Waking Rose: A Fairy Tale Retold (33 page)

A few times, it struck him that if he had done things differently, he might still be sitting and reading his notes to Rose, but she would be alert and aware.

But knowing how good he was at tormenting himself, he attempted to cut off these trains of thought at the station. It was no good looking back now.

Hers

She had realized why it was so silent in the dark palace when she awoke under the water: everyone there was asleep. Once she had pushed open a dark door and found a man, lying on a bed, deep in sleep. She had pushed his arm, called out, but she could not rouse him. It was no use, wandering around, trying to wake up people in this realm between life and death. They could not hear her, and she could not rouse them.

And then inexorably, the current would pull her back, and she would find herself in her room once more, and back into deeper darkness.
Why?
She fought against the fatal current, in frustration, uselessly.

Why am I in this prison? What can I do to get out of here?

Once again, she fell back into the deeper darkness of oblivion.

...I charge you, O daughter of Jerusalem,

do not stir up love or rouse it

until it pleases to awake...

H
IS

After a rather bleak Thanksgiving holiday mostly spent in Graceton Hall with Rose, Jean decided that there was no sense in putting it off any longer. That Monday, she and Blanche and Fish drove out to Mercy College to clean out Rose’s things from her room.

Kateri was there to meet them. “I can help you pack up,” she said, a bit thickly. “I don’t have class.” 

Fish's gaze traveled throughout the room. Kateri hadn't touched Rose's things. The scarves on the window and tea set were as he remembered. Battered stuffed animals, including a bear in a Robin Hood outfit he vaguely recognized, peered from the top bunk, still spread with Rose's handmade quilt. He remembered her sewing it one summer out of scraps of tie-dyed cotton. Peacock, black, violet, and teal, the result was spectacular.

 “You girls did a really nice job with this room,” Jean managed to say. To distract himself, Fish studied the photographs on the bookshelf. There were pictures of Bear, Blanche, Jean, and, to his embarrassment, himself. He couldn't help looking closer. The photo was a snapshot of him on a couch, reading a book, and looking up with a disgusted look on his face. Yes, that was him. The annoying photographer had captured him exactly. He wondered why Rose kept such a strange photo of him.

Taped on the bookshelf was a picture of Blanche's wedding, a group shot of Blanche and his brother, flanked by Rose and himself. It was a rather tense posed photo. Rose looked dazzling. He thought he looked weird.

He studied the other photos, and noticed that Kateri was observing him with her inscrutable eyes. “Good pictures, aren't they?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, feeling a bit warm.

“She really liked that one from the wedding.”

“Really?” he fingered the taped photo.

“No, the other one.”

Perplexed, he followed her pointing finger. On the top shelf, level with the bed, he saw another wedding photo propped in a silver frame that was too large for it. He and Rose were dancing. Both of them were striking a pose for the camera, he acting blasé and she (imitating him?) arching her eyebrows loftily.

 “That’s a great picture,” Jean said.

He gazed at Rose's features for a long time. “I don't think I've ever seen that one before.”

“It was a proof from the photographer’s. Blanche gave it to her.”

Fish looked away from the photo at last. “If you want me to store any of the furniture, I can,” he searched for something to say.

“That’s all right,” Jean said quietly. “Dr. Murray encouraged me to bring some to her room at Graceton. But eventually most of it will have to come back. I suppose I might as well bring it home now.” 

“I’ll help,” he said, rising to his feet. “Do you want me to go to the grocery store and get some boxes?”

“That would be good. I’ll see how much I can fit in my car on this trip home,” Jean said, and turned away.

As he drove his car slowly off campus, he passed Paul Fester, who halted and waved. Fish slowed down. He had noticed that Paul’s brown eyes were now perennially sad.

“How are things?” Paul asked, his usual question to Fish since Rose’s accident. He and Paul had exchanged greetings since then, but little else. Fish had decided that his own grieving process was going to remain a solitary affair.

“Okay. We’re moving Rose’s things out of her room,” Fish said. “Her mom is going to take them home with her.”

Paul was silent for a moment. “Seems like dismantling a shrine, doesn’t it?” he asked.

 “A bit,” Fish said. “It’s kind of bringing the reality of it home for all of us.”

“Yes. Can I help with anything?”

“If you want. I’m just going to the store for boxes.”

“Let me come. We know this one store that always has them.”

“That would be great.”

Paul climbed into the car. “Okay, drive up this way. The road wraps all the way around campus, but it exits onto the main drag.”

Fish obeyed. “How’s the semester going?” he asked, in an effort to be sociable.

“Okay. Pre-med studies are tough sometimes, but I’m getting along okay. I do a lot of aikido these days. Helps me to release tension. You ever done that?”

“No, I’ve never done any martial arts.”

“You should try it sometime. I was going every week for lessons until my car died.”

“Did it? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I’m trying to get another one now. Just got to find the right used car.”

Fish thought to himself. “Well, if you ever want a ride to Graceton Hall to see Rose, let me know. I go there pretty regularly now.”

“Thanks! That would be great. All of us have been trying to go up and see Rose as often as we can.”

“Who’s ‘us?’” Fish queried. He had noticed Paul frequently referring to himself in the first person plural.

“You know, the Cor guys. Hey, there’s one of them now.” Paul called out the window as they passed a small dorm, “Hey, Bull!”

A stocky guy with black hair who was passing through the courtyard pivoted and turned with surprising agility and walked towards the car. Fish slowed the car to a stop. “Oh, it’s you again,” he said, recognizing Fish. “Ben, right?”

“Right,” Fish said, identifying him and appreciating someone calling him by his real name. “Alex?”

“Right. How’s Rose doing?”

“Same, as far as I can tell,” Fish said.

“Hey, would you be willing to give a ride to some of the other guys in Cor who want to go see Rose too?” Paul asked.

“Okay,” Fish said, a tinge of exasperation. “What’s the Core?”

“Oh, sorry. That’s just the nickname of our dorm.” Paul indicated the sign on the grass near the car. “Sacra Cor—Sacred Heart. All the dorms here are named after Christ or Mary.”

Alex concurred. “This one’s a small one, and most of the guys who live here are friends. We sort of have this informal brotherhood where we take blood oaths and swear to avenge each other’s deaths. That sort of stuff.”

“I see.”
Another weird Mercy College thing
, he thought to himself.

 Alex went on, “But seriously, Rose was a Lady of Sacra Cor. We’ve been praying the rosary for her together every night in the chapel. And we’d be happy to do whatever else we can to help.”

“Well,” Fish said. “The doctor said she could use visitors, even though there’s little hope of her coming out of the coma.”

“You don’t abandon a lady just because she happens to be in a coma,” Paul said in an injured tone.

“Of course not,” Alex looked at Fish. “Any chance you’d be going up to see her this Friday?”

“Yes. You guys want to come?”

“Sure. Could you pick us up on your way over?”

“That would be fine. I’ll be through here around five.”  Fish glanced at his watch. “We’d better go get those boxes for Jean.”

“Okay,” Alex said, retreating from the car. “See you Friday.”

16
…Many young men sought to rescue the princess, as she lay in sleep.

H
IS

“Hey, it’s snowing. Sure feels like Christmas is coming now,” Paul observed as they drove up to see Rose on a Friday night, in what had become a usual routine.

“You going home?” Alex asked.

“Of course,” Paul said. “Got my plane tickets to Chicago. Good cheap flight too.”

“James, when are you going back down to Virginia?” Alex turned to the sandy-haired quiet boy whom Fish had just met on this trip.

“Thursday. You need a ride back home?”

“Yeah, if you have room.”

“I’m going with my older sister, so I’ll have to see if the car’s full or not,” James said.

“You going home, Fish?” Alex said.

“I’m staying here for Christmas, if that’s what you mean,” Fish said.

 “Where are your parents from?” James asked.

“They were from New York,” Fish said, and added in explanation, “They’re both dead.”

“Oh,” James was surprised. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” Fish said, passing a car on the road that led to Graceton Hall. He hadn’t looked forward to Christmas for a long time, and this year was certainly no exception.

“Snow, Rose!” Paul had scooped up a pile of it in his hands and presented it to the unconscious girl as they walked in the room. She was lying beneath white sheets, but her quilt was folded at the foot of the bed. Her room looked more homey  now, with the addition of an antique end table and floral reading lamp, and more of her personal effects were distributed throughout the clinical setting, out of the way of the techs but still visible.

“She looks thrilled,” Alex said, sitting down in the chair beside her bed and taking off his black trench coat. “Hi Rose. How are you?”

“Hi Rose,” James said, a bit tentatively, imitating the others.

Fish said nothing to her, but squeezed her limp hand as he passed. He took up his post against the wall near the bed. There were only three chairs in the room, one of them Rose’s famous blue chair, which Fish had brought up himself.

They all watched as Paul carefully put a few snowflakes onto Rose’s outstretched hand. They dissolved rapidly.

 “Can you feel that, Rose? The first snow of the year,” Paul said softly. “Wish you could see it. It looks beautiful.”

Paul was always doing that—finding something that could be smelled or heard or touched to bring to Rose. He took seriously the therapeutic effects that it might have, and was creative in coming up with unusual items to show her. Fish had to admire his efforts, and had privately copied them. For instance, the last time he had brought Rose flowers, he had put some of the petals into her hands so she could feel them, and brought them up to her nose so she might be able to smell them.

It was definitely an exercise of faith to do these things for a person who didn’t show the least signs of responding. According to Paul, sometimes people in comas could flutter their eyelashes, respond to touch, or communicate in other ways. Rose, rather enigmatically, did none of this. Dr. Murray, when asked, had agreed that her coma was peculiarly deep.

“Well, things have been quiet around Sacra Cor this week—everyone’s getting ready for finals,” Alex said. “Paul’s been an absolute bear this week, enforcing silence at all times. And it’s not even quiet hours yet.”

“Everyone’s compliant except for Leroy, who’s been periodically letting off fireworks just to get me to thrash him,” Paul laughed to himself, “—Oh boy, Rose, you would appreciate this. Leroy’s pyromania took over at last.”

He recounted the story. “I was studying in the courtyard today when Leroy suddenly stormed out of his room with a pair of pants. He hurled them on the ground and shouted at them, ‘And I never want to see you again!’ Then he stormed back inside.

 “Needless to say, he got my attention. So I watched, and he came outside with a pizza box and lighter fluid...”

“Why’d he have lighter fluid?” James interrupted.

“Don’t ask,” Alex directed, rolling his eyes.

“Anyhow, Leroy put the box on the sidewalk between Lumen Christi and Cor and put the pants inside and doused them with lighter fluid. Then he lit a match to them. Naturally, the pants quickly sprouted flames and Leroy tucked them into the unsuspecting pizza box. He went over to Lumen Christi and pounded on the door, yelling, ‘Pizza, get it while it's hot!’  By this time, the box was also on fire. So he dropped it on the dirt beside the door and ran back to Sacra Cor. The box just blazed away while Leroy ran back with a tiny cup of water to douse it. Just as he reached the box, he tripped and spilled it. So he got up and ran wildly back into the dorm again.

“At this point, Patrick Frankham came out of Lumen Christi in a big huff, saw what was going on, and ran back into the building. Meanwhile, Leroy ran back out with another cup of water and just as he got to the pizza box, he tripped again and spilled all the water. He ran back inside to get more water. Pat came out with a fire extinguisher but stopped when he saw Leroy coming with a bucket of water. He relaxed, but then Leroy tripped again, and spilled the water all over Pat instead of the fire. Then Pat was furious. Leroy said, ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ And hurried back to get more water. But when he came out, he just had a tiny cup and he dropped three drops on the fire. That’s when Patrick started freaking out.