A Rose With Its Thorns Cut Off

2. Garden of Roses

I was only 9 years old when Alex died. It wounded me greatly when it happened. We had to lie to Mrs. Rodriguez about Alex's whereabouts. She was devastated about her "missing" dog. She remained gloomy for several days. I devoted the next three years in studying and taking care of Mrs. Rodriguez. I would assist her in cooking and baking, I would stay with her until she fell asleep, I would tell her about how my day went in school, and just being there for her. It was the least I could do for Alex's absence. And I was glad to place a smile on her face every time I visited her.

As she slept every night I would whisper I love her and that Alex loved her while kissing her on the forehead.

I wanted so badly to tell her the truth. But mommy's words echoed in my mind...

"It wouldn't do you or her any good even if you do tell. It may be an accident but you still killed Alex. So learn to live with the guilt. The sooner you learn about this the better."

I questioned how my mother thought of things. How is she aware of these? Why is she teaching me about carrying the guilt and keeping it to myself? Do mothers really say such things? But our teachers always say to tell the truth. Even Mrs. Rodriguez says that honesty is always the best policy.

Somehow, I knew my mommy wasn't normal.

How could she think to bury the body? How come she had a big metal drum where we had burned my things? How did she even think of burning them? Did she have to bury someone before? Did she have to burn some of her things to erase evidence? Am I following in her footsteps? Does that mean I'm not normal?

These questions plagued my mind as I watched her water the rose she planted above Alex's grave. At first I was baffled as to why it was there. Was it for decoration? To make the shoveled soil look reasonable because she planted something? Until I realized that maybe it was a reminder. Maybe it was a sign to remind us where Alex's body is, like a grave marker. Mommy never planted roses in the garden. Mostly fruits and vegetables, some lilies and daisies, but never roses.

It was three years later that my hypothesis proved to be true.

In the span of a year, a few months after I turned 12 years old, I would wake up in the middle of the night feeling thirsty. I'd get up and get water from the kitchen. I would pass by mommy's bedroom and see it open without her inside. Her bed would be perfectly made like she never slept on it.

I would continue into the kitchen and see her approaching the house from the outside. It would be raining every night it happens. She would enter through the back door and fully ignore me like she didn't see me. The first night it happened she would look at me and raise a dirty index finger in front of her mouth to tell me to keep quiet. She would then point towards the mop and signal me to mop the dirt she would leave in her wake.

She would always go to the garage and leave towards the bathroom completely naked, I assumed she was going to shower. I look into the big metal drum and see several unusual things with her clothes. After her bath, she would bring the drum outside and light the contents into flames.

I didn't ask her anything on that first night but the next day when I tried to venture deeper in the tree lines near our garden, I saw another rose far from Alex's grave.

This continued on for at least three more times until the third time when I finally asked her a question...

"Mommy, did you kill another puppy?"

She was looking in the distance until she turned to me with another sad smile.

"Don't worry, honey. They were bad dogs. Nothing like Alex. They bit me. I only defended myself."

I never questioned her again. Maybe they weren't puppies. Maybe they were big dogs. Maybe they were real people. Real people that were considered bad people. But doesn't that make mommy bad too? I left it as it is. I didn't want to know if they really were dogs or if they were bad.

One thing is for sure, something is wrong with mommy.

And maybe, something is wrong with me too.

After my elementary graduation, mommy told me to pack my bags because she was sending me to my auntie Veronica, mommy's twin sister. She told me I would be staying with her for several years and that auntie Veronica will be my second mommy.

I asked her why I needed a second mommy when I already had one and why I had to leave while she had to stay.

She turned from folding my clothes on my bed towards me. She held my hand while caressing my cheeks.

"The bad dogs' owners found out about me. They're looking for me. I can't have you involved."

My eyes started to tear up. I don't want to go. I want to stay with mommy. I don't care if she planted a whole garden of roses, she's still my mommy. And I love mommy.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course I will."

"What about daddy? Will he be here to protect you?"

"He won't.

Because daddy ratted me out."

"Why?"

"He didn't love me enough."

"Why? Didn't daddy marry mommy?

"He never really loved us."

"Even me?"

"Listen to me, Mary Rose.

Men are trash.

They don't deserve women like us.

They don't deserve you.

They only stump over roses like you.

They deserve to burn.

Never love a man who doesn't love you enough.

If you do, you'll end up with a garden of roses.

Or you'll end up like me.

I love you, baby.

Mommy loves you so much.

But I won't be able to take care of you anymore.

So be good for your new mommy Veronica.

Be a good girl and never forget what I told you, okay?

Don't be like mommy."

"Yes, mommy. I love you."

I promise I'll come back for you, mommy.

No matter how long it takes.

Just wait for me.

I'll protect you.

I'll burn your garden of roses so we can be happy again just like before.