• Budding Love

    tab It was finally my final class of the day and what a day it had been. Several tests had been given, a good part of them in subjects that were either extremely complicated or simply didn't hold my interests. Sitting in the very back next to the window, I glanced out at the creek-side that ran next to our school. Groaning quietly as I took a quick look at the bland analog clock that hug over the oak door out of this boring class. It was good that it was the last period on a Friday, but substitute that had taken over for the regular Health teacher was ranting on and on about how she couldn't get her brand new Suburban into the parking lot without dinging three vehicles in the process.
    tab I couldn't bear listen to her babble on and on about how precious her gas guzzler was so I tried to tune her out while observing things outside. It was quiet around here, never too much commotion but not boring either. It always seemed to keep the balance of that watching-paint-dry boredom with my-heart-just-stopped thrills. Never extreme in either case, but very proportionate. The grounds on which the school was built a while ago sits on the edge of a forest, with the nine foot wide creek separating from the woods. So, there was a lot of animal and plant life around, like the patches of Snap Dragons that had sprouted a couple of months ago that had began growing by the walls on all the grounds facing the wilderness.
    tab It didn't seem to matter much though anymore. It was wonderful to say the least, but I was anxious to get home today. It was the day that my long time friend and official girlfriend was coming around. It sounds so cheesy thinking about it now, but it's amazing how relationships can grow. After all, we met over a pencil case of coloured pencils. I am predominately the quiet one; shy, observant, and the artist between the two of us. However, she is the polar opposite. She is the rosy one I suppose; warm, energetic, and the poetic genius. Sadly she moved far away last year, so I haven't been able to be as close to her as I would have liked. However we still talk to each other over the phone (much to my parent's disdain), write letters to one another with works we've done lately included, and even the occasional video chat if the planets align right.
    tab Despite how well we keep in touch, it still doesn't really fulfill the whole... what's the word... sensuality. We can hear the other speak and see each other in those rare moments, but it's not the same as being there with them. There is that little buzz in the atmosphere of the other person being near, just the sounds of pen on paper and electricity transferring the message between the two of you. However the big thing is, for me at least, is the way that when your skin touches, you both get a little hum as if two magnets were rubbing one another. I just want her to use that magical sense were her head fits perfectly on my shoulder. The cute way she wiggles away from my index finger when I try to poke her in the stomach and fidgets and smacks my arm once I catch her. So, every five months, one of us visits the others house for a week as a sort of vacation and to actually talk face to face for the first time in about a hundred and fifty days. Smirking to myself slightly, I imagine her out in my yard, sitting under the huge Maple tree in my front yard playing with those helicopter seeds as she waits for my bus to arrive.
    tab Sighing contently to myself, I take another look at the clock, the second hand on the dull time keeper seemingly stopped a couple of minutes before the last bell of the week. I turned to the teacher, who seemed to drift from her transportation ignorance to something about how dingy her apartment was or something. Twisting in my chair, I stretched the sore joints before picking my slate blue sling bag from the floor, placing it on my desk. Unzipping it, I Pulled out a string folder. Black so it's contents couldn't be seen without opening it, I undid the figure eight of yarn that kept the folder closed. Putting just my the tips of my fingers in, I slid out the paper on top of the pile. I knew it was the one I wanted, I had just picked it out earlier. On it was a rose I had sketched about a month ago when I had taken a short break in the woods. The entire forest was wonderful, but that day I was trying to find something that had a deeper meaning that sheer image, the rose filled that position perfectly. I quickly took seat and did a base in pencil. When I returned home I coloured it all sorts of shades of red and brown before shading it. Pleased with what I had done, I sent the sketch to my girlfriend, red and brown being two of her four favorite colours. However, last week I got my sketch back, with an elegant scribe on the back in golden ink. As the bell rings, I scoop up the folder and place my sketch face-down atop it so I can read as I head for my ride home:

    tab "Love can be told by a simple moral of a man and roses;
    One man was tending to his garden, that was primarily rose bushes. However there was a terrible storm, many of his plants dying as a result. This upset the man horribly, for he was planning to give his wife a bouquet of gorgeous flowers for her birthday. As soon as it was clear outside and his wife was out, the man ran to his garden, desperate to find survivors.
    tab After scavenging for a brief period, he finds one hiding in one of the bushes. With all his agility, he snatches the rose from its hiding spot and pulls it out. He grins before opening his palm, his smile fading instantly. By being too eager, he has destroyed the bud. Tilting his hand to let the petals fall from his grasp, the gardener continues to search.
    tab Looking in the fair corner, the man spots one that stands tall among its fallen comrades. It seems to beckon him, just begging to be the one that the man takes to his wife. The man continues forwards, hand reached as he stares at the beauty as it withheld him. Staring at the gorgeous scarlet tones, the man tightly grabs the rose's stem. Snapping out of his daze, the man tears his hand away, looking at the fresh thistles that had cut at least a dozen or some times into his palm. Looking at the rose again, the man knows that he could remove the thorns, but if he missed one and his wife got hurt, he wouldn't forgive himself. With one last glance, the man turns away to try once more.
    tab Nearly twenty minutes later, the man was expecting his wife home at any second, but still had no results from his search. Sighing sadly, the man turns to head back indoors when he spots a small pot next to the door. It was a rose that he had kept separate because it previously had trouble growing and to keep it healthy he gave it special care. The rose was brilliant in the light and when the man got closer he couldn't help but beam. Bringing the small pot inside with him, the gardner met his wife a few minutes later.
    tab Before the wife begins to ask why a flower pot was on her clean table, the man held it out to her, saying it was a present for her birthday and that he wanted to give his most prized joy in his life something that was almost but not quiet as beautiful as she was. The wife held a hand to her lips in surprise before grinning. She took the pot from the man and set it on the table once more, holding him tight and giving kiss of approval.
    tab Love must be treated carefully, because its not always there. We can't be too quick to try and obtain love, or it may simply collapse under our fingertips. We also can't take beauty over being when falling in love, because its true that beauty 'is only a light switch away'. That's why were must go gently looking for true love, for true love is like an alluring rose with no thorns."

    tab I step off my bus and grin, seeing her playing with the Maple seeds as I tuck my drawing away once again. As I run to her, I remember that story, still my favorite no matter how many times I have read it.