Greyscale Angel

Six Yellow Roses

To:    am21@mrgoogle.com

I'm so happy to hear about the rose. Can I tell you a secret? I haven't done it yet. I better do it before I'm branded by hypocrisy. Happy tea time... :)

I pressed the send button, but soon after, was overcome by a feeling of regret. The email was too personal. Wasn't it?... It's too late now. Anyways, I always try and go with my first instinct because over thinking means complication. I should be glad for the involved response though, it's flattering alhamdulillah. I received a response soon after.

To: greyscaleangel@drnyc.co.za

It certainly doesn't make you a hypocrite. I hope you do it though. It's a cool experience, at least mine was. I hope to hear about yours soon, if you care to share.

There was no way in heaven's name that I was going to talk to a stranger about my personal life! But maybe that's the point? That this person is a stranger. No explanations necessary, no responsibilities or obligations. So simple. I liked the idea of simple.

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and I decided to take a walk around the city. I walked through central park and found an empty bench in the most quiet section of the park. I sat down and pulled out my copy of A Thousand Splendid Suns that I had packed into my bag. I've read this particular novel around 11 times but could never quite get enough. Each time I read it, I felt a new sense of liberation. I was deep into the book when I heard the squeaking of wheels in the distance. I looked up to find a man steering a flower trolley on the paving. I often saw these mobile flower shops but never really had a reason to take heed. Not until now, that is. I practically sprinted across the park, almost tripping in the process. I came to an abrupt halt right in front of the man's trolley, almost sending him into a cardiac arrest! Once a caught my breath, I  quickly apologised and asked to purchase the bunch of 6 yellow roses that sat square in the front of the trolley. Partially because the choice was limited and partially because they matched the warmth of the day. (Closet romantic? Maybe I was). Once the man handed me the roses, I plucked one out of the bunch and handed it to the man, remembering the email I had received. He gave me a confused look followed by a look of disbelief and finally gratitude. I smiled in return before walking away with my 5 remaining roses. I walked back to my (thankfully) still empty bench and continued reading. I was further than halfway through the book, my heart breaking a little more with each turning page. Bump! Something banged into my side. It was a plastic inflated ball, but the impact still stung. I picked the ball up and scanned the area for the owner. At first, I saw no one, not at the level I was looking at anyways. In the next moment, I felt a tugging at my sky blue maxi dress. I looked down to find a child of around 5 or 6 years of age. He had sandy brown hair which swept across his forehead in an adorably messy manner. He looked up at me with watery eyes and said, "You has my bouncing ball." I couldn't help but smile. "Aw I'm sorry, here you go little guy," I said as I handed him the ball, which was almost half of his size. It took him 3 attempts to successfully hook the ball under his arm, gripping on for dear life. He gave a great big laugh, so infectious, I couldn't help but join in. "Where's your mum hun?" I asked, concerned. "My uncle is thereeee..." he squealed as he pointed in the opposite direction to the bench. Far in the distance I could see a blurry figure approaching us. (Thank you terrible eye sight). All I could really make out was the same sandy hair shining to the sunlight. I turned back to the little boy and handed him one of my roses. He took it eagerly but said, "this aren't mine. Only the ball is mine." I sat down on my knees so that I wasn't talking down to him, "Now this yours too okay? Now go on back to your uncle." I could hear the man behind yelling something to the effect of "Rayhaan" , perhaps it was the adorable little boy's name. The child began running to him. Still uncomfortable with strangers, I packed my things up and started walking in the opposite direction.

The little boy lingered in my mind for the longest time. Children have such an infectious innocence about them, it breaks your heart for lack of your own innocence, yet lights you up with pure joy.

I gave one rose to the doorman at my building and one to the sweet old lady who lived next door. I had never really communicated with them which definitely qualified them as strangers. Untainted intentions. The final rose, I kept for myself. My heart was just so infatuated by the floral delicacy that I couldn't part with it. I loved the idea of flowers as a gift and just because I had no one to but them for me, who says I couldn't buy them for myself? I'm sure it was equally as thrilling. I placed my rose on my bed and took a moment to admire the yellow against the ice white sheets. I had forgotten my phone in my apartment and surely enough, found a missed call upon checking.

Guilty, guilty, guilty

I quickly pressed the dial button and this time (to my dismay) there was an immediate answer.

"Hello?" He answered.
"Um salaam. I'm so sorry I missed your call... again."
"Wasalaam. That's um okay. I missed yours too... I really feel we should meet. I wouldn't want to delay these things. It isn't right... right? What do you think?"
"Um sure... what did you have in mind?"
"Well... how about coffee tonight? I mean only if you would like to?"
Awkward silence again...
"Okay... so The Coffee House. 7pm?"
"Perfect, I'll see you there. I'm wearing a blue jeans and an Arsenal T-shirt. "
"Okay..."
"Okay..."
I hung up.

I was really dreading this moment. Band aid moment, rip it off fast...
Ya Allah give me strength to be a pleasant person tonight... Please....