The Red Rose.

The thick glass protected the rose from our curious hands, and it protected us too, from the harmful air that the nuclear war had left above the surface. Another glass tomb was placed on the rose which had a filtering mechanism, the same kind in each room filtering the air from above, keeping us alive. The spherical glass was the second place where the sunshine was allowed to enter. My grandmother had saved this rose, she kept yelling get the rose, get the rose and I said, “No, nana, there is no time.” She looked at me with such deep despair that I decided to risk it and I ran outside, picked up the lone rose in the pot, and ran back inside, my phone beeped again, after the warning message, instructions had followed. “Get inside the basement and bolt the iron door securely and do not step out, at all costs.” I grabbed my grandmother’s wheelchair, firmly gripping the handles, and wheeled her on the path to the basement my parents had gotten, especially for her. “Ma and pa,” the thought lingered but I knew each office building now had an extensive basement plan too for emergencies.

It was the protocol. When I was 13, I remember a man in a suit handing some documents to my parents, who looked worried, but seem to agree with everything he said. He was tall and, had a haunting look about him that I can never forget. A week later, there were builders in our home, I was excited thinking our house was getting renovated, my room could finally look spruced up and maybe a jacuzzi outside on the deck, but they used to come, and go straight to the basement and there would be drilling noises all day long and I was never allowed to go down there. I asked my mom what was happening, but all she could tell me was that it was a safe house, and I should not go there unless it was an emergency. But my curiosity mixed with frustration forced me to ignore the undefined warning, I would peer through the basement window at the back of the house and see an iron vault like door with big handles and levers. It seemed peculiar, I asked my friend Luke, if he had seen anything, but he was not allowed to go anywhere near the basement, either. I realized on my way to school, half our block had construction going.

My dad would put on the news and all we would hear were bunkers, prepare your bunkers well. The government assured; they are just precautionary but that did not seem to convince anyone. My dad would flinch every time his phone would buzz a message. Even at school, all anyone could talk about was their bunkers and how their families would have an emergency drill every week. Nana’s Alzheimer’s had started at that point, so she would freak out seeing so many people in our house, we would often leave her in her room, some days she would be fine and other days she would forget her own name. It was harder on my mom than anyone else. At that time, no one could have predicted what would happen, and as the years passed by, people forgot about the bunkers and sure enough, they turned out to be precautionary, until a warm summer afternoon in June when I got the text, I did not read at it first. It had been years since the emergency alert drill had been sent out and then I heard my grandmother yell “a shooting star, so pretty,” in the middle of the day, usually I would have ignored such a remark because she was always looking at pretty shooting stars but something about the way she looked at it prompted me to rush towards the window, and there it was, a missile flying high in the sky. My phone buzzed, it was mom calling, as soon as I picked up the phone she yelled, “Go, go in the safehouse, you know what to do.”

“What about you and dad?” I cried.

“Don’t worry about us, we will be fine, Sarah. Now go, take your grandmother and go to the basement.”

I looked at Nana, she was still at the window watching her pretty star. I grabbed her wheelchair and said, “We have to go, Nana,” and raced the wheelchair towards the basement, she couldn’t understand and kept asking, “Who are you? Let me go,” she tried to scratch my hand, thankfully I had cut her nails that morning, but she tried to get off the wheelchair and fell down. I could see the smoke clouding outside, the panic was gripping me but there was no time to react to it, all I could think of was getting nana to the safehouse. I prayed for her lucidity at this point more than anything, her heart-shaped locket had come undone and lay next to her and as I picked it up and handed it to her, my prayer was answered, she recognized me, “Sarah, what happened? You look worried my love.” There were tears in my eyes, I was terrified about what was happening and what was going to happen, afraid, what would happen to ma and pa and doubtful, of whether I could do this. I looked at my nana and realized there was no time for tears, I must save her, I have to hope for my parent’s survival. I must, I must, I kept repeating it to myself.

I helped my nana up and told her that we needed to get to the safe house, she looked worried but agreed. As I was taking her, she remembered the rose. The rose grandpa had gotten her on their third date, she had worn a white dress that day and her lips were painted bright red, she was waiting at the coffee shop when my grandpa saw her through the window. They had been on a couple of dates before, but it didn’t seem to click, he was going to end things today until he saw her, with one hand resting under her chin and the other playing with the napkin when the waiter came to taker her order she told him, “I am waiting for someone.” Though he was 45 minutes late at this point, my nana still waited with a smile, looking so beautiful, my grandpa ran to the florist next door and picked up the most beautiful looking, velvet red rose. And he rushed inside, she was still there, right where he had seen her, waiting for him such a beautiful, and amazing woman, he had finally realized. He knew that day as he had watched her through the window, she was the one. It was my favorite story, grandpa used to tell it to me whenever we would go on our walks, he got lucky he used to say. He was right, my grandmother had saved the seeds of that rose that had made her fall for grandpa, she had kept that rose since, and would keep rotating its seeds, keeping its legacy going. My grandpa died before she got Alzheimer’s and that rose was what kept her going. Her few minutes of lucidity would often be spent talking about him and her beautiful red rose. It was the best love story I had ever seen.

I would stand in front of it for hours, staring, wishing, and remembering. It has been five years since that fateful day, five years since I have seen my parents since I have seen the sky, that day remains burned in my memory. All of us were serving a life sentence, of being trapped underground, the nuclear missile shot at us left the environment radioactive, taking years to recover. The “precautionary” plan had saved “most” of the citizens and the government but had left us isolated, hopeless and, many committed suicide the first couple of years because of loneliness and despair. Anxiety and panic attacks had become so common, to survive, we each had to find that one thing that kept us going, our “someday”. The tunnels in the basement connected us to our neighbor’s house but not more than a few miles, so, we would visit each other but could not stay for long due to limited oxygen supply, we did have gatherings where four people were allowed to gather, to help each other get through this, it was hard on all of us but we helped each other as much as we could, trying to locate missing family members, knowing their whereabouts, contacting them was what some of us looked forward to. Each household had stored a couple of year's worth of food which was not enough so, we had to get creative. The air outside was toxic, most days would have thick clouds and acid rain pouring down but some days cleared up for the natural sunshine which all of us counted on, the greenhouse we had built helped us grow our own fruits and vegetables and the infrequent sunshine was harnessed to use as solar power for backup. There was never any signal for Wi-Fi or on our phones, radios were our only means of communication, but it was always difficult to get a signal on that too, but somehow Luke who lived 3 blocks away from my house, had managed to talk to someone in the city, who told us most of the adults had survived in the various office buildings but had been relocated to a place underground which had more food supplies and other essentials but no one knew where; that was enough for me, knowing that they were safe somewhere and that “someday” I would meet them again, feel the warmth of my mother’s hug, but there were days, when all there would be static, no updates. Normalcy had taken a new meaning, which still did not make me feel normal, the only semblance of it was the rose.

Nana passed away peacefully a year after the attack, leaving me all alone. She knew, days before, that her time was coming, she had told me but I didn’t believe her I didn’t want to, so I kept pretending everything was fine until the day, the day she called me to her room and took off her necklace her mother gave it to her before she passed away and placed it in my hand, gripping them as she said, “It’s going to come back to you, love but for now keep it safe ok.” Before I could reply her hand fell involuntarily, leaving the necklace in my palm and, I looked at her, eyes as clear as the sky and unmoving, I closed them, fell on my knees, and cried my eyes out. I called Luke and he took me in, he was living with his two younger sisters and aunt, his parents had died in a car accident years ago before the war. His aunt and his sisters were his only family, we weren’t allowed more than 4 people in one bunker, but he took me in. His aunt when she saw me hugged me so hard, I remember weeping through her white sweater, but she held onto me. I visit my bunker sometimes, for the memories and the rose. He was the one who helped me set it up so that it can live, carry on the legacy, and hope for a future where the expected tiny one can meet her nana and grandpa and would give her nana, her mother’s heart-shaped locket.

I want a boy, kind and warm like his father but Luke wants a girl, says we will name her Grace after my nana.