31 Days of Halloween

Gladys and the Roses

Downtown, at police headquarters, eighty-two-year-old Gladys Miller smiled at the officer who was young enough to be her great-grandson. He watched her for a moment before speaking.

"Mrs. Miller, I have to ask you a few questions," he said.

"Of course, Dear. Ask me anything," she replied. Her mouth always upturned in a perpetual smile. She was a happy woman.

"I need you to tell me about your garden, Mrs. Miller."

"My garden? Why son, is it a crime now to have a prize-winnin' garden?" Dubious of his question, she eyed him suspiciously.

"Well, no, but your garden has fallen under some scrutiny as of late, and I'd rather speak to you about it first."

"Under some scrutiny, you say? Scrutiny from those jealous ol' bats who couldn't grow an award-winnin' rose if their life depended on it? That's where the scrutiny comes from. Hateful, petty things they are. What you want to know about my garden?"

"Tell me a little about your roses, see, unlike you, my horticulture experience is slim. Not only can we appease those complaining, but I might learn a thing or two about roses," he smiled.

"You just sit back, and I'll tell you why they are jealous, why they are doing this, because child, they been doin' it for decades."

Hitting play on the recorder, he leaned back in his chair and let her talk.

It was nineteen seventy-nine, and I asked my husband for my very first rose bush. Planted it outside under the kitchen window, I did. Nothin' fancy mind you, just your run of the mill red rose, but I tended it, and nurtured it, fed it, and let it grow. Oh, it grew alright and had a good number of blooms, but it wasn't what I wanted. See, I wanted to grow me some of them award-winnin' hybrid roses I'd seen in the 'Better Homes and Gardens' magazine. You know, like the ones out at the ol' county fair building each year. Those were the roses I wanted.

I read and read, learned me everything I could about growin' roses. How to have the perfect soil, how much to feed them, what to feed them, some books even said talkin' to 'em would make 'em grow bigger. Nothin' seemed to work for me. That's about when I started to thinkin' I just didn't have this green thumb everyone talked about. But, I'm not a quitter now, and I wasn't a quitter way back then. Took myself down to the nursery and started lookin' at some different types of roses. Now mind you, I had learned a great deal about roses since that first bush, so I was prepared. When they started talkin' all technical like about it, I knew what they meant. I bought my first hybrid breed that day and took it home to get ready to plant it.

That was 'bout the time my husband Ronald took off with that ol' Betty Lou from town. They left together and no one done saw them again.

"You might be too young to remember that, Sonny."

"Yes Ma'am, I don't remember when it happened, but it's still a cold case around here. Never did find them or hear from them if I recall."

"That's right. Well, it ain't no matter now, if they are together they surely deserve each other. You don't walk out on your wife for somethin' like Betty Lou. Anywho, let me continue about that garden."

Had me a couple days to get the ground ready, tilled up the small area, worked it up real good. Added me in some of the particular rose food they said I would need, and my fertilizer mix I made at home. Mixed that all up and let it sit for the rest of the day, then watered it nice and wet. Planted that bush in that dirt, which I should say was fairly right next to the first rose bush, and let it grow. Tended it ever' day. Waterin' it just right, added a lil' fertilizer here and there, and mostly sat there on the ground under the hot summer sun and talked to it. Yes, that's right, I talked to it. People called me crazy, I didn' pay them no mind, after all, they weren' goin to have them no prize-winnin' roses one day, like me.