Rose Blossom - By Renee Travis Page 0,3
as she realized what I had, that my mother would never allow it.
"Yup,” I frowned and we began walking again. "She'll never let me go, not now, not when I'm 50." I climbed into Mel's dark blue Ford Escort, going through my bag as my breathing continued to be a little rough. I pulled out a few blue pills and quickly, discreetly, swallowed them.
"Well, go home and talk to her, make her see reason. You guys can meet Killian and me there and I'll keep an eye on you," she didn’t need to add the 'like normal.'
As we drove to my house I told her all about Julian and mine's strange conversation. She dropped me off grinning, positive she'd see me at the dance that night.
My family lived in a neighborhood where all the houses looked the same. I called it the Stepford Housing Community. It was all brand new housing, and we'd moved in three years before. I missed our smaller, more unique home on Foothill Boulevard.
All the houses on Summerset Lane were the same style in varying shades of grey, blue and pale purple, all two-storied monsters sitting on small patches of deep green lawn, all with the same beds of blue and red pansies. Our house stood out from all the other homes on the block due to my own addition; three deep red rose bushes that I was completely proud of.
I pulled my keys out of my pocket, opened the front door, and walked into the front hallway. Our house was the cleanest house of anyone I knew; all the white rugs were spotless, enhanced by the fact that everyone was required to take their shoes off at the door. I dropped my black book bag onto the hanger my dad had installed next to the coat closet.
Coming farther into the house I could hear the quiet strains of Frank Sinatra coming from down the hall, I smiled; it meant my father, a local middle school teacher, was home early.
His office was next to the kitchen, so I walked past the living room entryway, ignoring it. I hated the pale peach walls of our house and the brand new looking furniture in matching shades of peach and light tan. So instead of flopping on my mother's oh-so-proud-of furniture, I walked into the kitchen. It was just as sterile as the rest of the house, tiles in dark blue and off white with my mother's precious top-of-the-line kitchenware and bone china plates.
At one time my mother had a personality, but ever since we had moved into Stepfordland she'd changed, and only in her own bedroom did I see a little of the woman I'd grown up with. Shaking the melancholy thoughts from my mind I knocked on the door to my dad's office.
"Come in!" my dad's distracted voice called out.
I opened the door, drawing in the smell of my dad's space, this room and this room alone felt like home. It had all my dad's stuff in it; his ratted dark green recliner, two chipped bookshelves holding an incense burner, books, knick knacks and pictures of me growing up. My dad sat at his desk, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, the first three buttons on his shirt unbuttoned. You could barely see his desk under all the papers and magazines.
His hair color was the same as mine except short, and besides the difference in our eyes - his were dark brown, I looked a lot like him and that was the happiest part of my life sometimes; that I looked and acted more like him than mom.
"Hey Rose," my heart jumped a little at the familiar nickname, "how was school?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes that I couldn’t name. I came farther into the room and sat in the chair in front of his desk, I might have been curvy but I was little enough to actually "curl" up in the chair.
"Good. Um, dad? I really want to talk to you about something," I peeked up at him from under my long hair.
"What's up?" He turned, giving me his full attention.
"I got asked to the dance tonight and I really want to go," I rushed, wanting to get it all out before he said 'no.' "I mean I'm 17 and I've always followed your rules, but I'm a senior this year and I really want to go. I promise to not dance and to obey any other rules you see fit to