Live Your Life: Rose

"Rose, did you know that Angie isn't going to college?" Grandma asks. She's washing greens in the kitchen sink.

A spoonful of cereal halts before reaching my mouth. I'm now wide awake. "What? No."

Her head snaps when I lie, like she's surprised with me.

"Yes."

"It was a rhetorical question, she already said that she told you."

"Oh." I eat slowly, knowing where this conversation is headed.

"Well, I hope she'll go one day," she says, returning to her greens. "Her mother loved education, as reckless as that girl could be." She chuckles warmly. "It's amazing how much you're both like them. I still don't understand it. They were inseparable."

I cut to the chase. "Granny...I'm not staying local."

She sighs, flicking water from her hands before drying them on a dish towel. She leans against the counter, looking at me. "I know. I wasn't going to tell you to stay." Her face creases into a frown. "I was going to say that you're not them."

Whatever thought I had leaves my mind. Did I hear that right?

"I know that I've seen you two as your mother's, but you're yourselves, and I'm sorry." She takes a deep breath, steadying her voice. There's pain and guilt in her words. "Angie can take care of herself. She'll have to, and you have to take care of yourself." Before she can finish, fast tears roll down her cheeks. She pats them away.

Granny's never been one to cry in front of us, and has always seemed unbreakable. I leave the barstool, wrapping my arms around her.

I don't bother hiding my tears. "You did great, granny."

She squeezes me tighter.

I want her to know that I truly understand. That I don't blame her anymore. "Thank you. For everything."

We pull away, and she regains her composure. Her cheeks round up into a smile. She puts my hands into hers, and I run my thumbs across her soft knuckles.

"You girls gave me something to hold onto. So, don't thank me." She lifts a hand to my freckled cheek. "Live your life, Rose."

She's been like a mom and dad to me, but if I tell her that now, we'll be crying for hours. I'll tell her one day, though. "I love you, granny."

She says that she loves me too, and gives me one last hug before returning to her greens. I slurp down my cereal, and put my dishes into the washer.

"Oh. And, Rose?"

I stop on the first step.

She doesn't look away from the sink. "Now, you can stop studying all night with that boy."

My eyes bulge, and I'm thankful that she can't see my expression. "I hang with Matt and Penny, too."

"I figured as much. Are those two dating yet?"

My jaw drops to the floor. She knows about that too?

"No. Not yet."

She shakes her head, still laughing. I fly up the stairs, and bury myself in the room.

That woman and her secrets.

In the hot shower water patters against my scalp. I change into an oversized red shirt and shorts, something comfortable to lounge in. My soaking hair dips to my hips until I style my curls. They shrink and poof above my naval per usual.

I lay in bed with my headphones connected to my laptop. Ben's CD drifts me to the land of jazz. There, I see the greats tear up the stage, leaving the crowd wanting more.

Sam Cooke plays the guitar on my heart strings, Jill Scott beats the dust off of my eardrums, and Lewis Armstrong blows his horn clean smooth into my lungs. The adventure ends when my phone buzzes. It's Ben.

I answer his call. "Hey."

"Are you busy right now?"

I sit up. "No, what's wrong?"

"It's a lot to explain. I hate to do this to you."

"Where are you? I'll meet you there."

"At my house. Thanks, I'll call an Uber."

He clicks off, leaving my mind to wonder. I rush out of the house when the Uber pulls up. A woman in her mid twenties smiles from the drivers seat. Her hair is dyed green, and she's loaded with tattoos and piercings.

"I'm Cindy," she says, readjusting the air. "You don't look like a Ben."

"My boyfriend called the Uber for me."

The corners of her mouth tug down. She nods. "You guys had a fight?"

My head draws back at her invasive question. For some reason I decide to answer anyway. "Ummm, no. The Uber is to his place."

"Oh, he doesn't have a car?"

I chuckle in disbelief.

"I was wondering when you'd catch on. I'm just messing with you."

"Well, you got me."

She shrugs. "Gotta have some kind of fun. I'm new here, just moved from Cali. I'm originally from Arkansas, though."

I wouldn't have been able to tell. Her voice is light and airy like she grew up around beaches, not deserts and mountains.

"I've never driven to this neighborhood before. Is it nice?"

"Very. How was Cali?"

She tells me about how she went to college in LA to become a makeup artist. She was doing good until her roommate got herself locked up from a bar fight. She couldn't make the rent on her own, and got evicted.

"Long story short, I figured that if I have to start over, I may as well see the world while I'm at it."

"Small town girl?"

"You know it." She smiles. "You could listen to one song on the radio, and miss my town if you weren't looking for it."

She looks at me in the rear view mirror. Her hooded brown eyes clash with her green hair.

"What about you? You look like you're still in high school, what do you have planned? And please tell me that you're not going to bank on the boyfriend. Been there, done that, and it ain't pretty." She shivers at her own warning.

I laugh. "No. We're trying to go to college together, but if it doesn't happen then we'll go from there. I'm debating my majors."

"Whatcha thinking about?"

"Nursing or photography."

"Ooooh, you're one of those," she says, decidedly. "Listen. People like you know what they want, they're just too scared to go for it."

My brows raise as she makes a turn.

"Look at me. My plans didn't work out, but it didn't kill me. The world won't end if you screw up, I promise. You'll just learn, and do better next time. Like for instance, I know not to rely on other people for my rent now. Lesson learned."

She's carefree with a dash of wisdom. It's refreshing.

"If taking photos doesn't pay the bills, then oh well. There's always something else, and at least you tried."

I think about this for a moment. "Thank you. And, Cindy?"

"Yeah?"

"You missed your turn."

"Ooops!" She ducks her head, wincing at the mistake. The car turns around, and she searches for the neighborhood.

"Turn here, and it'll be a gated community."

"He lives here?" Her eyes bulge when we pull up.

She tells the guards that she's an Uber driver, and they ring up Ben's house. Once he answers they let us through.

We drive past massive houses. Palm trees fill pristine yards, and folks in luxury athletic wear jog with their dogs. The rare times that I exercise, I'll throw on an old shirt and basketball shorts. Everything is different here.

When Cindy drops me off, I feel strange waving goodbye. Can you meet someone and tell right away that you'd be good friends? Maybe I'm too easily attached.

I knock on the huge wooden door, and he lets me in.

Hey," I say.

He pulls me into a hug.

I look up in his embrace. "What's wrong?"

He smiles for me, but I know better. Silently, he takes my hand, leading me up the marble staircase. We're on the opposite side of the hallway from his room.

He talks low. "My mom had another one of her breakdowns." He cracks open a door. "I'm coming in Ma," he says. After a pause he pushes it open.

She lays on the floor beside her bed in a long silk night gown. She's massaging her knee. My guess is that it's the one she injured. The one that ended her ballet career.

She looks like a ballerina, tall and slender. Her face is magazine worthy. Plump lips, round brown eyes, and unblemished ebony skin. She looks airbrushed.

"What's this?" She talks around me as if I'm not standing here.

Her and her husband's icy demeanors is what takes away their appeal. Their good looks and luxurious assets lose their charm after a conversation.

"I just came back to check on you. We'll be in my room."

"So she can trap you with a baby, and own half of this," she says, gesturing to the immaculate room. "Don't be a fool, Ben."

I stare at the floor.

"A baby? We were thinking more like five."

She shakes her head at his distasteful humor. "Careful, I'm still your mother."

He sighs. "Believe me, I know."

He's about to shut the door until I stop him. He's confused, but steps aside. I walk into the spacious room, standing beside her.

"You really did ballet?"

She's surprised by my question. Her eyes study me. After a moment her face softens a bit.

I continue. "Was that always your dream?"

She seems like she's deciding on whether or not to answer. "I really did," she says, finally.

Ben leans on the door, folding his arms and watching curiously.

She hesitates again before speaking. "I've wanted to dance since I was three. My family's very country, and couldn't understand me. I would do everything that they did, but with a poshness that made me stick out." She continues to massage her knee. "My mom loved that I wanted to dance. She signed me up right away."

I sit on the cold marble floor. "And you made it big?"

She whistles, cracking a smile. She resembles her mother. "You couldn't keep my name out of the papers!" She transports back into the good old days. "I was the star in all of the big shows downtown, until I got a job offer in Houston. I danced alongside Lauren Anderson, and many of the greats during that time. Moved to New York when the spotlight kept calling me, and made friends with Gen Horiuchi, and others alike."

"And then you got hurt?" I ask.

The air thickens, and tensions linger.

She frowns, but answers. "Yes. I've always been posh, I remind you." She sighs. "I did everything they did, but in my own way. They rode their horses on the trails, and I rode mine at the stables. A horse threw me off of my dreams, and now I can't pursue my passion. I can't do the one thing that I long for." There's a crack in her voice.

I put myself in her shoes. Would I be able to be happy? "I've been afraid to do photography, because I don't want to fail. But after hearing your story, I think it'd be worse to never have done it at all."

Her eyes never leave mine.

"Many people don't get to live their passions, let alone excel at them. You lived it, you succeeded, and things didn't go your way." I shrug, remembering Cindy's speech. "So, you brush yourself off and move on. Find something new to excel at. A woman like you is no doubt good at many things."

Her long gaze makes me nervous. Me and my big mouth just had to keep talking.

She smooths out her night gown, and asks Ben to help her to her feet. I'm certain that it's so she can slam the door on us properly.

We're both surprised when she hugs him instead. She rests her head in his neck, whispering something that I can't make out. He grins, flexing those handsome smile lines.

"You need to leave," she says, patting his back before shooing us out of the door. Before we can protest, she holds a slender finger to her plump lips. "I've got to get dressed for the day, I can't be seen in my nightgown."

He tilts his head. "You're going...outside?"

She corrects him. "We are. I want to see what you like to see, go where you like to go." She gives me a wink before closing the door.

We stand unmoving for a moment, then go back downstairs. I nudge him when I'm sure that she can't hear us. He leans in closer.

"What did she say to you?"

"Some stuff," he says, vaguely. "But she also said that she likes you."

I'm stunned and flattered all the same.

She comes down wearing a black jumpsuit with dark shades. On her head sits a large tan hat with a black bow wrapped around it. If class had a picture next to it in the dictionary, it would be of her in this outfit.

We take her to the art museum to see her portrait. She's nervous when we step inside, but he calms her down. This is her first time out in a while from my understanding. I'm too afraid to ask just how long.

She secures a hold on his arm, and we walk her to the painting. She can't believe it.

She gasps, placing a hand over her mouth. "I remember this." Her watery eyes examine the artwork. She slowly turns to Ben. "You have a gift. I'm sorry that I never looked at your work."

Surprise flashes behind his eyes. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." She wipes away tears with the back of her hand. "But, I'm going to make it up to you. I promise."

Before I can step away to give them space, she has my arm.

"You said that you like photography?"

I grin. "Yes."

"May I see your favorite one?"

We walk around, selecting pieces that we love. She has nice taste, and smiles when Ben says that he'll teach her how to paint if she'd like. We tell stories about the pictures again, and she quickly catches onto the game.

She tells a story from a floral painting, saying that an old woman's husband gave her the flower before passing away. He told his wife that as long as she didn't let the flower die neither would their love. She waters it everyday to pay her respects. We tell many more until our stomachs growl, then leave to eat downtown.

Ben drops me off when it's well past dark, telling me that she hasn't been to a restaurant in years.

"Thank you," he says, giving me a goodnight kiss on my porch steps.