the roses of life

roses

People try to find the beauty in death, like when they say a wilting rose will bloom into a whole bush come springtime, but people are not roses, and my mother is dead. She died when I was 12 years old from cancer of some kind and I'm 16 now so it's been a while. My earliest memory of her was sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing my tired eyes because it was 7 am and I was six. The sunlight peeking through our screen door and windows warmed up my face as I struggled to keep my head up. My mother placed a six stack of chocolate chip pancakes in front of me, something my father would kill her for doing; but it was amazing and I slept all day because my stomach felt like it might burst.

Now there are no more pancakes to wake to and people are not roses, and my mom is still dead. I wake up at 7 am now to go to my father's job. He owns a paper delivery company and I get to deliver morning newspapers on my skateboard. He says how much of a big help I am but I feel utterly useless laying in my bed every morning waiting for the stone legs to pull me out of bed. I've memorized all the cracks in my pale ceiling, there are rubber glows in the dark stars that barely glow anymore but are stuck to my ceiling like cement.

I wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger, flying as high as I could to get away from this stupid planet. Now, I will probably just inherit my father's delivery company, lucky me. I finally took a deep breath and dragged myself out of bed, the soft carpet squished between my toes like mashed potatoes. I walked over to my worn dresser, stepping on dirty underwear and shirts as I pulled out my work shirt. It was just a grey-blue button up with our logo on the left shoulder, but I guess it's comfortable. I put it on along with a pair of tan shorts and scoop my skateboard up as I trudged out of my room.

Instead of being greeted by the smell of fluffy chocolate pancakes, I'm greeted with the smell of booze and cheap perfume, Jennifer is home. Jen is my father's fiance and she wears skimpy outfits that cut off just below the mid-thigh and are usually accompanied by some sort of obnoxious sparkle. I feel long bony fingers grab my shoulder "hey kiddo!" Jen slurred, showing fake exuberance.

I twitched and huffed loudly "get off me Jenn, and don't call me kiddo," I fumed, ripping away from her "another night at the club?" I questioned and went to go make myself some coffee.

She glared at the back of my head, burning holes through my skull "I was working, dear," she argued.

I scoffed and poured that energy juice into my on the go cup "your kind of work Jen is not legal," I argued back.

She grumbled something under breath and stuck her hand out, showing off the giant diamond my father bought her "you should be nicer to me, I am your mother after all," she taunted. Ah yes, the ring she loves oh so much. It's a lovely rock stuck to some cheap medal, and she feels the need to rub it in my face every time we get into a fight. This woman is not my mother. I can tell you that, I don't know a lot of things but I know if I were my father I'd kick her to the side as fast as I could.

My father strolled into the room, a nice new beer stain on his work shirt "she's right Marlowe, Jennifer will be your mother soon," he said as if she'd been around my entire life.

I hated being called Marlowe, my full name always reminded me of my dead mother so I stopped using it and started going by milo instead. I said nothing back and just glared at my father, making my way to the door. I think he got the hint because I heard a heavy sigh and thundering footsteps following me out the door.

On our way to the shop my father blasted some bruce Springsteen, this was the way he apologized to me. My father hated the boss but he knew that I was absolutely crazy about him so whenever he pissed me off he would blast the boss to make me feel better. I can't lie it does help, we pulled up to the empty building and got out, big glowing letters read 'Gallo and sons paper delivery'. He installed that sign for my 16th birthday, instead of getting me a phone, I have greeted my future in big neon letters.

Like clockwork, Jen pulled up next to us, getting out of her shiny red Convertible and slamming the door. She walked up to my father and sent me a glare, leaning against him "hey dear, I know you've been super busy lately but I need some money," she begged, giving him eyes that look like giant sawyers.

He sighed, this man had the backbone of a twig "sure dear.." sighed my father, opening his wallet and handed her a twenty.

She plucked the bill out of his hand "thanks sweety." she chirped and pecked his cheek before going back to her car and driving off. The delivery company brought in a decent amount of money but with Jenn around we basically have nothing. She goes to clubs and gets wasted, fucks some guy, and gives handjobs for twenty more dollars, and the cycle repeats. I had said before that her job wasn't legal, and I know all this because I had followed her to "work" one day as a 13-year-old. Let's just say it was scary what I walked in on in the back of a low-quality night club that let a 13-year-old boy wander in.

I followed the broken drunk known as my father inside, filling up my bag with papers and letters and I was on my way. The rising sun hit my face and made my freckled skin look like pure gold as I skated through my first few neighborhoods. I do this every single day, and like I said people aren't roses. If anything, people like Jenn are the thorns on the stem, keeping people like my father from bluming into the good people I know they are- no, Jenn isn't just a thorn, she's vines that strangle the life out of people like my father. I've learned that people like my mother are hard to come by and what I mean by that is good people, good people are so hard to come by. They die young and the ones that live end up marrying total assholes, my father was once a good person and then he married Jenn.

I'm not getting married because of the Phnom, I've given up on family whether that be friends or actual blood relatives. I was pulled out of my thoughts when I lurched forward, kicking my skateboard back and hitting the ground with a loud thump, spilling the contents in my backpack everywhere. My cheek and knees were abused by the rough pavement, bruises would probably appear on them after a while. I groaned and rolled over, looking up at the green trees that shaded the harsh sunlight from hitting my beaten body. I pushed myself up off the ground and did my last roundabouts before heading back to my father's post office.

I rested my old skateboard against one of the waiting seats, looking up from the ground I noticed my father seemed to be in a panic.

"What's wrong," I asked, even though I didn't really care.

He looked up at me with his tired eyes and yelled frantically, "our incompetent mailman forgot a whole bag of mail here and now he refuses to go back out and deliver it."

I sighed, I can't believe I was about to do this. "I can deliver it," I said through gritted teeth.

He looked over at me and grinned, all his worry seeming to wash away as he pointed to the bag sitting on the front desk "right there kiddo," he said cheerfully and I grabbed the bag with a sigh, walking out of the post office with my skateboard in my free hand. I thought of how much of a lazy bastard he was, always making me do his work. That panic in there was anything but real and I fed into it again. I skated away and made my way to the neighborhood that was written on the bag, and it took my breath away,

The neighborhood was filled with mini-mansions that matched perfectly to each other. All painted white with green grass and everyone had a minivan. My house was the exact opposite, dead grass with litter spread about, and moss covering the sides of my tan house. It looked like a crack house, mostly because it was and I didn't know anyone's life. But this was like skating into wonderland, going around dropping off the letter was memorizing, the streets smooth and rockless.

By the time I got to the last house, I was exhausted and getting curious, wondering what was in each letter.