Roses--Mackenzie

No balloons. No stuffed cats, dogs, or bears. No comically large cards. No cakes,
cookies, or candy. No flowers. Especially not flowers. Never. Any. Flowers.

I find myself explaining this to the nurse as she empties my tray and glances
around the room.

“I just think it’s bad karma to have something so beautiful killed and displayed.
Like ‘oh how pretty and dead.’ Especially in a hospital. W ho invites dead things into a
hospital, right?”I ask. She smiles warily and nods her head.

“I never let people bring them. I mean, Adam tries of course. And my mom. But
it’s a personal choice for me. I feel like...when you get those ‘feel better’ or ‘get well
soon’ things...you introduce the possibility of another o utcome besides those things.
Like, of course I’m going to get better, no need to jinx it, you know? I mean, I’m in a
hospital, I’m obviously being cared for…” I continue, in a hurried sort of voice that must
seem frantic to the nurse, as she’s begun to back away from my bed, nodding along
with a scared smile tight on her lips.

“I’ll have your dinner brought in at six.” I hear as she practically sprints out the
door, leaving me to my admittedly lonely, bare room.

I wonder where Adam is. This is the third time we’ve been to the hospital in the
last year, so i know he can’t have gotten lost on his way to get coffee. He left over an
hour ago.

Time goes by quicker than I thought it would being alone in bed. I get a call from
my mom, give her the same speech about being fine and in good hands and these
people are professionals and it’s not even as bad as Adam is making it out to be. She
says she loves me and tells me to feel be-. But I hang up before she can finish. Jinxes
and all that.

Dinner comes and goes. As I’m texting Adam for the fiftieth time, my door swings
open. An doctor walks in first, wearing his lab coat and a look of apathy. Then comes
Adam. His hair is rumpled, eyes puffy, shirt wrinkled. And he’s carrying a vase of
pristine white roses. My heart swells for a second My favorite. Then it plummets. Adam
knows the rules.
“Roses?” I whisper, my throat dry. He can’t meet my eyes as he places them at
my bedside table.

Dr. Apathy talks for a while. Adam leaves the room when I start to cry. Ugly
crying. Snot-smearing, chest-rattling sobs.

Night falls, and my gaze hasn't left the roses for hours. Moonlight slices through
the blinds and illuminates them. They are pearly and ethereal and taunting. They won’t
last more than a few days, yet they stand unafraid and elegant.

I whisper to them, “This is your fault.”

There is a magnificent explosion of water, glass, and petals. I fall asleep despite
the stinging cut in my hand.