I
“Roses are red, violets are blue. Roses are red, violets are blue. Roses are_”
“Iris.”
I lift my head up to the sound of my name being called. Camelia is leaning against the door frame to my office. How long has she been standing there?
“Iris, are you listening?”
I had not been listening at all, I couldn’t hear anything besides my own thoughts. I stood up slowly and concentrated on keeping eye contact with her.
“I’m sorry Camellia, could you repeat what you said please.”
She scoffs lightly, an unamused smirk befalling her lips. She steps slightly closer to me now, closing in on me. The smell of her expensive perfume wafts up into my nose, reminding me exactly where we are. She steps in front of me, slowly lifting her eyes from the floor to meet mine.
“The party. what are you wearing to it?”
“What party?” My uninterested tone comes off harsher than I expected.
She peels off of the door frame to step more into my workspace, taking a few more steps towards me.
“The reunion party. It’s this weekend; did you already forget?”
I did forget, in fact I have been trying my hardest to put that event at the back of my mind. Pursing my lips in slight annoyance, I step out from behind my desktop.
As I move around my desk I step aside to her. “I’m not going,”
I say briskly making my way to the drawing board at the far left of my spacious office unit; I can hear the soft clicking of her heels chasing mine.
AsI begin to softly rip paperwork off of the board, I can hear her let out an impatient sigh.
“and why not?”
“I don’t have time to waste, my next project is a heavy one.”
She scoffs again, this time louder, shaking her head in disapproval.
“Always making your work your whole life.”
I turn around abruptly, “it IS my whole life camellia.” I state firmly.
She counters back in the most obnoxious way possible, “because you let it be.”
I turn my back to her once again tocontinue ripping off retired material when I hear her step beside me, staring directly at the side of my face. My silence only drives her past annoyance into frustration.
“Give me one reason why you’re not going.”
“I have work to do camellia. I don’t have time to-”
“You never took your 30 minutes.” looking across the room to the large digital clock hung on the wall. I let out a small puff of air.
As I turn my attention back to the drawing board I whisper faintly, “I don’t need a break.”
“Legal would think otherwise. Stop avoiding it.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. That single breath is so heavy I have to expel it from my body.
“I am not avoiding, I am working, something you should be doing, don’t you think?”, I spit with a bit of an attitude. As much as I would like to keep my patience, this conversation is draining me faster than my daily cup of coffee.
She gives me a tight smile, “You know I’m just here to support you right.”
“Is this how you plan on supporting me? Distracting me from my work and hounding me about my reasons for not going to some party.” I say crossing my arms trying to look as displeased as I feel.
“This isn’t just some party, Iris. It’s our high school reunion.”
“Exactly my point, how many people have you kept in touch with since high school?”
“Lots of people. You, Sunni, Nina, and_” she pauses mid sentence. I raise an unamused eyebrow at her silence. She swallows softly, “and Rose.”
Reflexes getting the best of me; my whole body tenses. She must have picked up on it by the way her gaze falls from my face slowly down, analyzing my posture.
I quickly turn around to avoid any more eye contact, and make my way back to my desk to pick up files for my next project. Something to relax my tense muscles and keep my mind in the present.
Camellia chooses to stay silent as I make my way back to the drawing board with a new stack of papers tucked in under my arm. I set them down softly on a small white coffee table, before picking up the first sheet and pinning it in the center. I continue to search through files when she steps closer.
“This is about Rose, isn’t it?”
I angrily tear another sheet of paper off of the drawing board. “This is not about him. I didn’t even know he would be going.”
“I disagree.”
I continue to aggressively post the new project detail sheets and informative stick notes to the drawing board, doing my best to drown any potential thoughts that could arise about him. Camellia has always been forward, but she never knows when to stop. After so many years being the target of her nagging, I’ve learned it’s best to just nod and make eye contact a few times a minute so she thinks I’m still listening to the words spilling out her mouth. I’m typically more patient with these conversations, willing to dissect my unwillingness to do or go somewhere she wants to drag me to, but just not today. When I’m here, in the office at work, I only want to think about this. I dedicate myself to being fully present, immersed in my work so they can be perfect for my clients.
I take a deep breath before reaching for the next page. I scoff; the irony of it. I look down at a printed picture of a blooming red rose. I peer down at the picture for a minute too long before picking it up. Reaching to grab a push pin from the small acrylic box placed on the coffee table, I can feel Camellia still staring at me in silence, waiting for my next words.
Grabbing a red pin from the box I slap the print out of the rose to the center of the board.
“Please just let me do my work in peace, Camellia, I need to focus.”
“You need to face him and get closure. Maybe it will help you-”
“I don’t need any help.”
I let out a deep sigh, suddenly feeling a warm liquid trickle down my index finger.
“Iris.. your finger.”
“What about my-” I look back to see the small cut the push pin has made at the top of my index finger. Too trapped in the conversation, my lack of focus on the physical task at hand made me undershoot my pin target. I retract my hands from the board, applying pressure to my injured finger. Red blood makes its way down my finger to graze my knuckle. Keeping my gaze on my injury, I walk slowly to stand in front of the glass door to my office.
“Please go back to work, Camellia.”
I softly push the door open with my foot just enough for me to squeeze through. As I walk away from her I can feel the stinging in my finger grow and my anxiety begin to heighten.
