A Colorless Rose

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Pink Mink

The Pink Mink resembles an artichoke, even though it is pale pink and has fuzzy black tips on the top outermost petals. It has a very nice look to it, even if the name doesn’t seem to fit it. Because the name seems so very out-of-place, the flower becomes more appealing. It is much easier to like something that makes very little sense. There is no reason to like any one thing that seems logical in any way.

I love that the flower had fuzzy tips to it. It makes the plant look so friendly and inviting, as though it just wants to be seen and adored. Of course, this is overreaching for a flower. Many living things are covered with fur and fuzziness and do not have an element to them that makes no sense at all.

When I was little, I loved to chase around caterpillars. The wooly mammoth caterpillars were my favorite ones to chase after. They looked so fuzzy, even though they did not feel fuzzy. They were covered with black spiky elements that really did look to me like fur. It was silly to think caterpillars had fur on them like a mammal would, but that seemed to make sense to me and I never questioned myself.

I loved everything that moved, even if it wasn’t as much of a friend to me as I was to it. Then again, I couldn’t possibly expect everything to like me with the same passion I adored it. Doing so made no sense. Perhaps that was why I believed that it could be a reality. There was no reason to be logical.

Ricky had just finished telling me a story about how he became close to Steven and was in the process of tying up one more loose thread. “So, I only bothered to keep in contact with Steven because I wanted to remain friends with the guy who would stop at nothing to help out a stranger. He didn’t care one bit about the possible consequences, and so I don’t see why I shouldn’t be friends with someone like that.”

“So, who’s that guy outside who happens to be waving quite boldly to you?”

“That’s Steven. Come on, you just have to meet him. He’s really awesome.”

“Is there something I should know before I begin talking to him?”

“What do you mean? Is that code for something?”

“I don’t know if there’s anything that I shouldn’t mention to him.”

“You would probably be best not mentioning the story I just told you.”

“Does he not like talking about the reason he had to leave?”

“Oh, he doesn’t mind talking about that. He brags about it a lot.”

“So then why shouldn’t I talk to him about it?”

“He doesn’t like strangers knowing about that day.”

“But I’m not a stranger. I know you. I heard the story from you.”

“I could pretend that you have solid reasoning with that, but you don’t.”

“So I’m a stranger to him. Then why would he talk to me?”

“He could talk to you for any number of reasons.”

“But he knows you. He’ll just talk to you the entire time.”

“He may be a celebrity here, but here is the only place where he is one.”

“I’ve never met someone who is even remotely famous.”

“So then this will be the first time you’ve met someone slightly famous.”

“And he’ll talk to me?” It seemed childish to worry about something like being talked to by a random stranger, but I wanted to talk with the town legend. It was something that I felt anyone should do, anywhere. It was going to be something that I would not always get the chance to do. So I’ll take it.

“Just come with me. He’s really a friendly person. I promise.”

We went outside and I saw Steven with my own eyes. He had jet black hair and was scrawny enough, but still had noticeable muscles. His limbs were long and his hair was mid-length. He had a demeanor that seemed personable. I did not get the immediate feeling that I was not going to like talking to this strange whom I had just made the presence of. He was a legend. He seemed like a normal guy.

“So, what’s up with you, Ricky, my man?” Steven did not look like the type of guy to say those words, but there they were, coming out of his mouth. “Is there anything new that you’ve been up to since I last saw you all those years ago? I see you’ve found a beauty, but I figured you’d do as much.”

“Hey man,” Ricky replied to Steven, “I’ve been up to the same sorts of things.

“Anyone find my old artwork and appreciate everything there was to it?”

“Well, this girl over here, she happened to go through your belongings with Mason. They found some boxes of yours and dumped them all out. It was something that she’ll try to deny when you ask her about it, but she did do it. Although, I’m sure there’s something more to the story she won’t tell me.”

“Don’t pressure here into telling you more than she wants to. It’s what causes everyone to run away, you know. There’s no need to get someone so beautiful to run away from you. After all, you’re lucky enough to have her here with you in the first place. I’m sure she has much better things to do.”

“I can speak for myself, you know. I’m not just some ditzy blonde.”

“And, would you look at that, the girl can talk.” Steven was poking fun at me.

“And, would you look at that, the artist has no original thought.”

“You’re quite feisty for someone who went through my belongings and never cared to tell anyone about it. I bet Mason never even told you how close he and I were when we were younger.”

“What difference would that make? We still would have gone through your things.”

“Let me guess; he made snowflakes out of most of my works.”

“Of course he did. What else would he do?”

“Well, if he didn’t make snowflakes, he wouldn’t be Mason.”

“So you weren’t joking when you said you guys destroyed his art.”

“Of course she wasn’t. And, anyway, it’s not destroyed, it’s transformed.”

“If you really think so. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t and then I went with it.”

“Something tells me that you considered stopping him and didn’t know how.”

“You try telling someone to stop making gorgeous artwork.”

“Believe me, I understand. That’s something that I could never do.”

“You seem very chill with it.”

“Well, I get it. Sometimes it’s much more fun to destroy something than it is to leave it as it is and watch it from the side.” He turned to look at me. “People like to leave what’s there because they’re too afraid to ruin it. But art was never made by leaving something as it is.”

“So then you must have been the destroyer of other people’s art, too.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I destroyed artwork, but I can say that I did not leave it exactly as it was when I found it. If that means I destroyed it, then I guess that’s what you can call it.”

“I think that you just defined what it means to destroy something.”

“Says the girl who went ahead and tore my room apart.”

“I really did want to see what there was. It just got to a point where it was so much easier to leave everything on the floor instead of picking it up and organize it all over again. You wouldn’t understand what that’s like, enjoying how everything is so much that you think the chaos is beautiful.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve had to go against that.”

“Really? Try me. Give me one story that proves you really did that.”

“Are you sure? You should know that not all my stories are cheerful.”

“Why would I care if there’s a happy ending to your story?”

“You’re dressed all in cheery colors and probably despise the color black.”

“Just because I prefer to wear colors not commonly associated with funerals does not mean that I cannot appreciate colors that look like death approaching.”

“Not all colors devoid of pigment are boring. They are artistic to many.”

“White is devoid of pigment. Black has an excess of it.”

“That’s something I would care about if art depended on science.”

“That is what art depends on. Without science, your art would still be poisonous.”

“Look at you, getting all defensive of something that no one cares about.”

“Someone should defend it, since supposedly none like it.”

“Are we going to do this all day or can I tell you my story?”

“You still want to tell me your story?”

“Of course I do. I didn’t come here for nothing.”

“So you knew that I would be here?”

“Well, I knew that someone who wanted to know would be here.”

“What makes you sure that girl is me?”

“Well, rumor has it that you found the last piece of art I made here.”

“I was told that it was the last piece of art you had ever made.”

“You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“So why should I believe you and that you are who you claim to be?”

“The story begins with some guys wanting to prank their brother.”

“I think I’ve heard this story before.”

“Well, they were all in an igloo and they had left their bother in it.”

“And they took all his sources of warmth and deserted him there.”

“Then I came up and met the poor guy who was deserted there.”

“I heard that you banged on his front door and asked to talk to his brothers.”

“It’s what any sane person would do.”

“How does that make you sane? It’s nothing but insane.”

“Well, insanity comes with sanity, you know.”

“So you picked a fight with his brothers and then the cops were called.”

“And, as the story always goes, the rich win even when in the wrong.”

“What happened during the fight? I never heard that part.”

“I think that I called it a snowball fight. It was not a snowball fight. We were tackling and wrestling each other on ice and sleet. There was a high risk that icicles would fall down and poke our eyes out. Which is what happened. One of his brothers ran into a tree and an icicle fell down on him. He then runs inside his house and starts telling his mother how I pushed him into a tree until an icicle fell down on him.”

“They believed him and wouldn’t hear your side of the story.”

“Oh, they heard my side, but decided to think that I was lying to them.”

“I heard you then had to leave town.”

“I chose to leave town. I didn’t want to be with people like that.”

“But it was your home.”

“Just because it was my home doesn’t mean anything.”

“There had to be some reason you didn’t want to leave.”

“Well, I met your friend Ricky over there.”

“How did that happen? He get into trouble, too?”

“He came into town on a motorcycle. He was always the target.”

“So what did he get blamed for?”

“Somebody’s car got run into. They blamed Ricky.”

“But he owned a motorcycle, not a car.”

“Didn’t matter to them. They just wanted to blame him.”

“What type of car was it?”

“Here’s the great part, it was one belonging to Mason’s family.”

“So then they had more reason to get mad at him.”

“I guess you heard that Ricky was standing by the entire time.”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

“So the parents saw him there and decided to get Ricky for both things. Of course, he wasn’t the one who ran into the car, but no one would listen to him. And the other thing, not telling the parents that their sons were in a fight and therefore supporting it, was even more ridiculous.”

“So you guys got to talking with each other.”

“Then we found out that the same family hated us both.”

“A friendship formed because of a common enemy.”

“It’s what people often leave out of the story.”

“But it’s the best part of the story.”

“I’m glad that someone agrees with me on that.”

At this point, since Steven was talking to only me, Ricky left us. He didn’t look too thrilled to have to leave us both, but he did. He stole several glances at us and I knew, in that moment, that there was something more that Ricky wasn’t telling me. He may have known me for a short while, but I was smart enough to know when someone was leaving because he felt too hurt to say otherwise.

It was in this moment that Steven looked over at Ricky. He watched Ricky leaving. I wanted to jump in and say something to Ricky, maybe even just a simple goodbye, but I couldn’t. Something stopped me from doing that. I think I feared ruining the moment. Well, I thought it was a moment. I wasn’t proven right on this until Steven leaned over and kissed me. I was surprised. But I was much more shocked when Ricky chose that moment to look back at us. I saw the fallen look on Ricky’s face. I felt terrible.

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