Golden

Beneath her knees the fresh soil settled, sinking her slightly closer to the casket placed in the ground mere hours ago. The sun was still high, the day far too bright for the dark cloud eclipsing her heart. The others had left, heading to the celebration of life set across town at her favorite coffee shop, but she couldn't leave. Her legs beneath her felt as though they were deep roots, they were there, but only to anchor her. She wept, clutching the headstone tight as if she held it tight enough the stone would morph into the form of the name engraved and become real, letting this whole ordeal fade into nothing more than a terrible week that could eventually become a dark joke shared between them.

But the stone held fast. She pulled back, her left arm dropped limp into her lap, her right she forced to remain up, tracing the words of the headstone. Here Lies Rosilland “Rosie” McCann, Daughter, Girlfriend, Engineer, and The Brightest Spirit 1991-2021. How could she be gone? How has it already been a week without her? How has it only been one impossibly terrible week? Surely several lifetimes had passed since the earth stopped spinning, nothing else could make sense, though nothing could be strung properly in her grief riddled mind.

She wiped away her tears, then did so again, and again, trying to see this accursed sight before her long enough to accomplish the task in front of her. She reached down to the dirt and dug her hands in, scooping out a small hole and set the remainder to the side, from her left pocket she pulled out a little baggie of seeds, Marigold Garuda, Rosie’s favorite. She remembered back, a happy memory of a lovely day walking by a floral vendor.

“Seriously, those ones? I mean they’re pretty, I just thought you would go for, well roses, given your name and all.”

Rosie rolled her hazel eyes, she stood there in a gorgeous blue sundress, her wavy, nut brown hair barely reached her shoulders, her arms crossed, flats held tightly in her right hand. Ah yes, she did love roaming about barefoot, never quite did get the reason for that out of Rosie.

Rosie nodded to the flowers on the cart. “If you had a name the same as a flower, Clara, how quickly would you get sick of getting those flowers? Or the constant comparisons, and jokes and puns?”

Clara raised her hands, conceding the point. “You got me.”

Rosie beamed, draping her arms over Clara. “Oh I know I do. Always and forever, beautiful.”

Clara smiled then shared a kiss with Rosie.

The memory felt like she started a blender on her broken heart as she poured the baggie into the little whole above Rosie’s grave. From her left she pulled out a box, all of her hopes, love and dreams contained inside in the form of a white gold ring holding up a brilliant emerald beset by an opaline halo. The sight of the box once held excitement, and a rush of nervous energy. Now it only held the darkened memory of watching Rosie die. And Claras hopes for happiness and a life of love.

The next memory burst, ripping through her defenses. Rosie waving as she crossed the street to meet Clara after work, Clara sitting at the table on the patio of the Italian restaurant Rosie was so fond of, a simple vase of marigolds Clara picked up, to help draw attention and hide the box with the ring until the right moment. Rosie dropping her keys as she bounded across the street, the screech of the tires of a silver 2003 Toyota Camry rounding the corner, fleeing the cops after a liquor store hold up. The thump, metallic and bone crunch. Rosie flying, dead before she hit the ground. At least according to the medic who informed her more callously than he should have. Clara, squeezing her eyes tight, shook her head attempting to fling the memory into the hole with the seeds so she could bury it forever.

She took a shaky breath. “If you can hear me, my love, please give me some sign to your answer.” She pulled the ring out, setting it on the seeds. “Will you be my bride, Rosie McCann?”

She broke down, it wasn’t supposed to go like this, that was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, and it went so much worse than anything she could have cooked up in her head. She let herself cry, letting time slip by as the sun made its way toward the horizon. When she couldn’t cry anymore, she took the soil, her gaze holding on the ring, the seeds, and her unanswered request, and let the dirt fall over them. As they vanished, she pressed down on the soil with all the weight of her heavy heart. She kissed the stone, her lips pressed to the granite so long they kept it's chill as she pulled away and clumsily rose to her feet. She whispered a promise to be back tomorrow as she finally managed to turn away. With her back to the grave, she was unable to see the marigold sprout stretched in front of the etched letters.

Clara walked into her apartment, she took a Lyft™ back, thinking it unwise to operate her car in her state. Bless the driver he didn’t utter a single word of her disheveled look or try to dig into her life and what was going on, he really earned those five stars. She put her phone away and gazed around the empty apartment, a large studio with floor to ceiling windows in a third story walk up of a remodeled factory. One month ago Rosie tricked her into looking at this place, they moved in the next day. Now she was surrounded by half unpacked boxes and haunted by a life she could no longer have.

Clara couldn’t let herself dwell, she locked the door and made for the vanity desk, hoping cleaning her face would help her clear her head. She sat on the stool, and clicked the lights of the mirror on, seeing just how rough she was looking after the day. She sighed and reached for the drawer to her left and heard a soft crinkle as she moved. Clara pulled back and heard it again, realizing it came from her pocket not the drawer. She pulled the seed baggie out of her pocket, and shook it on the desk. A single seed plopped onto the polished wood.

Crossing her arms on the desk, Clara rested her head, staring at the single seed. Of course I managed to miss one. She thought as she rolled the seed across the strained wood debating whether to plant or discard the seed. Exhaustion started to catch her, her eyelids either needed oil or she needed to rest, but her bed was on the other side of the apartment, it might as well have been in Shanghai with how worn out she was. She pushed herself up, her legs still worn out, barely got her off the bench. She clicked the vanity lights off, made the trek to the bed and flopped on her back. The city lights were still incredibly bright, the gold light trying to crawl through and keep her awake, she shifted to block the light with her arm, the soft bedding at last bringing her to sleep.

Bonk. Bonk.

Clara groaned quietly as she woke to the sound. It felt as though it had been five minutes. Who could be knocking on the window at this damned hour? Was the universe this set against her resting?

Bonk, bonk-bonk-bonk.

It dawned on Clara, she was in a third story walk up, one that people couldn’t climb up to and knock on a window.

THUNK. THUNK.

Her heart began to race, she fought against flinching, failing spectacularly. She told herself she was exhausted, and grieving, the thumping had to be a hallucination. There was no chance in hell that knocking could be coming from the mirror.

WUNG.

The vanity shook. Clara flew up, toppling with all the lacked grace of a drunken wildebeest onto the floor, quickly pushing herself back up and running to the vanity. The single seed had decided on a plan without her say so, rooting into the desk and coming to a full bloom and giving off a vibrant golden light that was near blinding. Clara hardly noticed, her eyes locked on the mirror, more importantly the figure in the mirror repeatedly mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ to her from the other side of the glass.

Dressed in all black, nut brown hair pulled into a tight but loosening bun, hazel eyes puffy, nose red, Rosie McCann mouthed ‘I didn't mean to scare you.’ Clara, convinced she was headed straight for the asylum after this night, decided she didn’t care how this came to pass, instead opting to reach out and place her left hand on the glass.

“Is it really you?” She asked, pushing past the lump in her throat, terrified of the answer.

Rosie let out a happy little laugh, placed her right hand over Clara’s left.

‘It’s me, beautiful.’ Mouthed Rosie.

The Marigold's light pulsed, beneath their hands the mirror rippled, and Clara stopped feeling the cold glass of the mirror, and instead felt the familiar warmth of the hand of her lover. She gasped, batting away tears of joy, terrified that if she lost sight of Rosie that she would lose her again and she wouldn’t let that happen.

Her knees started to ache and she looked down, she had in her disbelief and longing crawled onto the desk of the vanity without realizing it. She reached her right hand out, it passed through the mirror with no resistance, she pulled it back, and saw no changes to her hand. She paused considering what it would mean, passing through held no guarantee of return, she'd be abandoning her life. She looked at Rosie across the liquid mirror plane, then bent down and whispered a choked thank you to the marigold, before crawling through the mirror and embracing Rosie on the other side with all the passion, happiness, and relief she could put into the hug and kiss she wrapped her in.

Clara pulled back, wiping away tears as Rosie giggled, doing the same.

“I lost you.” She managed to choke out.

Rosie squeezed her. “I lost you. I came home from your funeral to find a glowing Marigold growing from the vanity, and our apartment in the mirror, with you sleeping in the bed. I'm sorry you fell by the way, did it hurt?”

"Only my pride." Clara said as she pulled herself off of the vanity, and looked back. Sure enough there was their apartment packing both of them but otherwise the same. And on the vanity the flower, a mirror image of her own, its glow dimming, the petals dropping away to reveal a very familiar ring. Clara picked the ring out and felt Rosie's hands on her shoulders as she peeked over Clara's shoulders. Rosie gasped and covered her mouth, it wasn’t the way Clara had planned, but she'd be damned if she wasted another moment, she got down on one knee and held the ring up.

“I know this has been one hell of a day, but I have to mix a few more emotions into this. Rosie McCann, I love you more than life itself, so much so death can’t keep us apart. Will you be my wife?”

“Yes! Yes!” She put the ring on and tackled Clara with a kiss. “You know you didn’t have to resurrect yourself, I would have still said yes.”

Clara smiled. “What can I say? I guess I was just dying to marry you.”