A Colorless Rose

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The Godetia may as well be my spirit flower. It cannot stand the heat and will die under sweltering hot weather. It knows how it wants to live, I suppose. Although, the flower does bloom in summer and I have never cared very much for summer. Not because of the heat, but because it’s the time when girls show off how slutty they can get away with dressing and people hang out all night long under the cool summer night with all of their friends. I’ve always thought there was something weird with it.

Once, there was a nice party some girls were having at their lake house. My friend was very close with the host and so I got invited along. She dragged me along with her. I knew I wouldn’t fit it, but every time I tried to explain this to her, she insisted that I was making up an outlandish story to give her.

So, when we finally arrived there, I stuck out like a sore thumb. Her friends were wearing tiny string bikinis and I couldn’t help but notice how they looked so very peculiar with that particular swimwear on their bodies. They didn’t realize that all the wrong attention they attracted from the many guys also at the party was not the assets in plain sight, but rather the lack of assets they had to showcase.

I suppose that was rude to say. However, those girls wanted to be seen for their bodies and not known for their substance. While how much substance they actually had I cannot say for sure, they must have had enough to make people want to be with them for their personality. Of course, I, personally, did not care one bit for any of them or their personalities, which were either rude or conceited, if not both, which I regarded as a special case and took a wonderful mental note of. I just didn’t fit in with them.

Of course, when the guys were talking to me, because, surprise, surprise, people respond when they are talked to, I received many glares. I was satisfied with those glares. However, I had wished only that I could have gotten some worse looks and glances. None of them bothered to say something to me.

Although I knew for certain that I was nowhere near important enough to them to have gossip spread about me, I still had hope in the idea that I may have been interesting. I would have thrown an insult or two about me around. I may have even thrown an insult at myself, had I been one of them. I suppose it would have made me feel rude. Perhaps they were more secure of themselves than I had previously assumed. It may have been that they did not want to appear rude in front of people whose lens had such a wonderful focus and magnification that the slightest misstep would send them all down.

Sure, my night was not terrible. The weather was nice enough. There were drinks and food, all of which tasted just fine. I met some nice people. But, other than that night, we never spoke to each other again. I could lie and say I was surprised. Yet, I was nothing but pleased with myself. I had been able to break the cycle for one night. That was at least something. This must be why Ricky hated claques.

We had talked on the phone to each other a few nights ago and I felt it necessary to mill about that town for just one more time. I was unsure of where I should go to first. As do all great adventures of stupid proportions and importance, I began my journey simply by wandering around and seeing exactly what looked interesting to me. Going to his house would simply be a mistake. Going to the field would run the risk of me looking simply clingy. Going back to where I first met Ricky would run two very important risks: looking inherently desperate for Ricky and running into said guy I was not fond of.

Eventually I stumbled upon a grocery store. There was a nice neon sign in the front of it with some of its letters missing. Some of the letters still there were out. I figured it was simply because the inert gases within the neon display had simply given up. It did not occur to me that the store may not be open anymore or even just for that moment. Luckily, when I entered in, I was not turned away.

The door had creaky hinges and was in need of oil. The wood was partially rotted and needed to be re-furbished and polished. (Can a door be polished? I don’t know. Nor do I care.) The finish on the door was peeling off and it bothered me that such a thing could happen so succinctly to a poor door that had most likely done to none wrong. It probably did hit some people on the way out, I hoped.

So the predicament I ran into was being in a grocery store with absolutely no need for any groceries or related items. Meandering around seemed like the best option. It got boring after a while. So I had to figure out how to waste all of my time. I considered asking some poor cashier to tell me all about the many groceries which the store carries. Were I in my hometown, I may have wanted to do so. But since I was not near anyone to whom I could run when things went awry, I decided against it.

As my luck would have it, Ricky so happened to want to buy groceries that day. He came in, a girl who was stunningly beautiful on his arm. She was petite, with a pixie cut and blonde hair. She wore stilettos the color of grass and a dress the color of sunflowers whose skirt was incredibly too short and sleeves that hung on for dear life. Her violet bra straps poked out from her dress and I was surprised that no one in the store bothered to let her know about it. Aren’t people supposed to look out for one another?

I was also appalled that Ricky would be with such a girl. Now, I was trying my hardest to not jump to conclusions about their relationship, but I suspected that they were dating each other. She looked into his eyes and he looked at her as a puppy looks at its owner. It was completely sickening.

I wanted to ask him about this girl with whom he was. I also didn’t want to embarrass him. I also didn’t want to just stare at them. They were coming my way, after all. “Hey you,” I told him as I looked down at my scuffed tennis shoes and ripped hem of my worn-out jeans with holes in both knees.

“Hi.” He looked very removed. More so than that, he looked incredibly uncomfortable. I had wondered if I had made him feel uncomfortable or if the presence of me and that girl was throwing him off of his game. It may have been because she was looking at him intensely. I felt uncomfortable.

“So, what brings you here?” I stopped myself before I added in a snarky comment.

“I was here getting some stuff for a bake sale this girl and I are in charge of.”

“When is this bake sale of yours?” I looked into his basket and saw tubs of frosting, cartons of eggs and enough milk for a crazy cat lady to have for a year. “What is it for, anyway?”

“We have this project that’s supposed to teach us about responsibility or something. We pick a cause to raise funding for and then have to set a target amount. If we reach the amount, then we pass the assignment and get a free pass on another one. If we fail, then we have to not only raise the money that we said we could raise, but we also have to complete an additional assignment on community.”

“That doesn’t sound right. Why would you go from fundraising to community?” I quizzically looked at him and he shrugged. The girl who stood beside him just crossed her arms in a much more hostile manner than her previous demeanor suggested she had. She had a stance, and she took it.

He gave me a death stare. I was not afraid of him. “How would I know?” while he had sounded just fine before, his voice now picked up rage and aggravation. I didn’t know moods shifted so suddenly.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re in the class, you would know. Shouldn’t you?”

“Do you know everything that happens in every class of yours? I didn’t think so.”

“When it becomes something as important as a fundraising project, then, yeah, I actually bother to know everything that’s going on in that class.” I was full of energy. I wanted to use it fully.

“Well, aren’t you special.” He wasn’t in the mood to talk. I walked away.

I retreated to the chip aisle, the coveted area in which all of the products which will never be able to go bad due to the excessive processed ingredients inside of them reside. I looked at the flavors, ever still in wonder of how people could come up with new and crazy flavors. And people actually eat them!

I couldn’t help but look back and see Ricky and that girl talking to each other. It was bothersome to see them together. I didn’t think they fit together. She was certainly the type of girl who had a large trust fund and could have just had her parents donate all the money to her fundraiser. She could have finished the assignment in one day. She was definitely the type of girl whose parents donated enough money to the school to guarantee her a perfect grade-point average and admission to anywhere.

She seemed exactly like the type of girl whom Ricky had complained about a few days earlier; the type of person who has to fit an image, the type of person who doesn’t treat people very well. She may not have been one, but she seemed like a girl who had picked on many people when she was younger and had made many people fear walking into school. I had met many girls like her.

Now, she may have been very nice and I was too jealous of her to not assume the worst of her. All she did in that moment was remind me of those girls who made everyone else’s lives miserable. If Ricky really wanted to be friends with her, fine, but I sure hoped that his other friends were not like the one I had just met, or, seen, rather. I trusted his judgment, even if I didn’t think it was necessary to.

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