I felt a jolt of anger, and then decided anger was too much emotion. “Screw you,” I spat out, my fingers forming a fist. (But I didn’t say screw – I said the much stronger word.) If I just hit this jerk in the middle of the BX, it would all be over. Yeah, a great way to go out, I thought. Worth it, totally.
Jonah, where are my roses? I heard again.
“What?” I demanded.
“Huh?” Danno asked, clearly confused.
“Oh, uh, I thought you just said…” Rachel was determined to drive me to the insane asylum.
“I said,” he leaned in close. “You’re done soon, Bro. One slip and it’s all over.”
“It’s already over, asshole,” I grunted.
“What did you say?” He leaned in closer, as if he couldn’t believe my level of apathy.
“I said I’m late for church. If you’ll excuse me, Sir.”
I brushed past him, determined to get this quest over with so I could find peace.
2
I circled the BX three times, no roses. Finding someone in a blue vest, I decided to just ask.
“Roses?” she repeated with a squint.
“There was a florist here once, where’d it go?”
She shook her head. “Not anymore. You could
try the commissary, but they’ve downsized it as well. You can still find cartons of tax-free Camels, but not really flowers and such.”
“Thanks,” I said, heading toward the exit. It looked like I’d be Ubering off base. I had no choice – roses seemed to be the only thing between me and complete insanity.
Deciding to grab a bottle of whisky while I was there, I stumbled upon a small vendor stall. And then I froze.
Roses for Rachel. There was my sign, clear as day.
My entire body shook – and not from chronic dehydration. It was one of those little felt signs where you stick plastic letters into it, and it said Roses for Rachel, $25 each.
Behind a small table, she sat.
I didn’t even speak – I just stared at her. She was tiny, maybe four-foot-eleven, max. Her lean hand held a pair of pliers, and her tongue poked out over her pink lips as she worked. She was crafting copper roses – the most exquisite things I’d ever seen. They were feminine, beautiful, and infinitely strong – just like Rachel. And, I somehow knew, just like their freckled-face creator.
It took several minutes for her to look up at me. A great salesperson she wasn’t.
I was lost in her pale hazel eyes. Her hair was just shy of auburn with a wild wave to it, and she wore no makeup. When she smiled up at me, I knew I’d never be the same.
“Oh sorry, Sir, I uh, get sort of preoccupied sometimes. Can I help you?”
Yes, you can, the voice said. Her voice – Rachel’s voice. I felt my knees go weak.
“Rachel,” I said, barely able to get the word out. I pointed to her sign.
She raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment. “Oh,” she chirped, standing up and gesturing toward the small sign. “My mother-in-law, Rachel Green. Everything I do is for her.”
We stared at each other in awkward silence until I finally reached for one of the roses. “I usually get her yellow.”
“Oh, these are just copper colored. Not really anything I can make yellow…”