Blue Rose

Chapter three: Step by step

Living with someone is a strange feeling, as I learn the next day with my first uncertain "good morning". Although yesterday's night still haunts my thoughts, the strongest emotions have already subsided and now, as does Rose, I have to face our new reality, along with the enormity of changes that have taken place in our lives in just those few memorable hours.

I regret nothing.

Neither does she.

But still... the subtle occurences, like our fingers meeting when we reach for the same object, and us awkwardly squeezing by eachother in the doorways, and the small habits of the other person, which we hadn't known before... there are so many little things for which our short, everyday meetings couldn't have prepared me in any way. Our first days together are full of trials and errors, and the gradual finding and testing of certain boundaries that I encounter for the very first time. However, soon I start to notice other things, such as how her morning and evening smiles, although a bit different,are still similar to those that I saw on our bridge... how I find peace in the sounds of someone's footsteps in the next room whenever the black thoughts come back, and I feel like I'm drowning... Slowly, the need to analyze everything disappears, and I... realize that although it is indeed new and strange... this situation is not unpleasant. Although there are still many things that are difficult for both of us to get used to, someone's presence, the awareness that there is always someone nearby... all of this is soothing in some strange way. I hadn't known it before - I had gotten used to loneliness.

But of course, it doesn't stop at Rose just being here - no... I've already learned that it's not her way to simply live here. Not only does she effortfully continue everything that she has been doing for me already, but now she goes a step further. Every day she makes sure I eat and sleep regularly, and it's thanks to this that my body is slowly returning to its previous state. More and more often, I join her in the kitchen, where her calloused hands guide my movements as I knead the dough for bread, which I usually would just simply buy, while I explain to her how to prepare foreign dishes, which she hadn't heard of before and tell her about products which she previously couldn't have afforded. In this room fragrant with newly purchased spices, food begins to have taste again.

I don't forget about my promise, and every day I try to somehow repay Rose for what she's doing. I make sure that she has everything she needs - because I know that she won't ask for anything herself - I look for new ways of communicating with her, memorize certain gestures, and learn more about her and her past... about loving parents who left too early and later years in her uncle's house.

One day, remembering the care and tenderness with which Rose's fingers had stroked the delicate petals of the roses, I bring flowers to my home. Though the roses are the first thing that comes to my mind- after all, all this had started with them-, in the end I decide on a modest bouquet of heathers, which I leave in one of the main rooms, suddenly having no courage to hand it over to her personally. It's not until later, when I find Rose arranging the flowers in a vase with immense care, that I recollect myself. And so, when the heathers fade, I buy more of them. And then more. Small bouquets of white and pink carnations with ragged petals, elegant, graceful irises and sometimes joyfully red poppies... small gifts and also short messages, that I know we both can read, bloom every day in the opera's basement.*

However, this is not the only change in my home.

The very next day after arriving here, Rose begins to work on restoring this place to normality. And soon... I start to help her. Initially, I do it without much enthusiasm. However, with each destroyed element returning to its place or a new one replacing the old one, I lose myself more and more in this work. At times, I feel something akin to peace and fulfillment coming back to me...

I had forgotten what it is like to have a goal that you want to achieve.

The work allows me to occupy not only the hands, but also the mind, and so I forget for a moment about that which overwhelms me all the time... although not always. Sometimes it's the other way around. Some things still carry too many memories. Drawings of Christine, descriptions of our lessons, songs I composed for her, Don Juan's costume, instruments that I still can't touch, although I have forced myself to tune them... too much, sometimes it's just too much. Therefore, I am grateful when Rose begins to deal with all the more... personal objects, freeing me of this obligation. I wouldn't let anyone else touch them, but she's different. Rose respects my privacy, never tries to find out more about what she finds, doesn't show me anything, doesn't demand answers... It's always like that.

Except for one day when she finds a certain page.

- - - X - - -

I am repairing a broken leg of the table, when I feel a gentle touch of a hand on my arm. I turn to Rose, who is standing behind me and glancing uncertainly between me and a sheet of paper in her hands, as if wondering whether she is doing the right thing. Without a word, I approach her and take the page in my hand.

Music notes.

Those are music notes.

And I don't have to look at the title nor the date written in the corner, which Rose was so interested in, to know which piece it is. Even though twelve years have passed, I still easily recognize this melody.

''Yes... Red Rose... A violin piece. I wrote it after our first meeting,'' I say quietly, handing the sheet of paper back to her.

The girl's violet eyes widen in delight. Without any explanation, Rose turns around and runs out of the room. I want to call her, but before I can get my voice out, she is standing in front of me again. She's holding my violin to her chest. I know what she's implying. But I can't play anymore.

"No," I say, shaking my head, feeling a strange tightness in my chest.

But Rose doesn't pay any attention to my answer. She gently opens my clenched fists to put a string and a violin in them. Then, she doesn't let go of my hands.

''Rose ... I can't...'' my voice sounds more like a groan.

The girl gently strokes my hand in a calming gesture, then takes two steps back and looks at me expectantly.

I slowly raise the violin and take the right position. I gently move the bow across the strings.

The first sound that I manage to extract is piercing and harsh, it hurts my ears. It is more like a grind, a scream, and not something that a violin should make. Almost as if the instrument itself was opposing my touch with a cry.

I look at Rose, but she just gestures for me to keep going. Doesn't she see that there's no point in that?

The second sound is less penetrating, less painful, but it still makes me wince. In the third there's certain... softness, although deeply hidden and barely audible. Regardless, it encourages me to continue. My next movements are more certain, my hands stop shaking. The roughness slowly fades away, giving way to something sweeter, and a melody breaks out from the grinding and screeching. I close my eyes and let her lead me to what I've forgotten. And soon it's not noise that echoes among the stone walls, but peaceful, lullaby-like music. Delicate, but clear and pure.

When the song ends, and the last notes melt in silence, I hear an applause. I open my eyes and look at Rose's face.

And... for the first time I smile as well.

* heather - constancy, faithfulness, protection, sometimes also loneliness
white carnation - pure feelings, pink - promise to never forget about the recipient
iris - trust
poppy - consolation, support