Flower Ch 01

The wonderful thing about long lasting friendships is that they often create strange, but very interesting combinations of people.

In a small group of friends, who have known each other for years, where the need to hide uncomfortable truths or embarrassing facts should no longer be present, where the need to impress and excel at things should no longer be needed, where genuine friendship should allow everyone to be who they really are, the question still remains - do we ever really reach a point where we feel secure enough to show our true selves to anyone, even our closest friends?

What if we could really get to know a group of women; their lives, their secrets and their innermost selves? Would we be able to see if it's our thoughts, our dreams or our flaws that define us? And are we really so different from everyone else? Don't we all just want to have a home where we can feel safe, someone that holds us and speaks of love and something that we can be proud of, that sets us apart?

Meet Sarah, who goes through life spreading happiness with her good cheer and warm-heartedness; who is not afraid to love and love deeply.

And Susan, a strong, self-reliant woman who never lets anyone get too close because people can't hurt you if don't give them the chance.

And beautiful, well-dressed, smiling Rose who wants everyone to be happy and lives what appears to be the perfect life.

And Mary, laughing, all-seeing Mary, who wants to protect the ones she love, but who also wants to keep them away, afraid that she will hurt them if they get too close.

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Yet another night filled with smiles, small talk and general merriment; and just a few hours added to the thousands and thousands spent in pretend happiness. Yet another gathering for the express purpose of letting the rich stroke each other's egos and help fill each other's pockets; and me standing there, just another trophy wife, supporting my husband in his efforts to reach ever higher on the glittering steps of social status and financial gain.

"Hello Rose dear!"

A female voice woke me from my bitter thoughts and I looked up, smiled and greeted the elderly woman in front of me with a cheerful "Hello there" before kissing her cheek, taking her hand and asking about her family; the simple act of greeting an acquaintance as if she was one of my closest friends perfected over the long years of service.

You could always count on me to do and say the right things; I had been taught well. In those first few months, where I still clung to the notion that my thoughts and opinions counted, he had taught me well and often. Well enough to know that it was in my best interest to smile, wave, hug and kiss my way through any number of social gatherings and to never let any of the thoughts spinning in my head show on my face.

To be really honest, most of the years had passed by in a gray mist, where I didn't feel or think anything. And perhaps those were the happy years, at least compared to these last few months where a newly awakened need to get away had started to make my life almost as miserable as those first few months of married life.

I stood there sipping a glass of champagne, smiling to everyone that passed me by, the ever increasing need to scream, rage and cry almost overwhelming me. It had been like this since that one Thursday evening with my friends when Sarah had told us that she longed for someone she could love and Mary had laughed and said "be careful what you wish for". Something had just clicked in my mind right then and there, the calm grayness that surrounded me had started to slip away and I became aware of my own thoughts and feelings again. And I started crying myself to sleep every night and woke up screaming every morning. Very silently of course, because I knew the punishment that followed unwanted bursts of emotion.

How I wished I could be free from this miserable life and brave enough to make it so, I thought as the last tones of the national anthem sent my mind spinning again. The dark thoughts of 'the eternal peace of death' that kept haunting me were quickly swept away. I wanted to live, but a happy life, not this nightmarish existence with days filled with faked happiness and superficial beauty, where my every move was monitored and controlled.

I felt a chill run down my spine and recognizing the feeling of being watched I turned my head slightly to the left, smiled an even wider smile and waved lovingly to my husband; probably fooling everyone at the party, except for him; hopefully adding some positive numbers to the negative ones that almost falling on the way in had most certainly given me in this night's behavior ledger.

I wasn't punished very often these days and I was carefully hoping that his need to go see to his own pleasures - thankfully not so often in my bed nowadays - would make him deliver the needed hard words and accompanying fists quickly.

He tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow indicating he wanted me to come to him. I put my glass away and walked over, always the dutiful wife. I kissed his cheek and purred out a "darling" that could be overheard by everyone who stood close by. Perhaps there was a chance for me to get back on his good side before the night was over.

"Rose," he said "I'd like for you to meet Senator Reynolds."

"Good evening Senator," I said and turned to the stocky, red-faced man standing a few steps away "it's a pleasure to meet you!"

I could feel his eyes trailing across my body and the way my tight dress followed my curves. His face grew just a few shades redder and the speed of his breathing increased. A discreet sign from my husband made me aware that this had been his intention and as I slid closer to the Senator I wondered what this particular person had or could do that my husband needed. I wrapped my arm around the Senator's, laughed at the small jokes he was telling me and forced myself not to shudder as his eyes ran admiringly across my cleavage. I hoped I wouldn't have to go too far in my admiration for him; there's nothing that can make you feel quite like a cheap whore as being... a cheap whore.

- - - - -

I didn't wake up screaming the next morning but just opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling, my whole being filled with a sense of purpose. I had to do something about my life otherwise I'd be stuck doing the same things over and over again for the rest of my life; pleasing and pleasuring my husband and everyone he threw my way until I couldn't take it anymore.

But how do you break free when you don't have any money, when you're almost always under surveillance and when you can't trust anyone, except perhaps your three closest friends; the only real ones you have, who will no longer be your friends after your husband has destroyed them as he has promised he can and will?

I carefully eased myself out of bed, trying not to upset the ribs on my right side that hurt from that single strong blow to them the night before. Still, I was glad that he had only hit me once; you had to appreciate the little things in life.

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water sooth my body, trying to relax the muscles that were somehow always tense, perhaps waiting for the next degrading task or painful experience. I couldn't really remember what my body had felt like when I was younger, when I ran carelessly across the fields by my grandmother's house in the summers or when I danced the night away as I grew slightly older.

Thinking back only caused me pain, but I let myself walk down memory lane, seeing myself as a girl, then a teenager and then slightly older, on the verge of womanhood. I remembered the way my family had always laughed, hugged and kissed each other, the way my mother and father showed their love for each other every single day and the way I just couldn't wait to find that special love for myself. Naïve, starry-eyed, poor eighteen year old fool that I was; I had been an easy target for the good-looking, rich prince of our town. The way he had been such a gentleman always, the gifts he brought me and the way he said he only had eyes for me had made me fall madly in love with him. When he asked me to marry him I had jumped at the chance, even though my mother had cautioned me to wait a little while longer, to get to know him a little bit better.

I was the envy of everyone as I walked down the aisle and became Mrs. Bannister, the lovely new bride in one of the wealthiest families in the area. I couldn't have been happier and as I waved to my parents after the luxurious wedding party I did it with high hopes and the biggest smile I had ever worn. The honeymoon changed my feelings quite abruptly as I was taught lesson after lesson about myself and the man I had married.

I shied away from the thoughts of the warm days and nights on that miserable tropical island. I could feel the need to throw up rising, as it always did when my thoughts circled too close to those first three weeks of our marriage, and the following week that I spent in a luxurious room at the hospital after having 'fallen down the stairs'. The private hospital where no questions were asked, no reports were written and where the staff members who looked at me with pity in their eyes, soon found themselves without a job. Such were the ways of the very rich.

Some part of me was grateful for the way that my father-in-law stepped in and told his son to 'not leave visible marks in the future' with the added 'she's no good to us without her looks' comment. But the way he said it, standing in my room at the hospital, not caring if I heard him made me realize that he had known about the rough and violent nature of son. It also made me realize that I could never expect any help from that side of the family, because in their eyes I was just another bought item, something my husband could use as he pleased, just as long as he did it discreetly and kept the family name clean from scandal.

I don't think that my mother and father believed in the falling-down-the-stairs-story, but they were never allowed to speak to me alone and after I got out of the hospital I only managed to call them once before they crashed their car into a tree on their way to work. I didn't want to think about that day either, because I worried that my quick phone call the day before the crash was what caused their deaths; and those thoughts led to sure madness.

I stepped out of the shower, dried myself off and looked at my reflection in the mirror. God, how I hated the perfect shape of my face, my dark red lips, my large, blue eyes and my softly curling blonde hair. I hated my high breasts, thin waist and slightly wider hips. I hated the way my body seemed to call out for attention and admiration. I hated everything that had made the golden boy of the Bannister family take a notice of me. With a shake of my head I cursed both at the foolish, romantic girl I had been thirteen years ago and at the bitter, angry woman I had now become.

I walked out into my bedroom, got dressed and started my daily schedule, following the strict instructions I had been given as closely as I could; my only goal in life to live through another day without giving the family any room for annoyance; sadly aware that words would always be used to hurt me but hoping that the sticks and stones could be held off for yet another day.

- - - - -

A couple of weeks passed by and my inner turmoil began showing on the outside, perhaps not visible to everyone but still enough to make two of my friends throw worried looks my way. Mary even called to ask what was wrong and in one moment of weakness I actually thought about telling her. I stopped myself just in time and managed to tell her something about being tired and perhaps coming down with the flu.

It wasn't the flu that made it difficult for me to breathe though, but bruises that were covering great parts of my upper body. Sometimes it didn't matter how closely you followed every instruction or how swiftly you responded to every command; sometimes you were just a vent to help relieve pressure after a frustrating day.

I walked slowly around the garden, blinking back tears and thinking about the many different ways a person could be hurt by someone willing to put some real thought and effort into it. The purely physical part of domestic violence really wasn't the part that hurt the most; you could always find ways of sealing yourself off, of going to your happy place. Words usually hurt more, especially if the person delivering the words made sure he had your full attention. But what really hurt the most was the way that a really manipulative person would let you have something in your life that you really liked or loved, something that could later be taken away as a punishment or just as a proof of his powers over you.

Over the years the wedding picture of my mother and father's, my mother's favorite necklace, a beautiful painting and several other things had been used that way to shake my world and break my spirit. And my tears now were not for my physical injuries but for the way my gardening shed had been trashed along with the distillation equipment and every single bottle of etheric oil I had managed to produce.

I figured I had now hit rock bottom. There wasn't anything left that could be broken or taken away. I sat down slowly on a stone bench that couldn't be seen from the house and wrapped my arms around myself as I started weeping with big gulping sobs. My mother's favorite songs that I used so frequently in times of need would not help with this level of grief; no woman, no cry; everything's gonna be alright...

My heart almost stopped as I felt something warm and wet touch the hand that I had let fall by the side of the bench. I quickly opened my eyes to the sight of a big dog with golden fur that had somehow gotten into the garden and was sitting beside me, leaning his head slightly to the side as if he was wondering why I was sitting there alone, crying. He leaned in and pressed his nose to my hand once again and then pushed his head underneath my hand as if to say 'please pat me'. I let my hand stroke his soft fur and wondered what magic had sent him my way.

"Here boy!" I could hear from the other side of the hedge, answering the question of where the dog had come from. The dog seemed content to sit beside me, my hand now stroking his back with slow movements. Listening to the calls from the other side and thinking about what might happen if my husband saw the dog I decided to walk over my next-door neighbor and bring the dog with me. I rose and walked away and the dog obligingly followed.

The house next door wasn't quite as big as the one I lived in, but much more simple and charming. It was probably one of the smallest houses in the neighborhood, but still a good-sized one. I followed the sound of the man calling for the dog and walked further into a garden that was filled with flowers of every shape, form, color and smell. If the house was charming the garden was absolutely, stunningly beautiful.

After turning around the corner of the house I saw the man who was calling for the dog, a friendly looking man with white hair, creased clothes and dirt under his nails. A man that sounded younger than the probably seventy years and then some that his face told me he was. He saw me approaching followed by his dog and started smiling widely.

"Alfred, you big goof," he said "why did you run off like that? Was it because you met this lovely lady?"

I smiled back, aware that my face probably showed all the signs of my short crying spell.

"Hello," I said "my name is Rose and I live next door. This gentleman came walking just a few minutes ago and I thought perhaps it was him you might be missing."

"Yes," the man answered "this if Alfred, my best friend and companion, and you can call me Edward or Ed for short."

He reached his hand out just a little bit too fast which made me tense and draw myself back half a step before I finally reached out to shake his hand. His face went from happy to worried and back to happy again quickly enough for me to think that perhaps I had imagined the sad frown on his forehead. He asked me if I wanted to stay for a cup of tea but I shook my head and started walking back through the hedge, back to life as I knew it.

* * * * *

I saw her walking round and around in the garden next door, noting the way her steps were slower than they usually were, that she was leaning slightly to the left and that she was dragging her right foot somewhat.

I had been watching her over the past few months, first just happily contemplating her loveliness, seeing her as just another beautiful flower to be admired from afar, then later reading her body language and trying to figure out what was bothering me about the lovely picture she made. It shouldn't have taken me this long to figure out the answer to why she made me feel uneasy. I knew the signs well, both from personal and professional experience. I also knew that stepping in, telling her what I knew and trying to offer her my help would probably just send her off running.

She walked slowly to the shady corner of her garden, hidden from the eyes of the world, and I cursed my inability to come up with a plan to help her. I walked downstairs and was greeted by Alfred, happily chewing on one of his favorite shoes. When he saw me heading towards the door he gave a low bark and followed me out, waving his tail to me as he ran past and started smelling his way through the garden.

I looked at Alfred's joyful explorations and sat down on the steps, leaning my head in my hands. There must be something that I can do, I thought to myself. Perhaps...?

I jumped up and walked into the house to get a certain well-chewed old sneaker. Alfred saw me coming, carrying his favorite toy, and followed me gladly towards the back of our house. I tossed the shoe into the garden next door and saw Alfred follow it in there. I quickly walked back to the front of the house and started waiting. It was a long shot, but Alfred liked people and people liked Alfred, so it might at least give me a chance to say "hello".

I waited for five long minutes before I started calling for my dog, using every "come here" expression I could think of, except for the one I knew would actually make him come. I didn't have to wait for very long before the woman came walking, closely followed by a happy dog.

When she saw me she seemed to automatically straighten and correct her posture and walk and as she greeted me her face was covered by a lovely smile. Of course I could tell she had been crying, but there was no other sign of weakness, sadness or any other emotion but happy friendliness.

I saw her twitch as I reached my hand out to shake hers, but her hand was steady as she gripped mine in a firm handshake. This is a woman who knows how to hide her secrets, I thought to myself as she walked away.

Determined to find out the truth behind her perfect smile I walked into the house to make plans. I looked at the sweet still slightly puppyish Alfred, sure that he would be glad to help me make friends with the lovely lady next door.