ANSIR® Profile: Sage / Empath / Empath
Boss: Empath

The Book Of Roses - Part One

"Who ever knew she had so much stuff?"

Two bright eyes shone out from behind a dusty cardboard box. She carried it carefully, not wanting to drop it. Who knew what precious knickknacks could be in her grandmother's attic. Alexandra had long before learned the value of statuettes, figurines, and glass bobbles that you could buy at a garage sale at 5 for a dollar. The 20 year old girl had always boggled at the amount of small things lurking in the corners of her grandmother's house. She couldn't turn a corner without running into a bookcase, shelf, box, or table littered with the treasure of her grandmother's 78 years of life.

In this mess, however, it was easy to loose tract of the old woman. Alexandra set down her precious cargo and roamed the rooms of the treasure chest. The pirate seemed to have disappeared just as any good Blackbeard would after his plunder were deposited. She smiled at the thought of her grandmother as a pirate, but couldn't help to make the connection. Every one of these frail pieces of shaped glass had meaning to Alexandra's grandmother. Every piece represented a conquest, a journey, or a moment that made up the gold of the old woman's life. Alexandra had heard the stories for as long as she could remember, yet to this day she didn't know the reasoning behind all of them. She doubted she ever could. Always the woman of Alexandra's admiration, her grandmother had seen the best and worst of life. A teacher, a writer, a student, a mother, a wife, a missionary, and so much more, most people wondered if there was nothing this woman hadn't done.

The choice to move had been a hard one. The house was old though, older than the lady herself. Not to mention its size; even 78 years of memories couldn't fill the house now that the children and grandchildren were gone. But the clincher had come the year before when Jim had died. The only man who seemed able to keep up with the woman's dreams, they had made the perfect couple. No, they were not without fights and squabbles, but they also were not without love and devotion for 54 years of marriage. He was her life and she his; it seemed the very breathes of air that filled each their lungs came from the lips of the other. Alexandra had never known a time when her grandparents couldn't survive. It had always seemed that only way either would kick would be if they died in their sleep. If death tried to come at any other time, the vibrant spirits of her grandparents would chase him off.

Jim had died in his sleep.

A soft sound caught her ears, so brief in its duration that Alexandra almost missed it. She turned, unsure of the reality of the sound until she caught it again. Was it from the main bedroom? Yes, there it was again. A sob? Was her grandmother crying? Alexandra softly called out to the lady, her voice tainted with concern. She moved past the doorway and looked upon the pillar of strength that had stood strong long before Alexandra was born. Had that pillar crumpled? It seemed so; her grandmother sat there weeping. Long strands of silver hair fell around her form. Her face was covered by her hands, but even that didn't stop the flow of tears down onto the book in her lap. Alexandra stepped into the room and sat down next to the lady, wrapping her arms around those old shoulders. She had only seen her grandmother cry once before, and that was when her husband had passed on. What could cause her to weep so again?

"Grandma? What's wrong?"

The old woman sat up, slowly pulling her hands away from her face. The wrinkled fingers moved down through the air deliberately as if there was some unseen force trying to prevent their movement. She gripped the book in those hands and began to turn the pages. Alexandra had never seen this book before, but she knew now was not the time to ask. When Grandma wanted to share her treasures, she would ask her listener for permission to tell the tale. It had never occurred any other way. Alexandra only watched as the pages flipped, one by one. It was a scrapbook, but unlike the others that adorned her grandmother's collection, this one was poorly decorated and lacked the vibrancy that was usually prominent. Only two things were on each of the yellowed pages. Every page had a different year scribbled on it by what Alexandra knew to be her grandmother's hand. There was no mistaking the loops and swirls of those numbers. This wasn't so unusual; the woman usually wrote the years that corresponded with the pictures or poems on the page. What was unusual, however, was that only a dried rose accompanied each year. There were no stories or pictures to tell the meaning, no well crafted verses to explain the meaning. Only a single rose on every page, each so well preserved that many still shone with the deep red of their petals.

"I loved him." The words came in a hoarse whisper, so soft and silent that Alexandra wondered for a moment if it was her grandmother who had spoken. The tone was so unnatural for the woman that an ghost calling out those words on the wind would've made more sense as far as explanations were concerned. Silence loomed for a moment as Alexandra tried to find proper words.

"Of course you loved him, Grandma. Everyone knows that you and Grandpa-"

"Not him. Another."

Return to the TeaParty index