A SPECIAL Rose

BY KATHERINE COLLIER

EVERYONE WISHES FOR some special person to give them a valentine and confess their love at this time of year, but after having spent the last few years in the worst relationship of my life, I could say I was looking forward to ordering some wings and watching some hot figure skaters before turning in early. Looking back at my past, the relationship had just been a series of mistakes, one after another, that had somehow worked out enough that my deluded mind was able to rationalize everything that happened, right up to the end. So, today would be a me day, you know, after having classes and work and stuff. That is what I thought until I opened my apartment door. Hanging on the doorknob was a single red rose with a note attached. Written on the plain white paper in swirling legato script was a short note that read like a declaration of love: Meet me downstairs at 8:13. The timing was so precise that there was no way to meet the wrong person. And with that rose, there went my night.

I texted every one of my friends, asking them who they thought this possibly could have been. Whoever it was, it had to be someone I knew. That being said, I was not taking any chances and had my best friend come with me to meet this secret admirer. This was not the 1930s, where if someone left you a note or knocked on your door unexpectedly you would answer without hesitation.

And yet, despite my worry about who this person was and if they were a stalker, I found myself feeling excited as I got ready. I had not had a good valentines date in well…ever. Who was stopping me from having a little fun for once? Unfortunately, the answer to that question was simple, it was myself. My thoughts whirled, just like the script in the note, curling around in my mind creating fantasies of a man with dark, devilish good looks wearing a tuxedo and waiting to accompany me to a limo that was waiting outside with his private driver. I giggled to myself, causing my best friend to give me a concerned look but I just waved him off.

He had done his best to convince me that this was a bad idea and that I should not even consider doing something this crazy. He had even gone as far as to offer to take me out himself so I did not have to worry about crazy people who, according to him, were “always looking for fresh meat for their sex harems.” But here he was, walking me downstairs to meet whoever had left that note.

I was dressed in a simple number, a form-fitting black dress that was much more comfortable than it sounded, with a pair of red pumps and a red wool coat, seeing as it was still February. But of course, nothing that I could wear could have been appropriate for what I found waiting for me in my lobby.

All my friends, every single one I had texted earlier that day as well as a few others who had brought their better halves with them. Everyone was there, waiting for me at precisely 8:13, each with a red rose in their hand. In that moment, I knew exactly what they had decided to do, and it brought tears to my eyes just thinking about how much my friends loved me. As long as you had good friends, you did not need anything or anyone else.