The Black Rose
Entry 8

“First and foremost, I want to congratulate you all on making it here. Graduation. This moment signifies more than the end of just this chapter in your lives, it marks the passage from a college student to a bright world full of possibilities. You will make decisions that will impact every aspect of your life. Some decisions will come quickly, others slow. Some decisions will be tough, others easy. Life is full of choices and opportunities. Who you want to be in this world, the mark you want to leave, that’s up to you. Now go forth and make Georgia Tech proud.”

I sat stone-faced and rigid in my seat among the sea of jittery caps and gowns. I wanted this moment to be over, this day to be over. The thought of having to step in front of thousands of people, to hear my name, called over the loudspeaker for all the world to hear petrified me. If it was my choice, I would’ve skipped this event altogether and received my diploma in the mail, but my parents made this choice for me. Also, unlucky for me, my last name started with a W, so I had a good deal of time to marinade in my nervousness.

I glanced several rows ahead at Mo’s and Cassy’s distinct caps. There’s were both decorated on the top, Mo’s with Star Wars imagery, and Cassy’s with anime. My cap was decorated with Turing memorabilia and photos. The father of the Computer. I found it only fitting he represents my cap on this fabled day.

Twiddling my thumbs, my eyes darted around the gymnasium. There was no way I could pick out my parents in this sea of overly excited family members, besides, the only person I would want to pick out would be Mrs. Greenwald. I wished she could see this. I wished more than anything that she was still alive, that we could’ve remained friends, learned Mandarin, German, and the many other languages together. I wished we could’ve gone on more field trips, traveled the world, done everything. Now we’d never get the chance. Cancer took her from me. My last moment with her flashing in my mind...

It was a Friday, a chilly morning, ice crystallized on the sidewalk and grass, feigning an eerie shine as I trudged cautiously up the steps to Mrs. Greenwald’s house. I didn’t even knock on the door, I just entered, and stepped quietly up the stairs to her room. I knocked softly announcing my presence and walked in. Mrs. Greenwald was sitting upright in her bed, her papery pale skin clung to her bones, her eyes drooping and vapid.

“Good morning,” I murmured.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

I could tell today was not a good day. Mrs. Greenwald had succumbed to extensive radiation therapy for the last four months, as well as losing her breasts, and according to the doctors, it didn’t seem to be working. Her body was failing, buckling under the pressure from the radiation.

“Where is Jack?” I asked.

“He must be downstairs fixing breakfast,” she mumbled. “What are we going to learn today?” she asked, changing the subject with practiced ease, patting the place next to her.

I knew Jack wasn’t fixing breakfast, and if he was, it was only for himself. When I first met Jack, I envied his life. He had a wife who adored him, a wife who was intelligent, beautiful, ambitious, but as I got to know him, I saw a different side. Jack was lazy, often turning to video games instead of paying attention to her, and his life as a “writer,” well I had never seen or heard of him contributing in that regard. Did he not realize what was in front of him?

The burner under my skin ignited, and my blood began to boil.

“Dani, what is on the agenda for today?” Mrs. Greenwald rasped.

“I was going to read you my assignment, maybe discuss it?” I offered, pulling my computer from my bag.

“That sounds marvelous,” she choked, coughing loudly into her sleeve.

I studied her with apt silence. “You sure you’re up for it?”

She nodded, wheezing. My assignment, which was for poetry, was to choose a poem that spoke to me and write a paper on why. “I searched for hours for the perfect poem,” I hesitated, “This is what I found...” I began to read.

I do not want to have you

To fill the empty parts of me.

I want to be full on my own.

I want to be so complete

I could light a whole city

And then

I want to have you

Cause the two of us combined

Could set it on fire.

--Rupi Kaur

Mrs. Greenwald smiled, “That is lovely, truly, Dani. Now, why did you choose it?”

I swallowed, fumbling with the keys. “I, I don’t know.”

“Dani, you need to reach deeper, tap into your emotions, you can decipher them, try again,” she rasped hoarsely.

“I want to be full on my own. I was full on my own until I met you. You make me feel as if I could set the world on fire,” I exhaled. I could feel a tear well. Mrs. Greenwald reached for my hand.

“I need to tell you something,” she gasped. Her hand rested on my arm, it was like ice. I could see she held the weight of the world in her eyes.

“You have to promise me,” she labored, “Promise me that you will continue to be special, to be yourself. You’re a fighter, Danielle Watson.”

“I promise,” I mumbled, my heart oscillating.

“And one last thing,” she coughed, “I should’ve told you this a while ago,” she smiled briefly. “You can call me Annie.”

I looked down at my arm at the small black sparrow she had drawn on the letter that was now tattooed to my forearm. I thought she left it to remind me of my self-worth, to choose joy over pain.

“Annie,” I whispered.

Mrs. Greenwald, Annie, died the following morning. I was the last person outside of her pathetic husband she saw. Annie was my first and only friend, the first person with whom I ever cared to understand and to know, and life stripped her from me. Death took her when she didn’t deserve it. I could think of countless people that deserved to fall into death’s trap, but Annie wasn’t one of them.

After her funeral, Jack had given me a sealed envelope. Annie had written me a letter, a letter that I keep in my nightstand to this day. A letter I read almost nightly before I went to bed, or if I wanted to feel extra depressed. I had read the letter so many times I knew it by heart...

Dearest Dani,

I wanted to start off by saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of your life I will miss. I know your sadness will turn to anger and resentment, but don’t let it. I know there is a spark, a deep light you keep hidden from everyone.

I know over the past three years you have allowed me to witness it more than anyone, and for that I am truly grateful. You have quickly become my best friend and I want to thank you for allowing me to be your teacher, but more importantly, your friend. Between you and me I think I learned more from you, but I hope I could at least impart some of life’s curiosities and pleasures.

Life is more than being smarter than others, more than painting a pretty face or smile. Life is cruel, unfair, but most of all it should be cherished and lived.

Even though my life has been cut short, I want you to promise me one thing. You will continue to live for me. Live life to the fullest, love to the fullest, explore, create, fail, learn, but most of all, show who you are. You are an amazing person, Danielle Watson. Fill your cup, then light that city on fire.

All My Love,

Annie

My fingers grazed over the raised skin on my forearms, the scars from over a year of cutting, over a year trying to control the pain whilst trying to feel simultaneously. Annie’s death ignited something inside me, darkness, a void that could never be filled. I so desperately fought to be full on my own, to succeed, to be the best hacker, the most independent person, anything to escape the emptiness.

Now, I sit here in my cap and gown, graduating top of my class, with two friends, my virginity lost, a tattoo, scars, and a shield of armor as thick as the polar ice cap.

The students in front of me rose and I melted. It was time. We slowly filed closer to the stage, and the kids with the last name V moved one by one up the stage.

“Danielle Renee Watson, graduating with Bachelor’s Degrees in Computer Science and Scientific Engineering, Summa Cum Laude.”

This was it. I grabbed the railing to not fall, and marched in a trance across the stage. I grabbed my degree with my left hand and shook the man’s hand with my right. I gazed out front for the camera to flash and capture this moment. I could hear the faint whistles and screams of a few crazed voices. Diploma in hand, I walked hurriedly across the stage to my safe harbor. I had done it. The tassel now officially moved to the other side. I was among the graduates.

Filing back to my seat, I waited reluctantly for the last name to be called, the last butt to take their seat. “Well, that’s it, you are now alumni of Georgia Tech. Congratulations graduates!”

The voice rang loudly across the packed room. In unison, we all removed our caps and flung them high in the air, as if our cap could touch the place we aimed to soar.

“We did it,” Mo sauntered over to me beaming, his eyes teary with joy.

“We did,” I gazed at him, suddenly realizing that we would soon go our separate ways. My friend count would dwindle once again to zero.

Mo and I embraced, and as we held, another set of arms slammed into us. “Love you bunch of losers,” Cassy muttered.

“All for one and one for all, united we stand divided we fall,” Mo stammered emotionally, reciting our favorite Three Musketeers quote.

“Okay, okay, too much,” I joked. They both smirked as we released, knowing my disdain for touching and vulnerable moments.

“Shall we find our families?” They glanced at me.

“If we must,” I shrugged, following them through the mass of GT alumni.

Cassy found her family first, “Meet up with you guys later to properly celebrate?”

“Might have to be Monday for me, gang,” Mo shrugged, “My family will demand all my time this weekend.”

Cassy looked at me. “I’ll text you later, hopefully, I can dodge my parents soon.”

She nodded, and we all three parted ways.

“Oh, Danielle, I’m so proud of you!” a squealing voice erupted. Angela enveloped me in a giant hug. “Graduating top of her class, see Darrell, I told you my baby was bright, the smartest.”

“And who do you think she got that from,” Richard swooned, looking surprisingly bereft since the last time I saw him.

“Oh, stop it, I wouldn’t call wining and dining rich people smart,” Angela retorted. And here it goes, the bickering already started.

“How about I got my brains from myself,” I countered. Neither chose to argue with me.

“Well, where would the graduate like to eat?” Richard asked changing the subject.

The truth was I didn’t want to eat, I wanted to be as far away from this scenario as humanly possible, but I had to suck it up today. “Let’s go to the Varsity.”

Angela beamed, as did Darrell. The Varsity was a famous fast-food joint, notorious for their burgers, dogs, and fries. I had eaten there almost every other day during my freshman year at Georgia Tech until I learned there were other food groups one should aim to eat to not gain the freshman fifteen. I knew Annie wouldn’t approve. If she was here, she would lecture me on the importance of eating a properly balanced diet, so my massive brain wouldn’t implode on itself.

I shook my head and laughed silently. God, I wished she was here. If she was here, I would’ve told my parents to bugger off and Annie and I would be on the first flight to Paris. We would eat too much bread, cheese, drink too much wine. Speak only in French, and tour every museum, building, and tower Annie would want.

“Shall we all meet there?” Richard interceded loudly over the bustling of the crowd. It seemed everyone had the same idea to leave at the same time.

“I’ll just take the Marta,” I added.

“I think we all should, I doubt there will be any parking closer,” Angela glanced around looking for a pat on the back for her astute observation.

“The Marta it is,” Darrell grinned, “We can be like the city folk.”

I rolled my eyes, why couldn’t this weekend go any faster, and for the sake of time and to save you from my own insipid parents, I’ll share the abbreviated version. We went to the Varsity, had a rather forgettable late lunch. Darrell rattled on way too much about Nascar and football, Richard of his vague business trips and cruises in remote countries, Angela of her sick patients that she single-handedly saved. I would say almost all of the day was spent trapped in an ego-fest between two dueling sides as if I was to be impressed by any of it.

The truth was, I hacked into my moms’ computer and phone. She merely traded one incorrigible relationship for another, and my father, he was a mystery. I couldn’t get passed the ridiculous firewalls on his computer or encrypted cell. For a while I found this quite odd, but eventually lost interest in trying as we drifted even further apart. What exciting life could a lonely day trader have anyway?

After dinner finally ended, I took it upon myself to vacate the premises. Saying my goodbyes, I hopped on the Marta. I was free at last. Surely, I would have to meet them at some point tomorrow for a farewell breakfast, but now, I was finally alone. I couldn’t wait to get out of these clothes and to have a drink, or ten.

This day had brought up many raw emotions that I sought very hard to bury under miles and miles of dirt. Annie had always boasted that she would be there to see me graduate from an Ivy League school, top of my class, with job offers lined out the door. That I would have traveled with her to Italy and France to actually speak the language in the countries, to see the Eiffel tower, the Great Wall, the history and the culture of the world. Looking back on it now, Annie needed me as much as I needed her.

I yanked my apartment door open and headed straight for the kitchen. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey in my freezer and hurriedly unscrewed the top and chugged. The icy liquid burned my throat as it went down. Wincing, I took another long gulp.

Moving to my room, I turned on the speaker and cranked the volume to Coldplay. Staring at the walls with contempt, my eyes landed on the black and white photographs hung over my bed and around the room. They were Annie’s. The day she died and the night I went back to her home after the funeral I took them. They were the last remaining memories of her, my only lifeline to her confidence, her warmth.

I took another massive sip of whiskey and gazed deeply into the photograph of a snowy mountainside in France. I wished more than anything that I was on a plane right now headed for France with Annie, hell, anywhere but here with her.

I rest my forehead on the wall, tapping it lightly and then harder. I hated the world for taking her from me, but more than anything, I hated myself for caring so much. What a bloody idiot.

I drank more, attempting to outdrink and outpace my feelings. My hand against the wall, I stumbled to the nightstand. Opening the drawer, I pulled out the single white sheet of paper. Annie’s letter. I gazed foggily at her writing. I knew she hand wrote it, so I would never forget it, and I never had. A tear welled and threatened to join the other splash marks already tattooed to the paper. I threw the letter down into the dark drawer and rose.

I took another massive gulp of whiskey and stumbled backwards slightly. Turning, I fumbled my way to the bathroom. Igniting the hot water, I stripped down and stepped into the steaming cocoon.

“Oops,” I mumbled chuckling. I reached behind the shower curtain, clutching the whiskey bottle as if she was my long-lost friend. “Didn’t mean to forget about you,” I fumbled, taking another long drag.I calculated that in approximately thirty minutes I would be comatose or blacked out, hopefully skipping the puking portion of binge drinking.

I closed my eyes as the water poured down my face. Annie’s familiar wide grin etched into the back of my eyelids like a haunted ghost. “Go away,” I moaned. “Go away.” I could feel hot tears pressing from the corners of my eyes. What was happening?

I sunk down into the tub, still holding the bottle, sitting as the scalding water hit the top of my head and back. I couldn’t move. The sounds of alternative rock danced its way through the walls and open door, drowning out my senses, the whiskey overwhelming my sorrows. At this moment, in this space, my emotions surfaced and they did in the form of white-hot tears. Why wasn’t she still alive? Why wasn’t she here? Why wasn’t Annie my mother instead? My fist hit the porcelain tub. I growled. My sudden burst of sadness morphed into molten anger.

The whiskey was beginning to take hold.Jack. I whispered. That waste of space. I dug my nails into the rim of the tub. I couldn’t believe that he was her husband, that she chose him, that loser. Sure, he had money, but what else? My brain fogged as the whiskey seeped into its pores, causing my neuron circuit board to shift direction.

Suddenly, I was at Annie’s house. It was dark, early morning. I had slipped through the upstairs window unnoticed. The faint indent of her body remained on the mattress, but she wasn’t there. Annie had died three nights prior, and the funeral had just been held. A wave of anger and emptiness like I had never experienced took over me upon her death. I blamed Jack. Even though it wasn’t his fault, I still blamed him. He could’ve taken better care of her, fulfilled her dreams, her desires, instead of sitting on that fucking couch playing video games and claiming to be a “writer”.

My mind focused again.

This time, I was walking silently down the stairs, searching. My vision was cloudy, my brain foggy. My hands gripped tight, too tight, too long, then I was running, my gloved hands raising the window, and slipping into the darkness...

Clap.

I startled. What was that? I pushed up feebly, successfully drunk at this stage, and clumsily hoisted my naked wet body up. I spun the nozzle (in the wrong direction might I add) scalding my shoulder. “Christ!” I was too drunk for this. The water finally off, I listened intently, but all I could hear was my speaker.

Stepping out of the shower, I toweled myself off gingerly and tiptoed into my bedroom. No creepy man sitting on my bed thank God. I turned off my speaker, the silence filling the apartment, and I suddenly realized how alone I was, how dark it had gotten.

I grabbed the largest, deadliest object I could find, which happened to be my Swiffer broom and clutched it tight. I moved quietly through the bedroom door to the small kitchen area. The room was dark and exposed.

Thunk.

“Shit!” I wailed, rubbing my knee as I drunkenly rammed the kitchen counter. “Where is the stupid light,” I moaned, fumbling with my fingers across the wall. “Got it.” The light flicked on, but my world went black.

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