Flowers for Rose

It’s eerie how time slows down during calamity, allowing your eyes to widen while your lungs forget their need for air, and then suddenly it spits you out in a new life, scarred and reeling. What do you hold on to?

Friday, September 24, 2021 4:47p.m.

The bus smelled stale and years of grime clung to the walls, but it could have been a prom night limo based on the way we were carrying on. Finally mask free, delirious from hormones and the intoxicating joy of skipping a whole day of school for a French play, we reveled in the moment. The bus driver and our teacher must have felt the same way because they chatted up front with their eighties music on, completely ignoring the shenanigans of the ten teenagers in the back.

I glanced out the window at the hilly terrain, and when I turned back, Kate was gone and the seat next to me empty. But not for long. Carter slid in moments later, and I froze.

“How’s it going, Rose?”

I twisted desperately toward the back where Kate now giggled with another friend, probably sharing the same tidbit of gossip she’d whispered to me three minutes ago.

“Don’t even think about it,” his rich voice crooned. He leaned across me, and I flattened myself against the seat.

“What are you doing?” I hissed in my breath but couldn’t help noticing the floral smell of his hair. Herbal Essences, perhaps. Metal snapped loudly, and I looked down at a seatbelt across my lap.

“Now you’re not going anywhere,” he said with a smirk that revealed adorable dimples on each side of his smile.

I looked down at my hands as my cheeks began to burn. Why could I never find words in situations like this?! He grabbed my left hand and placed it on his blue jeaned thigh while I remained in panic mode because I’m a social genius. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he began to draw on the top of my hand.

“I thought it was time for us to get to know each other better.” Carter glanced up at me to make sure he had my attention. Obviously. “If you’ve heard the rumors, they’re true. Tessa and I broke up on Wednesday. So you can stop worrying, but feel free to keep blushing like that.”

I lifted my hand to inspect his artwork- a circle with five round petals and my name in the middle. “That’s not a rose, you know.” Hey, there’s a saucy line.

He shrugged. “What is it?”

I giggled nervously. “I don’t know, a daisy or something?”

We locked eyes, and I think that was the moment I ceased breathing. His dark brown eyes sparkled with mischief and secrets, and I wondered what it would be like…

A hard jolt at the front of the bus,

an expletive from the driver,

grinding guardrails,

freefall,

floating teens,

impact,

BLACKOUT.

A heavy weight sat on my body, rendering me immobile while I worked on breathing in and out to clear my foggy brain. Someone moved near me- I could feel their presence, felt fingers on my arm and a gentle tug. I struggled against the gravity holding my eyelids shut until they cracked open.

An orb of color hovered over me. Shit, was this heaven? I strained to focus. Pink and green carnations materialized with tiny white baby’s breath poking out in all directions. Perky.

“Ooo girl, you must have a guardian angel watchin over you. That ain’t just luck.” A nurse passed in front of me, the movement rolling a ball of nausea down my throat to my stomach. My chest constricted as panic squeezed me tight, and everything faded to black.

Murmuring voices woke me later. The gentle cadence of my dad in conversation comforted me, and a sharper voice said, “I’ll check back in tonight to see how she’s doing.”

I waited, then peeked out. A long, slender branch bearing numerous blue faces arched toward me as if it wanted to poke my leg. Frickin Avatars.

Then I spotted Dad. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but shooting pain ran through my jaw. I felt his hand on my arm.

“Hey, pumpkin. How ya doin?”

I blinked wildly and looked from his face to the disturbing blue thing.

“Oh, are these too much? I can move them. People keep sending flowers.”

My eyes followed him as he moved the potted orchid to a deep windowsill that looked more like a florist shop display than a hospital room. He returned and took my hand in his.

I lifted my other hand a few inches off the bed and pointed toward my face, and he nodded.

“You dislocated your jaw, so the wraps are holding it shut to let it heal. You have a feeding tube that runs into your stomach.” He let that sink in for a moment. “You also broke both femurs, and last night they did surgery to set them with rods and screws.”

My breathing wheezed through my nose. Get it under control. I tapped my fingers on the bed to give my panic an outlet.

“You were the only one wearing a seat belt, Rose. I’m so proud of you and so incredibly thankful you’re okay.”

My eyes burned with shame. It wasn’t like that, nothing to be proud of. Dread filled my gut, but I had no way of asking, and I felt too weak to bear the weight of the reality looming ahead of me, dark and menacing. It could wait.    

The day passed slowly as I drifted in and out of consciousness, visions of flowers tangling with fragmented faces in my twisted dreams. I awoke to a red sunset and pain pulsing through my legs and face with each heartbeat.

A soft knock distracted me, and relief flooded my system when Hallie entered. My best friend.

She rushed to my bed with a wet face. “Oh my gosh, Rose,” she sobbed. “You look terrible, but you’re alive. I can’t believe it!”

A hot tear rolled down my own cheek as I watched her emotions flow.

“Can you talk?”

I merely grunted. She searched the room, coming back with a small notepad and a pen. “Here, you can write if you want to talk to me.”

I took them with a reluctant sigh. I supposed it was time. Did anyone else survive?

“No,” she said softly.

I covered my eyes and wept, accepting the truth I’d felt but suppressed. When I finally stopped, I spotted the small bouquet of white daisies she’d set next to my leg on the bed. I held up my left hand and discovered the round flower drawing remained un-smudged, with Rose in the center. It was real. He was gone. They were gone. And I was still here.

My school held a memorial service for the eleven people who died the next Friday. I was unable to attend, still trapped in the hospital bed with bandages around my head and six inch incisions on my upper thighs. The bus had landed upside down, and the seatbelt that had been fastened in a moment of flirtation had snapped my legs but saved my life. Lucky me. I couldn’t decide if I was more grateful or embarrassed to be alive.

On Saturday morning, they unhooked my IV and removed the feeding tube, took off my head wraps, and sent me on my happy way. Jail break never fell so flat as me rolling up to my house in a rented wheelchair, broken and bereft. The only glimmer of light was that I could still use my own bedroom since we lived in a one story house.

Dad pushed me into my purple room. “Do you want the flowers in here?”

“Sure,” I muttered through my teeth; it was still hard to move my sore jaw. I sat facing the mirror while he ran back to the car, and I stared at my reflection for the first time since the accident. I looked hollow. Purple rings drooped under my eyes, and the bruising on the lower half of my face tinged my skin green. Hello, Haunted.

I glanced down at my left hand out of habit, but it was a blank slate again. I’d asked the nurse to scrub it off when I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore, then bawled as his last mark disappeared from the world. I hadn’t even cared about him before that field trip, but now I felt a huge loss.

The flowers slowly filled every flat surface in the room as Dad made the trek over and over. They were pretty, but most were beginning to fade, except the unnatural Avatar orchid, which I’d probably be stuck with forever.

Over the next few days, I consumed my school work like candy. I’d never been studious, but neither had I been this bored or bedridden. I flew through my required reading and solved math equations like beloved puzzles. When I ran out of homework, I rolled around on our flat driveway, soaking up the sun and listening to the birds chirping. The fresh air kept me from going crazy.

Sometimes the neighbors stopped to offer their condolences, and I vowed to never shake my head with pity and tell someone how sorry I was. Totally unhelpful and disconcerting. Move along, your dog needs to poop.

After two such head shaking ladies strolled away, I spotted Dad watching me from his office window. The next morning I heard a loud saw screeching outside. I covered my head with my pillow to drown out the noise, determined to waste the day away by sleeping.

“Rise and shine, pumpkin!” Dad bounded into my room a few hours later. I groaned and glared at him from bed. He looked downright grungy.

“What have you been doing?” I grumbled.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” he said with an eager smile.

“I’m not dressed, and I have morning breath.” I had re-mastered the whine I dropped when I was eight.

“Okay, ten minutes. Then you’re wheeling out to the driveway, kid.”

“Fine.” I moved through the motions with jerks and grunts, still sore two weeks later. Dad had been great, patient and easy going as always, and I was glad he worked from home. But my irritation level was at an all-time high; the pain nagged me in spurts, while the grief (and guilt?) continually clawed at the back of my mind. It was… a lot.

A new sight met my eyes as I left the shadows of the garage: Freshly constructed raised flower beds lined the length of the driveway. They rose to the height of my lap in the wheelchair and were already filled with dark soil. So that’s why he looked dirty. I glanced up at Dad.

He stood proudly with his hands on his hips, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought gardening would be a good distraction. I already bought you some little plants and seed packets.”

“Wow. Thanks, Dad.” I frowned, not because I was displeased, but because I’d never thought to do such a thing. I tried to turn it into a thankful smile. “This will be great.”

“Awesome! Well, I’ve got to run back inside for a meeting, but your supplies are all on the table, and the hose is already turned on. Just twist the nozzle. Have fun!”

I wheeled over to the table and explored the supplies. I was impressed- he’d thought of everything. He even left a notebook with a pen and a note that said I might want to map out where I planted the seeds.

For the next two hours, I pulled plants out of thin plastic pots and dumped tiny seeds into my palm. I marveled that something that looked like a speck of dirt would soon grow into lettuce and rainbow carrots; I liked this new hobby. I pulled the last pot onto my lap and rolled to an empty plot of dirt. When I looked down, the shape of the flowers struck me like a lightning bolt. I froze.

The flowers were small and yellow, with round centers and five rounded petals. The image that would forever be burned into my brain overlapped this real life version like a trippy horror movie. My breathing grew shallow, and I began to sweat.

My fingertips touched the flowers. So delicate. Both hands slowly closed around them, my grip growing tighter and tighter as heat poured into my face. “I hate you,” I whispered. My fingers dug into the center, and I ripped the plant apart. “I HATE YOU!” I screamed, shaking it up and down until dirt flew all directions and pieces of shredded greenery fell to the ground. Tears streamed down my face, and I chucked the pot into the yard with force.

A door slammed, and Dad sprinted toward me. “Rose, what’s wrong?!”

He knelt down in front of me as I sobbed. “There you go, let it all out.”

I wiped my face on my t-shirt and sniffed.

He brushed my hair out of my face. “I saw you out the window, and I thought you were having a seizure or something.”

I laughed bitterly. “That would be the demented cherry on top, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m trying to not think about it.” He stood up and assessed me with crossed arms. “You’re covered in potting soil. We might need to hose you down.”

“Or not,” I said with a grimace.

He backed up toward the hose.

“Dad. I have wounds. Don’t even think about it!”

“They took your stitches out, and you’re pretty stinky, so…” He bent down with a gleam in his eyes.

“NO!” The spray blasted me in the chest, and I screamed in earnest. “I’m gonna kill you!” I spluttered.

He cackled and ran around behind me to spray the dirt out of the seat. It tickled my booty, and I started to squirm and giggle. “YOU’RE demented for spraying a cripple!”

But the laughter had started, and I couldn’t seem to stop. He handed me the hose, and I turned it on him and shot him in the face. He deserved it. He howled and spit water, then danced on the driveway as I sprayed his bare feet.

“Now I feel better,” I said with finality.

Even so, it didn’t prevent another mood swing at the dinner table. My hair was still damp as I ate his famous meatloaf meal.

“You go back to school on Monday. How do you feel about that?” he asked.

“Overjoyed.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Your cross country team has a home meet tomorrow. Do you want to go?”

“Nope.” I didn’t look up from my food.

“You haven’t said anything about it since the accident.”

“What is there to say? I have metal in my legs. I can’t run.” I stabbed a green bean.

“You could say you’re bummed.”

“It’s not like they’ll miss me. I wasn’t even in the top seven.”

“But you could go to support your teammates,” he said gently.

“Dad, it’s embarrassing!”

He set down his fork and leaned forward. “Honey, you were in a bus accident. Don’t be ashamed of surviving!” he said fiercely.

I jutted my chin out but regretted it when pain sliced into my ears. I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll go.”

A hint of a smile snuck onto his face at the victory, so I ignored him the rest of the night.

I braided my hair over one shoulder the next morning in front of the mirror. I’d already applied mascara and lip gloss, and I felt satisfied with my appearance under the circumstances.

The parking lot was packed when we pulled into the school. Hallie walked up to the car and opened my door.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in surprise. “You hate sports.”

“I know,” she said with a smile, “but I’m here for moral support.”

The three of us headed down to the football field where the race would begin and end. I nervously wrung my hands in my lap as we moved onto the rubber track. The stadium pulsed with energy and motion, and adrenaline pumped through my veins as if I were about to race. Some of my female teammates jogged toward us as they warmed up. They squealed when they spotted me and ran over for quick hugs. When they ran off, we noticed the backs of their jerseys said Team Rose. I couldn’t stop smiling.

As the start time approached, all of the women’s teams gathered near the starting line. They huddled in groups for last minute pep talks. Some of the schools chanted a cheer, but my teammates turned around and shouted, “WE LOVE YOU ROSE!”

A man called through a megaphone, “Runners to your marks!” The gun sounded, and the pack of runners took off. Their footsteps thundered away from us, the people on the sidelines.

It wasn’t so bad sitting on the side. A ton of parents came over to talk us. They told me how thankful they were I survived, patted me on the back, and said I’d be out there again in no time. It didn’t feel as doubtful when person after person encouraged me, especially the cross country boys, who ran next.

Eighteen minutes later, we all screamed like gorillas when the leaders ran back onto the field. After recovering, our top runner made a beeline over to me. She placed a towel on my lap with a long stemmed rose. One by one, as our runners finished, my sweaty teammates each brought me a rose. My lap was full of color by the end of the morning.

Dad squatted beside me. “You okay, kid?”

Time seemed to slow down again as I looked at the beautiful displays of love: I had flowers from teammates, a loyal best friend at my side, and a thoughtful dad who understood me. That’s what I would hold on to. I eventually nodded and laughed through the tears. “Yeah, I’m okay.”