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Every Rose MAG
"A rose?" I asked. "You got me arose?"
"I thought that's what you wanted," Mike said."Last night you said you wanted a corsage for Homecoming. Isn'tthat what you said?"
"Yeah, that's what I said, but don'tyou know the difference between a corsage and a rose?" I asked. "Acorsage is what I wanted. One in a pretty, wrapped box you could placearound my wrist. There is a difference, Mike, between that and a rose,which is long and awkward for dances. Never mind that it hasthorns."
"I went to the florist yesterday and all they hadwere roses. You know the dance is tomorrow; how do you expect me to getone?"
"That's my point, Mike, you never think ahead. If youhad called a week ago and ordered one, they would have reserved it foryou and we wouldn't be having this discussion in the first place, nowwould we?" I stormed.
"Why can't you look at the fact thatI thought of you and got you something for this dance, even if it wasn'texactly what you wanted? I don't understand you sometimes. You say youlove me but you're never happy."
"I probably would be if youtried to think about me first without me having to remind you to besweet. Maybe then I wouldn't get so upset. Did you ever think of that?"I asked.
"Of course I thought of it. I think of you all thetime and you know it. You're everything to me, and you know I put youabove everyone else in my life. I don't get themroses."
"Corsages, either," Iinterrupted.
"That's not fair. We can't keep having thesearguments. It's just not gonna work and I'm not sure if you even want itto work anymore," he said.
"You know I do, Mike, but I can'tkeep telling you how to do your part of the relationship, that's notfair to me," I said.
"I'm not sure what you want anymore.I'm not a perfect person, and you know that, but what do you want me todo? I'm trying. I'm trying harder than you know. Do you want this towork or not?" he asked.
I didn't answer. I left to put the rosein water. He hadn't gotten me what I wanted, but I couldn't let it die.How can men be so dense? I thought. Are they really that ignorant or isit all just an act? I held the rose carelessly and smelled it. It was apretty smell, but what a waste for it to sit home all night instead ofbeing on my wrist at the dance. I rolled it in my fingers awkwardly andthe top began to go limp. I sighed, forced back tears and placed it inthe vase. As I dropped it in the water a thorn pricked my finger. Ipulled back and squeezed. The stupid rose I didn't even want had theaudacity to prick me.
Then I laughed. I stared at the rose andwondered if I actually thought it had meant to hurt me. Of course, thatwas ridiculous. The rose was what it was - a rose. Its purpose was tobring beauty and happiness to my life, and it had been given to me bythe person who meant to do the same. And they both did their jobs, evenif I did get hurt every once in awhile. I won't say every rose has itsthorn, because that's a little cliched, but it is true that things youlove can hurt you and you have to forgive them. I thought of MarkTwain's theory, "Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds onthe heel that has crushed it." What a great way to look atthings.
"I'm sorry, Mike, I really am," I said, as I gavehim a hug. "You mean so much to me, and thank you for the rose.It's beautiful."
"So you're not mad at me anymore?" heasked.
"No, I'm not. A little ashamed, but notmad."
"Don't worry ... I know how much you wanted thatcorsage. It's waiting for you in the car."