Torn Fragility

Nobody knows this little Rose --
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it --
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey --
On its breast to lie --
Only a Bird will wonder --
Only a Breeze will sigh --
Ah Little Rose -- how easy
For such as thee to die~ Emily Dickinson

I was taking my gap year, that unsure, indecisive stage when you’re still struggling to come to terms with the huge hole school has left in your daily routine. But I still had the whole year to decide; the year had only just started and I had already sent in my CV to a cruise liner company and many alike jobs. Ones where I could momentarily escape the humdrum of my life, travel to exotic places and get some extra cash for next year.

Of course I would have to work myself to a standstill as a glorified maid.

Freedom comes at a price. But I had to get myself away. Away from anyplace that reminded me of all I have yet to achieve.

I hadn’t expected a reply from any of the companies but within a week of submission I received an accepted application form and particulars of the job. A maid on a cruise ship.

My parents were relieved for my part. I had been moping around the house after New Years after I had heard my closest friends had either been accepted into University or were going overseas for vacations courtesy of their parent’s infinitely deep, money lined pockets.

Of course my family couldn’t afford the latter, much less the former. We were lower middle class and I had only been accepted into my posh high school because of my artwork. Not exactly a scholarship but the school committee decided to pay half of my tuition fees as long as I kept up a high standard.

I learnt most of my drawing skills from picture books, those old illustrated kind with the hard cover linen wrapped covers. Or from the crackly pages of fairytale books with their warm leather bindings.

But now I would have to endure months of hard physical work requiring little brain power. I wasn’t sure if this was what I wanted, much less needed. My skills I would use to one day make a living would suffer greatly. Could I afford that?

So I also applied at an online au pair community. Then another link caught my eye.

‘Caring for invalids or the elderly.’

I summarised from the home page that I scarcely needed any skills. I only had to be able to cook well, clean well, and be good conversation with a dash of good common sense.

I submitted a profile page about myself along with a photo and email link should any potential employers wish to contact me. I was fidgety for days afterward not sure if I could handle the responsibility and loneliness of caring for ‘invalids or the elderly.’

And within a week, I found myself standing outside a huge mansion as a taxi cab roared away in the distance. In my hands I clutched a large suitcase that had belonged to my grandfather, my hair was uncombed and bushy, there were rings underneath my eyes and mud spattered on my worn leather boots.

I felt shabby and out of place in this obviously upmarket country lane. Down the road were massive modern mansions, monstrosities of expensive bad taste.

Though the house in front of me was clearly early nineteenth century, with a yawning front stoep and a wide sweeping lawn. But the grass was knee high pockmarked with mole hills, and the house itself was badly in need of a paint job. But the endless sea of blue sky dappled with wispy clouds and the mighty oaks growing next to the gravel driveway added a charm to the place.

My hands sweated and I wiped them dry on my conventional skirt. Nervously, I started up the drive, my boots crunching conspicuously on the gravel and my heart beating unsteadily in my chest.

My name is Rose and I have no thorns to protect me.