The Rosebush

“Okay, so one bucket for you and one bucket for me,” Karen said, kneeling in the flowerbed. Elise flopped down beside her.

“I still don’t see why we have to do this,” Elise said. Karen noticed her lack of enthusiasm. It left the both of them as dry as the earth around the dying rosebush.

“Oh, come on it’ll be fun.” She said, trying to infuse the experience with some life. “Besides, is it too much to ask for you to spend one afternoon with your mother?”

“No, I mean I don’t understand why we have to do this. Weeding. They’re just going to come back anyway. You can’t stop them.”

“Yes, well, that’s just life.” Karen reached for her scratcher with an inward sigh and began to pull at the weeds surrounding the rosebush.

“How encouraging.” Elise responded as she set to work, leaving her scratcher unused.

“Nobody said life was encouraging, El,” Karen said.

“Nobody said we were talking about life.” Elise shot back. Karen went on with her work, forcing Elise into the next move. “Whatever. Isn’t this sorta like ethnic cleansing anyway? Choosing which specimens get to live, and which get to die?” Elise tore at the tops of weeds, leaving the roots buried underneath. Karen knew better than to bring it up.

“Maybe,” She said instead. “Think of it this way. At the center of the garden is the rosebush. Young, vibrant. It has its entire life before it, so long as it’s taken care of. So long as the weeds of the world don’t plant its seeds too close. A rose has got to be careful about-

“What’s this got to do with anything?” Elise cut in.

“I’ve put a lot of work into these flowers. And I’m not about to let any weeds crop up and destroy them.”

“What makes you think that the rosebush is any better than the weeds?” Elise asked provokingly.

“Because it’s mine and I know what’s best for it.”

Elise shot to her feet. “What makes you think that you know best? And just because you planted it doesn’t mean you own it. You don’t own anything!” Her scratcher flew out of her hand and struck the fence behind them. Within the space of three seconds she was in the house, door slammed shut behind her.

Karen buried her face in her hands, before being reduced to sobs that rocked her like a mother rocks a newborn baby.