Black Rose

Monday

(PICTURE OF JORDON ON THE SIDE!!!)

Monday

I dream about that day all the time.

I was in the middle of replaying when Jeanette's hands touched my lips, when my mother's voice interrupted my sweet dreams.

"Daniel Lewis, if you don't get up and kiss me goodbye, you'll be sorry!" My mom was calling me from somewhere downstairs. I groaned as I forced myself out of bed. I traveled down the stairs and walked right into my waiting mother's arms. She smelled like cucumber melons. I love my mom.

She had short black hair with little gray strands here and there, a soft face with wrinkles on the edge of her eyes and nose, and green eyes that could see right through my soul. I kissed her rosy cheek and she smiled.

"I'll miss you Danny. Keep yourself safe this week, alright?"

I rolled my eyes and draped my arm around her shoulder, "Mom, you'll be gone for six days! I'm seventeen! I can take care of myself. You and dad go have a good time."

I yawned and scratched my head. My breath probably wasn't smelling the greatest at the moment and I wanted to hurry up and get to school. Jeanette would be there.

Dad came into the room and joined mom and me at the stairs. I stared my dad into his eyes. He was like the mirror image of me. Except three times older. Same hair, same eyes, same face. He even had the same physique as me except a few pouches of elderly fat in a couple of places. It was kind of nice to know what you were going to look like in twenty years. "Be good son. No parties and no girls."

"Especially no girls. I know what you do on weekends Danny," mom interjected. I gave her my most innocent look and she sucked her teeth.

"Common Patricia, lets leave the boy alone. We'll miss our flight."

"I mean it Daniel, stay out of trouble. I don't want to hear any reports when I get back, alright?" mom added. She blew me a kiss and dad waved as they walked out the front door. I ran upstairs to my room's bathroom and reached for the extra minty toothpaste. I had to pretty myself up, for my girl Jeanette.

* * *

My Spanish class was right across the hall from Jeanette's study hall. I could barely pay attention to Mrs. Jaramillo's words, as I watched the clock tic tock. I was drawing a black rose on a blank piece of paper I found in my binder. The sharpie I was using didn't do the rose any justice, but I decided that it was decent enough. I always drew pointless pictures when I was bored. And I was ridiculously bored hearing Mrs. Jaramillo rant on about verb conjugations and Spain, (seriously, she was obsessed with that country. I've never met a teacher who could venture so far off topic if you mentioned food, or even trains. She'd always begin her pointless speeches with, "when I was in Spain..." and continue on relentlessly like we all cared).

I was waiting for it to be 11:45 a.m., which was the beginning of lunch hour. The time period when Jeanette and her girls eat out by the old Ford truck that has been crusting away in the school's parking lot since 1977. I think they kept that truck there because it's part of some old prank a freshman pulled back then. Something about being stuck? Ugh, who cares! I just want to be free so I can finally make a move on Jeanette. I looked out of one of the class windows, and groaned when I saw dead grass.

It's the middle of January and we have yet to have snowfall. I love snow. And although this might sound gay (no offense), I think its really beautiful. Sometimes I could just sit in front of a window and watch the snow fall, like little white angels. I like the little cold kisses of snowflakes as they fall on my bare skin (no homo). I used to tell girls that and they would "Aw" saying that I was so romantic or sensitive. I once tried telling my friend, oh my bad, my ex-friend Jordon about this connection I had with snow, and he laughed until he practically pissed his pants.