Memories of an Autumn Rose

EASTERN CANTON, QC, CANADA SEPTEMBER 10TH, 2017

Gone to get groceries had to be the most messed up suicide note in the history of the world.

Autumn Rose Sterling called out to her husband, Eddie, but the small cottage was quiet. When he didn’t answer, she wrote the note.

Rose put on some lipstick, so she looked less pale. She wasn’t really going to kill herself. Taking the car keys from her purse, she closed the door quietly behind her. She was going to ask her godmother for a little help.

Rose looked back at the house and sighed. She tightened the belt on her coat. It, like most of her clothes, was too big now. Their car was in the driveway, but she went toward the backyard instead. The trees around the lake had started to change color, their hues reflected in the still water. She had always wanted to paint this view, to make it into a woven tapestry, or an embroidery pattern. Maybe next time.

Rose pulled her pendant out from beneath her sweater. She clasped it in her hand and said a prayer to Kali Ma, the Hindu Goddess of Death.

 Auntie-ji, I need your help. I have cancer. Please help me end this life with dignity. She took a photograph of her family from her coat pocket. Her granddaughter had taken it last summer. Zoe had used the timer, so she, Rose, Eddie, and their daughter Nora could all be in the photo together. It was Rose’s new favorite. "Everything is ready. Eddie and Nora know everything. Well, not everything everything. But Eddie has agreed to be Autumn’s guardian when she gets here." She watched the sunlight reflect off the water.

 Auntie-ji, I’m scared, but I don’t want to spend my final days in the hospital. The weariness was taking its toll. I don’t want to end my days in a sterile, featureless room. Away from all this beauty and art. I couldn’t bear seeing the look of hopelessness in Eddie’s eyes. I want him to remember all the fun we had together. I want Nora to remember me laughing with her at the gallery. And I want Zoe to remember me finger painting and crafting hats with her. I don’t want them to remember me as a bald old woman who needs someone to connect her feeding tube because she might choke on a glass of water. In all my other cycles, I only lived until 60. I passed that ten years ago. It’s time. Please, Auntie-ji?

Rose looked up at the sky, waiting for some kind of reply. There was no sudden rainbow or crash of thunder. The sky was still clear; the breeze was still gentle. She sighed, hoping Kali had heard.

Rose started the car’s engine. The classic Mustang roared to life. The gravel of the country road kicked out behind the tires as she veered onto the highway.

 Rose wouldn’t be at Rowan House, their home in Ville des Saintes, this evening. She wouldn’t be at Sterling’s Fine Art and Whatnot Gallery on Tuesday either. She hated this. She hated having to make this decision. But there was no turning back for Rose now. Why had it been so much easier before?

Rose watched the scenery flow past the windshield. The colors of fall blanketed the hills. Tones of russet and gold covered the landscape like a quilt. The sky was a cyan blue. The clouds were lacy and white with undertones of silver and lilac.

Where are we going? Eddie sat up in the back seat. Rose’s heart jumped into her mouth as she swerved the car back into her lane.

What are you doing there? Rose said. I told you I was just going to get some groceries.

I thought I’d come with. Eddie leaned his cheek against the top of the passenger seat.

Rose looked around. They’d already started the climb into the hills. There was no place to pull over and let Eddie out. I wish you hadn’t come.

Why? You were only planning on shopping. He didn’t wait for her to answer. But it wasn’t shopping that you were planning at all, was it? You don’t need to do this. Let’s just go home, Rosie.

It’s not that easy. She wiped tears from her eyes. You weren’t supposed to be here. I needed to do this alone.

But I promised to take care of you. Through sickness, and in health.

This is about what I need to do for you. No hospitals. No wasting into nothing.

I understand everything. He put his hand on her shoulder. We’ll find another way, Rosie. Forget about groceries. Let’s go to the pub. We’ll have a good dinner, and we’ll talk.

A silver Rolls-Royce passed them on the two-lane highway. A dark-haired woman sat in the back seat. The sign she’d been waiting for. This was it.

Rose covered Eddie's hand with her own. Eddie Sterling. Her true love. Her husband of fifty years. They loved each other more today than when they were first married.

Eddie had left a CD of his favorite music from the ‘60s in the player. It was special because their granddaughter had made it for him. Blood, Sweat, and Tears played one of their most popular songs about the spinning wheel, spinning. Eddie started singing along, tapping a rhythm out on the seat. Normally, Rose would sing too, but today it felt like someone had poured cold water over her heart.

Eddie, I don’t know what to say. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be home. Safe.

But Rose, we’re only going into the village. To the pub.

It’s our last dance, my darling. I am so, so sorry.

What are you talking about?

Rose saw a small image of Kali floating above the dashboard. There was a sharp pain in her chest. Her breath caught in her throat. Forgive me, my love. Her body was no longer connected to her mind.

Eddie was calling her name. She could hear the tears in his voice. The steering wheel turned in her hand. Eddie couldn’t grab the wheel from the back seat. The sunlight was fading. The edges of her vision were going dark. The highway twisted around the mountain. Tires squealed around the first turn. The car hit the rail, metal scraping against metal, spinning around as the guard rail gave way.

They were falling, falling. Eddie screamed her name. She tried to speak but couldn’t. Rolling over and over. Spinning Wheel still played through the car's speakers. Her purse bounced off the windshield, and the ceiling. The small clasp broke on impact. Keys and eyeglasses, spare change, and store receipts rained down upon them. The car flipped twice more before it slid to a stop.

Eddie's eyes were closed. His cheeks were cut, bleeding, and raw. She tried to call to him, but her words slurred, and she had no feeling in her arm. The pain shot down her back and through her legs. It hurt to breathe. They were far from town and far from home. She felt Eddie take her hand.

She closed her eyes, and the pain faded.

Autumn Rose, can you hear us? The voice sounded sweet. She'd heard it before. Auntie-ji’s friends? The Three Fates?

Lachesis, do you think she knows we're here?

I think she does, Clotho. The second woman's voice was deeper and had a calming quality to it. Rose. It's time, my dear. Autumn Rose, you have to tell us what you want.

Can she change her mind? Clotho asked.

An older woman answered, a slight tremor in her voice. Of course she can. She has free will.

Atropos, Clotho said, I don't think she can hear us. How will we know if she's changed her mind? I don't think she knows we're here.

She knows, Lachesis said. She always knows how to call to us.

Rose sensed a face close to hers. The breath cooling her cheek smelled of peppermint. It's Atropos, child. Just tell us what you want, my dear. The spark is ready for you. We will do whatever you say.

Rose wasn't sure if she had spoken. She wanted them to tell her about Eddie. She wanted to cry. She couldn't move. She couldn't see. Sirens. Metal crunching and a mechanical whine. A helicopter. And all the while Spinning Wheel kept playing on the radio.

Hands reached for her. Rough hands. Gloved hands. Ghost hands. Pulling her away from the car. Away from Eddie. Away from her life.

VILLE DES SAINTES, QUEBEC, OCTOBER 1ST, 2017

H ey, Zoe!

Zoe Williams turned and snapped a photo of Taylor Main gazing lovingly into the eyes of a marble angel. Taylor had got heavily into researching the 1920s, just in case the 2020s were roaring too. Everything about her style choices this semester shouted, silent film diva. Taylor's straight black hair had been cut into a bob with bangs and her makeup played up her eyes. Today she wore a cloche hat and a long cloth coat over her jeans.

Zoe breathed in the crisp fall air. A graveyard was a stupid place to hold an art class. She ignored the shiver running up her spine, zipped the camera case back into her knapsack, and put her arms through the straps.

Some of her friends passed by, nodding hello. First day back at school. Her mom told her not to expect much. Some people wouldn't know what to say, some people just wouldn't know it had happened. At least she had Taylor. She'd just be Taylor, so Zoe could just be Zoe. Zoe the art student. Not the Zoe whose grandparents died tragically in a car accident.

Her challenge today was to just be normal, like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t missed close to a month of school. Taylor would help.

Smile Zoe. Play your part. You know Taylor, your taste in boys has always been questionable. She tilted her head toward the marble statue. But I think you've outdone yourself with that one.

Oh, I don't know. Taylor twirled her long-beaded necklace as she swayed down the walk, playing it up so that she looked more like a model on a New York runway and less like a high school student on a path in a cemetery. Sure, he might be a bit cold, but he doesn't argue or notice other girls, and I always know where he's hanging out.

Zoe smirked. Taylor batted her eyes. Now, let me see. She pulled Zoe's camera toward her. It definitely has potential. You put it up on Insta-chat. I'm going to put it up on FriendlyFaces.

Why not just post it on both?

Because I can't always post about me. My friends have to show some love too, you know. Taylor fell silent for a moment as she studied the image. "We'll call it, Hashtag Divine! And don't forget the exclamation mark, okay? I might even use it as my new profile picture. The one there is at least a week old."

They heard the voices of some of the other students in their art class above the sounds of the sparse afternoon traffic. Zoe started scanning the rest of the photos on the card, landscapes of downtown Ville des Saintes. Some random people prepared for Halloween, while others next door got ready for Christmas.

There were photos of her grandparents. The camera had been a birthday gift from them, something to replace the old point-and-shoot she'd inherited from her father after his last upgrade. Her mother, Grandma Rose, and Grandpa Eddie had all hammed it up, so she could practice using the different camera settings. They all laughed so hard. Grandma found some old hats and clothes in the attic, and they roamed all over her grandparents' mansion, posing. They almost made her forget that her father had forgotten her birthday and missed his weekly visitation call from Hong Kong—again.

Here was a photo of her grandparents with half-closed eyes and puckered lips, a pose they had copied from a selfie Zoe had posted of herself and Taylor. She had used the photo to explain modern photography and that peace signs were no longer in fashion. Grandma Rose obliged, but Grandpa Eddie still held up two fingers.

This one had Grandma Rose leaning back against the kitchen counter, her arms supporting her weight on the counter behind her, her chin high, her eyes skyward. She said she was posing like the legendary Theda Bara. Zoe had to look up who she was. Her mom wasn't sure who she was either, except her name showed up often in crossword puzzles.

Zo-weeeee, Taylor whined. You're not listening.

When Zoe explained to her grandparents she was going to use some of the camera's built-in filters, her grandparents conspired to kiss—just to weird her out. In the sepia-toned photo, Grandpa's eyes were closed, but Grandma's were open. When Zoe asked, Grandma Rose said she never wanted to miss a minute with her husband. The last picture was an experiment with the timer settings, a black-and-white of her, her mother, and her grandparents. The hospital found a copy of the photo in her grandmother’s coat pocket after the accident.

Taylor peeked over her shoulder at the viewscreen. Zoe smiled, tears in her eyes.

Taylor hugged her. Please don't. You'll get me started, and we'll both end up with mascara running down our faces. It's too early in the semester to go raccoon without being a goth.

Zoe took a deep breath, pasted on a smile, and saved the photos to her cloud account. Okay, Taylor. You have my full attention. We are back in the moment.

How very Zen of you. Taylor straightened her shoulders. As I was saying... Let's skip this dead-fest and head downtown.

We can't. Zoe twisted her curly auburn hair up into a bun and secured it with a clip. First, it's Special Projects, so there are only ten of us in the class, and second, the notes I got were from Ms. Flowers. I haven’t even met the new teacher yet.

She hasn’t met anyone yet. And she’s only giving out the assignment today. You’re golden.

Not really. My mother is unveiling my grandparents' headstone at the beginning of December. The week will be totally lost to my own work. I have to get ahead of the assignment if I expect to get it in on time.

And you won’t get any time off?

I'll have to be available to smile and pretend I recognize all of my grandparents' old friends and clients. She patted Taylor's cheek and spoke in a thick New York accent. Zoe, babydoll. You've gotten so tall. Do you remember me? Of course you do. You don't? Oy, darling—don't worry about it. I'm not offended. After all, the last time I was in town, you were two.

Taylor laughed. Seriously? Zoe raised her eyebrows, an honest-to-God look on her face. Taylor pointed at a black marble slab with the name of the deceased encircled by incised forget-me-knots. So why is there going to be such a fuss about one of those?

"Because my grandparents' headstone is being created by Thomas Paloma, the sculptor whose Dog with Boy and Alligator sold for just under two million dollars."

Taylor swallowed. Two million? Do you have a hunk of rock and a chisel I can borrow?

Zoe smiled. And he's doing it as a gift.

Taylor rocked on her heels and batted her eyes. "Could you mention to him that my birthday is coming up?"

Grandpa Eddie gave him his first show back in the '80s when he was still actually carving headstones for a living. She paused and watched a double-decker tour bus lumber down the roadway outside the cemetery. "My mother has planned these amazing exhibitions in honor of Rose and Eddie's fiftieth wedding anniversary and Sterling’s Fine Art and Whatnot's fortieth year in business. The gallery's hosting a retrospective of the work of The Crayon Box Collective, and the fine art museum is going to show work by all the other Canadian artists my grandparents discovered or mentored."

It sounds like it's going to be an amazing event.

The shows were supposed to be for their double anniversary celebration. Now it's going to be their memorial.

Why didn't your mom just cancel? Taylor used her cell phone’s camera as a mirror and applied another coat of lip gloss.

Because it took almost two years to get everything set up. On the bright side, at least their deaths didn't mess up the opening.

Well, aren't you just a bundle of sunshine and unicorn farts. Did your evil stepmother hide your gown for the ball? Taylor shook out her black hair, and pursed her lips, posing for her newest selfie.

Rose and Eddie loved a great party. They loved having their friends and family around them. They loved supporting the city's museums and introducing people to great art and artists. But none of this is for them. They can't enjoy any of it. They're dead. Zoe could feel her chest begin to tighten. Breathe in for the count of four. Slowly exhale for the count of four. The anger and anxiety would calm down eventually. She could feel Taylor watching her, waiting. I'm good.

You will be. I promise. Taylor put her arm around Zoe's shoulders.

Let's get down to business. Taylor took Zoe's hand and linked their arms. Alas, while Ms. Flowers is currently enjoying her newly adopted daughter, we must suffer a teacher who has no history at the school. Zoe let herself be led toward their classmates. Let's go meet our new taskmaster.

They rounded the corner and stopped short. A tall Black woman stood on the path. Her skin’s rich sepia could only be achieved by master photographers. She wore her long hair in multiple braids, which looped back onto themselves and cascaded down her back. Large gold beads decorated her hair. She wore a long brocade coat over a gold turtleneck sweater, skinny jeans, and knee-high leather boots. Zoe hoped her mouth wasn't hanging open. The woman turned to look at the girls and smiled a smile so warm and welcoming, that Zoe felt she’d known this woman all her life.

The woman waved them forward. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the all-encompassing major assignment you'll need to pass to move on to your senior year. She spoke with a Jamaican accent. "While it is in your agenda as Special Projects, it has been christened by those who have passed this way before you as The Circle of Hell Dante Forgot to Write About. She handed a stack of papers to the closest student and asked him to pass them around. My name is Oya Bridges, and I will be your adviser, facilitator, mother-confessor, and lifeline through this assignment."

Ms. Bridges scanned the paper in her hand. As you can see, the photos and artwork will be due at the end of the month, so the installation can be mounted for December 3rd.

Taylor whispered, Isn't that the same week as your mom's event?

Zoe chewed the inside of her cheek. The dentist had warned her about