Rose's in the Shed

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
They didn’t have a right to ask me of things when they had stolen away everything. But when they did, I was the biggest, fattest and ugliest liar ever. Life was cruel that way.

Submitted: June 17, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 17, 2015



I found a photo of her the weekend before I left.

 She looked different, felt different. It was as if someone had slipped behind her watery green eyes and had spilled to the world my mothers most inner self. It was a spark of the moment that night when I tried to draw. I stopped at her eyes. They had compelled me to stop because I couldn’t even think of a time I had seen them so real as they did in this moment. They hadn’t made me feel. Impulsively I scribbled the eyes out, they couldn’t see me then.

I stuffed the one suitcase I decided to bring into the trunk of my car, shutting the trunk lightly. It slammed to an abrupt “Clunk”. I guess I hadn’t noticed the way my hands shook.  I came crunching over the gravel of my grandparents driveway to give them a hug. Feeling almost elated to be in the warm arms of my grandfather, the soft hands of my grandmother rubbing my back comfortingly. I felt the tears sting in my eyes.  I wanted my grandfather too walk me down that aisle as I got married, for my grandmother to be their and help me pick my dress. But they were old.

Too old that By the time I would get married I’m sure they’d already be gone. And it brought such sadness, so much ache in my heart to know that they would be gone. To hear as my aunt had so callously picked apart of flower and as if she placed a bet on who would die first she said, Randy would be the first to go. I had nearly burst into a fit of tears. This was my Grandfather, My father, the man who I had epic battles with. Laughing fits, cooked with, sang with the birds with! I clung to the bottom of my frayed sweater and said, “ He wouldn’t.”


Life was cruel to give the title of Mom and Dad to my birth parents. They hadn’t the right, hadn’t given the thought about what they were doing as they had unprotected sex in their drug induced daze. I was an oops, like the 3 others my mother had and the 2 others my father had gained. I didn’t want my father Keith to walk me down that aisle like he had some entitled right because he was my father or my Mother Melissa to have a say in what I chose.  They didn’t have a right to ask me of things when they had stolen away everything. But when they did, I was the biggest fattest and ugliest liar ever. Life was cruel that way.

I left telling them I loved them and I’d call them when I got there. The car ride was long and silent and I was left to the bitterness of my lies.

When I was seven my sister whispered quietly in my ear, “ I’m hungry.”. We creeped by my mothers darkened room and padded quietly down the stairs to the small kitchen of apartment. I pulled the fridge open noticing nothing but a few eggs and a ketchup bottle. I moved a chair from the dining room and opened the cabinets to look and saw nothing but salt and pepper. I looked down at my sister for a moment hearing the way her tummy growled. I stepped down from the counter grabbing the salt and pepper before pushing the chair out of the way of the kitchen and took out a few eggs, the ketchup and with salt and pepper in hand I took a fork from the bottom drawer and a clean glass bowl from the sink. Breaking the eggs into the bowl I scrambled them up with the fork and pushed it into the microwave.

We waited in errey silence, listening to the machine buzz and churn and to any sounds that might have come from up stairs. When it dinged I pulled the bowl out too see some nice and fluffy yellow eggs. Sprinkling some salt and pepper on I then squirted some ketchup and handed the bowl to my sister with the fork I had used. We shuffled into the tiny wooden table that was our dinner table and my sister ate. She paused for a moment looking at me. She pushed the bowl my way but I shook my head no, “ I’m not hungry.” I told her. She believed me. (Plus I didn’t like eggs.)

Excuse me Mam, Would you like anything. I looked up seeing the airplane attendance carrying snacks in her hand. I nodded and was gifted with a bag of animal crackers. I had lined them up on my airplane tray. They looked like ants following each other and It reminded me of that man.


I don’t remember much about that man’s house. Just that he lived in a cul de sac in an apartment that I had remembered had ants.  Ants that inched themselves from his kitchen to the outside world of his window. I don’t remember him fully, just the vague bulk of his body frame. That was it. But If I had ever been allowed to kill one person in this world It would be him. My grandmother told me once that when I was little and had come to her house I had told them a story about how this man had taken my sister  into his room, and that she cried for me, she kept calling me and I tried.  I tired. I had banged on that door with my tiny fists, crying to let my sister go. Let her go, Let her go. But It was something I can’t remember. Like it was erased from my mind, it was odd being retold  something I had said myself but don’t remember.

There was one thing I could recount though and it made me sick.

We were driving in car, my sister sitting beside me when she said, “ He put something inside me.”. With all the innocence of my age I asked , “What?”. A car, she shook her head. A bike, she shook her head again. This went on until I couldn’t think of anything else and I asked what it was. She clammed up, shaking her head. I got frustrated then and glanced at the head of my mother. “ Mom!” I called from the back seat. “Are you hearing this!” She didn’t look back, didn’t even glance. And I was met with silence. Ugly and maddening silence.


I grabbed my bag from the terminal with as much ease as I could. The adrenaline shooting through my body had returned, making me shaky and fluttery as a newborn bird.  My grandparents followed up on my story though, hiring a detective to investigate but it all went cold in a few years when my sister refused to say anymore saying she “Didn’t remember.” I ask her about it every few years thinking that maybe one day she’d remember or slip up. I Just need to hear it, too be their as we drag his ass out and slap a pair of handcuffs on him. But thats the other side of me, one side and it only needs to be one. I wanted it to be violent and sweet, time consuming and for it to all end with a bullet between his eyes.  But the world didn’t work that way, revenge couldn’t just be taken out and plus I don’t even know where he lives anymore.

A whiteboard with my name on it caught my attention as I left the baggage claim area. My cousin waved smiling at me, her hand curling into the woman's beside her. I realized who she was. The brunette that stood beside my cousin was her fiance. My aunt stood beside them both waving me over. I tugged my luggage over quickly, impatiently cutting across the paths of other wary travelers.

I don’t know how old I was but I remember the first time my Mother cooked a meal. She had been dating a man by the name Vincent, he had insisted that home cooked meals were the best. For the first time in my life in that one single moment I thought my life was normal and like every family in the world I thought mine had finally got to show it’s face. Like a light, flash and it was gone.

I remember the day Vincent left our lives for one reason or another. He had parked his white truck on the street of our apartment by a park that I remember very little of besides it’s existence.  I remember his final goodbye to me as we sat in his truck and he told me that we would never meet again. I tried not cry, staring out onto the street that walked passed us like it wasn’t the end of my world, my normal. I sometimes like to imagine that Vincent had settled down with a nice girl and had kids of his own, I wondered if he remembered me wherever he was and I wished him a happy life even though he had been dealt a miserable one. I can tell you that he had criminal records that he was a bad man from what the police had told me, but I can attest with the swiftness and steady of my heart that Vincent alought not the best parent, he was that person who was redeemable. I think he deserves a second chance and I hope he gets it and if by some chance he doesn't then I wish to tell him, “Thank you for being there.” Thank you a criminal in the face of the people and police that you had cared.” I Thank you Vincent, a man I will never meet again.

That night laid on a bed that was a foreign to me as chinese numerals, to the countless stories of my past self being here in this exact same room. I felt that It wasn’t me that they were talking about. That whoever they had met or seen was someone I cannot remember being. It was like I had stolen this body, a body that I had always believe to be mine.

The first time I had encountered death was my of my school janitor. He was strange kinda fellow one that smiled and gave way to joyous laughter as he joked with the kids. He loved his job but what he loved more than anything was his daughter. He had given himself two jobs and had slaved his days away. One day I had asked.

“Why do you work so much?”

He had smiled and said his dream was to send his daughter to college. I don’t think I realized what had made me grow so attached to him until years later. I think I was so moved by the fact he loved his daughter so much that he would work himself dry. I wanted a dad like that.

That day I was informed from my best friend that he had been gunned down in front of the love of his life, his daughter. I didn’t believe in the words. Her voice that was strung high and questionable. I didn’t believe that this man could be gone in under seconds. But he was. Gone like the word Gone, to the point and no more.

Life was cruel.  To take someone like him.

I hadn’t returned to my elementary school until I had a dream about him, taking it as a sign and went back. Peeking behind ever turn or corner of the buildings I see him echo in the halls. Sometimes I catch glimpses of his figure in the glass of the auditorium. That was my first time encountering death and I never wanted to see it again.

I stood staring at the blue wooden door with a shed full of roses gleaming in the sun on my right. And I thought about that picture again and I wondered. What had beaten her down so far that the light in her eyes had never been seen by the eyes of her children.

I don’t know how i’ll turn out, I don’t know if i will have kids one day, I don’t know how the world works.  I don't know what ill say to my mom, i'm nervous though and All I know is that today I’m going to see my mom, that lady in the picture who held me so dear and that for a time in our tale I know that she had truly loved me. Her strength unbroken, her eyes unyielding. And for a moment I felt that I should be angry right now but all I could feel was a strange feeling of content and a thoughtless mind.  

Today I’m going to see the roses in the shed

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