Nine Red Roses
My mother-in-law came to visit for a few hours today, and I realised rather quickly that I simply couldnt stand it. I told the wife I was popping out, claiming I fancied a trip down to the local pub. I gathered myself up and headed out.
But another bit of bad luck was waiting for me round the corner: the pub was shut for renovations. That really put the nail in the coffin for my already foul mood. Going back home wasnt an appealing prospect not with my mother-in-law still hovering around.
So I wandered about the streets, aimless and agitated, not in the mood to duck into any of the shops that hardly felt like a thing for a man to do. I sat down glumly on a park bench.
Thats when I spotted an elderly couple, nearing sixty, walking arm in arm, clearly enjoying a gentle stroll. She was wrapped up warm, holding tightly onto his arm. They were chatting quietly, lost in their own world.
I watched them. They still have things to say to each other. My wife and I have been together fifteen years, and we discuss nothing new were usually silent, I mused.
Then I saw the man pause and gently adjust the scarf around his wifes neck. They carried on walking, unhurried and close.
A wave of realisation washed over me: Theyve managed to keep their love alive all these years. Meanwhile, weve stopped even noticing each other.
My own dear wife is a petite, tired sort of woman one of those who are forever worn out and stopped caring about appearances because theres too much else to do. She works in a factory, weve got two children, so theres always a million things demanding attention.
Shes constantly flitting about the flat, barely able to sit for five minutes before shes up again chores, always chores. She wears a worn old dressing gown, hair messy and out of sorts, quick-footed with a cloth or mop never far from her hand.
Shes forgotten how to smile, her face always focused, expression never changing. Nearly never goes to the hairdresser, unless its gotten bad enough to make leaving the house embarrassing.
Sitting there, I thought, We loved each other so much, once. Where on earth did all of that go?
I tried calling up those long-lost feelings, and to my surprise, a faint tenderness flickered to life. Warm, gentle traces, soft and real. Such a flooding sympathy for her, this woman Id taken for granted. I felt the urge to do something something good, and immediately!
I found myself striding away, hardly knowing where I was heading. The answer came almost at once I nearly collided with a flower stall. Buy her flowers? I hesitated. Shell think Ive lost my mind, call me daft, say Ive wasted money that ought to go towards new trainers for Lucys PE lessons.
I dithered, stuck between practicality and sentiment. But that gentle feeling wouldnt let me go.
I took the plunge. Marched up, and the young florist offered me a polite greeting. I hadnt bought flowers in a decade and a half. Perhaps just one rose, I thought.
Then something inside urged, Dont be ridiculous, one rose hardly means anything. So I blurted out, Ill have nine, please. I nearly startled myself with my own foolishness had I completely lost my senses? But once spoken, such words cant be unsaid.
Stepping outside, I felt everyone on the street staring at me as if Id committed some crime. I picked up my phone, checked if the mother-in-law had left.
Climbing the stairs to our flat, I was oddly nervous. If she starts shouting, Ill just dump them straight in the bin with the rest of the rubbish, I thought, my heart beating faster.
My wife was in the kitchen, having just put a bag of flour on the table, her hands still clean. I approached her, flowers hidden behind my back. She stood there, unassuming, with no idea. I stopped in front of her, unsure of what to say, breathing heavily from nerves. She turned, saw the roses, and froze.
Susan, I managed softly, these are for you. I just wanted you to have them. You wont have a go at me, will you?
She didnt immediately reach for them, just stared with an expression like she was seeing a mirage.
For you, Susan. Really, for you.
She took them at last and raised them to her face, a small, real smile breaking through. And suddenly, the world of factories, chores, and fifteen spent years melted away.
She barely whispered, Thank you.
The vase went in the middle of the table, nine bright red roses lighting up the room. Susan touched the petals, paused in front of the mirror, and gently fixed her hair. Her face softened, weariness replaced, just for a moment, by the sense of something bright and possible.
I walked over and pulled her gently into an embrace. We stood there, saying nothing.
Just for an instant, she paused in the world just for a single, beautiful instant.
