lab shorts - 5. The Story

The Story

A story needed to be told. A decision made, a question asked, and an answer given. Roses would be his means of communication.

Andrew's thoughts went back to early memory as he took each rose, clipped the end, and placed it in fresh water.

First was a white one—purity.

He thought about his youth as his fingers deftly broke the thorns from the stem of the white rose before he cut the end on an angle.

He'd been a happy boy, though small for his age. Those around him had never seen his size as an issue because whenever it was mentioned he'd just laugh and show how much he could do within small spaces that others couldn't.

Andrew smiled and picked up the next rose. It was yellow—friendship.

As he shed the stem of its thorns and cut the end, Andrew thought of his best friend. He and Tony had been friends since kindergarten. Though they were polar opposites in almost all regards, they had leaned on each other to balance one another's lives. One's weakness was offset by the other's strengths. It had started that way and was still even to the present day. They were friends, brothers in all ways but blood, and would remain so to their dying day.

He chuckled and placed the yellow rose in a vase with the white one.

Next, Andrew chose light pink—gentleness.

He remembered the day he'd received his first rose. It was the day after he'd released a baby raccoon from a live trap hidden on his grandfather's farm. He was six and hadn't thought anyone had seen him. He remembered talking softly to the shaking animal and how it had quieted enough to allow him to lift it up and carry it out to the woods nearby. He'd whispered and gently stroked the little creature the entire time, and when he'd set it up on a branch by a hole he'd known was it's nest, it had stopped at the entrance a gazed at him a moment before disappearing.

The faded pink rose had shown up the next day, lying on his pillow with a note. Thank you for caring was what was printed, and for the longest time, he'd actually believed the raccoon had left him the gift. He'd found out much later that it was his grandmother. She'd made his grandpa get rid of the traps soon after.

The pink rose went in with the other two.

Andrew paused for a minute, reaching down and picking up a cooling cup of coffee. He took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness of the now luke-warm liquid, and took it to the sink. As he poured the balance of the beverage down the drain, his eyes lingered on the garden outside. He had many fond memories of walks amidst his roses.

He sighed and went back to the table and pick up the next color—peach—modesty.

Andrew chuckled to himself as he remembered giving a rose this color to Tony. His eyes had gone wide as he'd accepted the gift, though not because of the flower itself. It was the kiss on his cheek that had startled the boy. He was ten at the time and Tony had been his absolute best friend for five years.

"What's this for?" the startled boy had asked.

"For you," Andrew had answered. "It's 'cause you're like a tootsie pop—all hard on the outside, but soft and gooey on the inside. It's 'cause you're my bestest friend in the whole world."

"Awww, come on, Andy. Get your swim suit on and let's go to the pool."

Andrew found the rose pressed between the pages of an old bible years later. Tony had smiled when Andrew found it and blushed before taking it from his hands and putting it back in his desk drawer.

"You see?" Andrew said as he'd hugged the big man. "Hard, but gooey."

Next in line for the vase was blue—mystery.

Tony had given him the flower on his sixteenth birthday. He remembered thinking it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen—until he looked up into Tony's hazel eyes. Those multi-colored orbs had always captivated Andrew. They were unique. He watched the colors go from gold, to green, to blue. Hazel was the wrong word for Tony's eyes. They were like the blue rose given with a small caress to Andrew's face. They were a mystery.

Andrew lifted the next stem and looked at it with a frown—lavender—love/enchantment at first sight.

He almost put it aside, but knew that it belonged with the others. It was a part of his life, though he wondered how he'd let himself be taken in by the pretty face this rose carried in his memory.

Danny had come into Andrew's life like a blustery wind. He'd been effusively charming and had swept up all those in his wake with such grace and charisma it was hard not to be drawn to him. But like a tornado, he left behind chaos and destruction. His words had been honey spread upon moldy bread. They were sweet to the ears and gave promise of water to a dying man, but in the end, the water was poison and the bread inedible.

Tony had tried to warn Andrew away from Danny, but at the time the veil that crossed his eyes had been too thick. He'd refused to listen, choosing instead to shun the one person that had always stayed by his side. He'd almost lost Tony then, almost lost himself when he received the call that drove him to the edge. But they survived and they were stronger together for it.

The rose went into the vase, and with it—a drop of blood from Andrew's hand.

He stared as the drop turned into a fine filament of color then faded into the water. Minutes later, Andrew found himself still staring through the clear glass of the vase. He shook his head and took another minute to get himself together in order to finish his task. He had two deliveries to make today, two very special deliveries, though for two very different reasons.

Andrew finished the vase off with six blood red roses—love.

He picked up the vase and put it in a box with another bundle of roses and left the house. On his way to the hospital, he stopped at Danny's apartment. The door was answered by the beautiful grinning face that he had once thought the world of, before showing his true self.

"Andy! I knew you'd be back."

Instead of throwing himself into the arms that beckoned, Andrew shoved the bundle of black roses—death to old things—into Danny's chest. Unlike the ones he'd painstakingly stripped of thorns, these were full of the sharp barbs.

"Ow! Hey, what gives?"

"Goodbye, Daniel."

Andrew turned on his heel and went back to the car he'd left running at the curb. With a smile, he shifted into drive and left for what he hoped was his future.

Gazing at the man lying in the hospital room, Andrew felt a familiar tug of warmth on his heart. He entered and moved a stack of books from the rolling tray close to the bed and replaced them with the vase of colored roses. He knew the bunch was incomplete, even with the greenery and baby's breath that he'd started with. The last rose waited in his hand for Tony to open his eyes.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Andy?" His voice was groggy and rough, but sounded like music to Andrew's ears.

"Yeah, babe, it's me." He could feel the perspiration of nervous tension start at his forehead.

He watched Tony's eyes as they darted about the room then settled on the flowers. If anyone understood what Andrew was trying to say, it would be Tony. No one else in the world knew him like he did.

After an eternity, or so it seemed to Andrew, Tony looked up and cocked his head.

"Only eleven? Are you planning to finish your story?"

Andrew pulled his hand from behind his back and held the single green rose that would finish his life up until now. Most would see the rose as a sign of fertility, but Andrew saw it as a new beginning. He'd put his life in a vase, had expounded on the raging love he had for the man lying in that hospital bed. This last rose, if Tony accepted it, would mark the start of a brand new life.

Tony reached out a shaky hand and took the flower from Andrew.

"Yes."