I’m sorry too” I state, sitting back down at the counter. “I haven’t told you my entire story. I was just too afraid of...”

“You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready.” He interrupts, before placing the dirty dish in the sink.

I give a small sigh of relief and then smile slightly. Allen smiles back and then grabs something from the bottom kitchen cabinet. Allen walks over to me and tells me to close my eyes and open my hands. I raise an eyebrow and then I close my eyes. Something smooth and heavy is placed in my hands. I open my eyes and see a bouquet of red roses.

“Happy Anniversary, honey,” Allen says, kissing me on the lips.

I laugh and then toss the red roses into the trash can, leaving Allen both confused and concerned.

“I don’t need them to be happy when I’ve got my family.”