Letter to the Roses

Prologue


She walked along the boardwalk, the cool wind blowing in her hair. It was empty, everything. She had not seen him in months; he had left so suddenly. It was still unbelievable and she expected him to show up at any moment, apologizing profusely for causing her such trouble. He had always been like this, and she couldn’t say she had not seen it coming. He was like a stray cat, never staying too long, only returning because there was some beneficial service being offered. It did not matter that he was wanted; he left of his own free will and roamed until it was time to fulfill that need yet again.

If anyone asked, she would acknowledge these truths and say she always knew it and never got too attached because she knew he would go off again. However, in her mind, those years that he was there meant that he was finally done with it, done with the travelling and all those activities that had alarmed her family when she said he was living with her.

Her family had made their displeasure known. They had not even attempted to humor her and pretend that things would finally go well. They refused to speak to him and eventually stopped inviting her to family outings. She had once confronted them, and their only response was that they would let her sort out her own problems and let her see for herself how much of a fool she was. Well, now she saw and when he disappeared last week, no one uttered it, but they all had their “I told you so” faces plastered on, glaring and pitying, making her feel like a child that had done something completely silly and was being laughed without knowing the reason.

She turned away from the salty ocean and began to walk away. She would just have to continue to wait. There was nothing else she could do, but go on and pretend that she was better off without him.

At the end of the month, she received the usual letter. They had started after the first time he left. She did not know if it was him, but she liked to believe it was. Those dried seasonal flower petals with their intoxicating scent, richer than the finest potpourri as though enchanted with the scent of a hundred flower beds. She had asked him once, whether he had been the one to bring her such joy. He dismissed it with a simple no. It had been quite unlike him. He was always one for explanations. He knew she liked to know why, she supposed, and always felt that he should humor her. So, she still held on to the fancy that he remembered her in his travels and was interested in her joy even when they were apart.

The letter was always simple: perfectly stenciled letters with curves and swirls like a whirlpool saying that it was hoped that the recipient would appreciate the sincere feelings of the sender. Who could possibly want to send her flower petals? It was a strange yet somehow flattering gift. She just wished that one day she could find who it was that insisted upon gracing her with them every month. She hoped it was him. Nothing would make her happier.

Wednesdays were melancholy days of warmth and tears. She never liked them anymore. She remembered when they were her favorite times; when they represented the whimsical and the cheery tulips in her garden. What had become of them? Ah, she remembered. The fanciful had been swallowed up by the darkness of despair and the flowers slaughtered by the drought of the heart. It was the Wednesday he first left her. She knew it well, the story. She had come home to an empty apartment. That wasn’t strange, but the oddity was that it stayed empty; first for a day, then a week, then a year. A whole year had passed of suffering and ridicule by her critics. He had used her, they all said. She tried to ignore the allegations but that was nearly impossible when she heard it every day, every hour, every minute resonating in her mind. She clutched her chest. The old memory had begun to sear her heart. Tears began flowing generously. She staggered to the armchair and sunk into its soft, feathery cushions.

A few minutes passed and so did the tears. Her sadness had not dissipated however, it never did. At least not until he returned to her. She began thinking about how long he would stay away this time. The longest had been a year; that first year. The thought of even longer disturbed her and shook her to the core of her very self. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

She leapt up from her place in the chair and scurried over to the door. She took a deep breath to regain her composure and unlocked the portal. A delivery man stood in the doorway. He did not speak. He just held out a paper and pencil board. She took it hesitantly and signed staring at him strangely all the while. Was the post now hiring mute workers? He handed her a package and nodded then left. She watched him walk all the way to the stairs before she closed the door and resumed her place in the armchair.

The package was very intriguing. It was heavy, unaddressed and suddenly very suspicious. What if it was some strange poison that would kill her right where she sat? Hesitantly, she began to unwrap it and carefully lifted the box open. Inside was a small, innocent mirror. It was a flat-bottomed orb-ish object; one side was mirror, the other an elaborate, curl-up dragon. It seemed to be made of silver or some component like it. It was exquisite. She raised the mirror up to her face and peered into it. How strange. There was no reflection now. It was a strange little field with spring flowers. What kind of looking glass had no reflection? Then there were people in the glass; two men. One was wearing plate mail armor and the other, crude leather robes. They were standing there looking around. She giggled. What could they possibly be looking for in such a field? It was all open, they couldn’t possibly miss anything. Maybe it was some sort of portable moving picture that resembled a mirror. She didn’t know why one would want to watch such a silly show. It was only slightly entertaining.

Then one in the robe took out a small, glowing blue stone and said something. She frowned. What an awful apparatus. Such an expensive-looking thing, and it had no audio. Well, that was a waste. She sighed and placed the orb on the center table in front of her and sighed. She leaned back into the chair and began to think again. Not long though, for suddenly, the orb began glowing a blinding white. She closed her eyes instinctively and suddenly it was cool.

She opened her eyes cautiously. She was on her back staring into the face of a man. She screamed. It was the man from the looking glass. He held his hand out to her. She scooted away and got up. The other man from the mirror was there as well. Was she hallucinating? There was no way any of this could be real. She just stood there staring at the two men and they stared back. They glanced at each other briefly and the plated one spoke.

“You are Bridgett, are you not?” he asked.

She could only nod.




To be continued . . .