The Day Ended Up Coming Up Roses

(It is Valentine’s Day during my senior year of high school. Every year students are able to send out balloons and other gifts through the school bookstore to their significant others. I’m in my Gothic literature class and in quite a bad mood. With very few friends and a boyfriend who doesn’t believe I care about such gestures, I glower in the back of the class every time one of these gifts arrive. After class ends, I’m eager to leave, as it is the last one of the day for me.)

Teacher: “Wait a second, [My Name]. I need to speak with you.”

(I wait by her desk without a word, impatient and irritated, as the rest of the students file out.)

Teacher: “Here.”

Me: *stares as she hands me a plastic, black rose*

Teacher: “You don’t seem to be having the greatest day, and I know you like black, so here you go!”

Me: “I… thank you! I love black roses! They always remind me of a favorite author.”

Teacher: *laughs* “I’m glad you like it. I hope your day gets better.”

(My day did get better. And almost ten years later, I still have the rose!)

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