Has Its Thorn

There is no situation in which a person receiving a brilliantly wrapped bouquet of roses would not be thrilled. No matter if the roses are red and a boyfriend has just swept onto the traditional knee bearing a velvety ring box; no matter if the roses are a light pink and the petals flutter around a woman in a white dress and exploded veil as though they are songbirds, echoing the violin's gentle march; no matter if the roses are yellow, or blue, or some other extravagant hue, presented to an A-lister at Broadway's backstage door - even if they are whisked away in a black limousine, you know they are smiling behind their sunglasses. So what do I do today, the last day of what has grown into an exhaustingly forced week at the back of the classroom? I cover myself in pink, blue, and white roses, on my hand-me-down skirt with the wrinkled hem, on my 99 cent purse, in my distinctly untamable hair.

I got exactly two compliments on the ensemble. There were both from L, an an honor. The first she gave me in an anything-but-deserted third floor hallway in front of the water fountain, wearing one of her signature dresses and bright orange tights. "Oh, I love your skirt! Actually - I love your whole outfit!" she cooed. I felt the happiness meter slide slowly from a three to a four. The second she gave me among the kind of insanity I've become use to bombarding me in our fourth floor hallway, wearing exactly the same thing (to no one's surprise). "I know I said it earlier but I have to say it again: I love your outfit. Meter: from a six to an eight. I could say the roses did it all on their own - it is Friday the thirteenth, after all, a good day to let loose and blame it all on the divine - but realistically, the roses didn't do anything except act as a catalyst for the customary kindness surrounding me, strewn against the familiar bits of insanity but always within a few feet. More than 220 of us in the same hallway. More than 220 chances to have your soul patched up for a day. There, in orange tights, stood mine. Again, I thanked her, and left, going towards my house but away from the people who have become my home.