Furious Rose

Part 2

 

       After the two guys had left, Jemina and Carly were on their own outside the Stop ‘n’ Shop. “We should create a production,” said Jemina.

       “I’m not really in the mood,” said Carly.

       “Come on. Please. It’ll be so great.”

       “You really are dramatic.”

       “Only when I want to be!” Jemina turned to face the parking lot, standing straight and tall. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “Rose and Hendrix Productions presents to you, for the first time at Stop ‘n’ Shop, the tragedy of The Queen and the Soldier.”

       Carly rolled her eyes, but complied. She stood up straight, and walked, stiff-legged, onstage, then bowed on one knee.

       “Rise, commander,” said Jemina.

       “Your majesty,” said Carly. “Our spies indicate several battalions of enemy troops to the south and the west. The only path appears to be north, over the river… uh… the river Cascade.”

       Jemina’s shoulders slumped. “Cascade?” she said. “Could you think of a more lame name for a river, maybe?”

       “Don’t break character,” Carly muttered.

       Jemina straightened up again. “It sounds like a trap to me. They’re leaving a path open.”

       “Permission to speak freely, your majesty?” asked Carly.

       “Of course.”

       “Majesty, I believe that it would be nearly impossible for the enemy to ambush us crossing the river. There’s no means of concealment there, and we’ve thoroughly swept the area.”

       “I don’t trust it anyway,” said Jemina. “I’m changing strategies. We’re going to send a small battalion in, make them think it’s our full attack, and then retreat. We know that the Rosicrucians always give chase when they think they’ve won, so they will follow our retreating soldiers straight into our trap.”

       “Rosicrucians? And you thought my river name was lame?”

       “Now you’re breaking character.”

       “Do you even know who the Rosicrucians are?”

       “Yes! It was the first name that popped into my head. Now shut up and reply to my fiendish scenario.”

       Carly rolled her eyes. “Your majesty,” she said. “Please forgive my objection, but won’t that mean throwing away the lives of most of the first battalion? Those men have families to come home to.”

       “We are at war, commander,” said Jemina. “Sometimes, sacrifices must be made. These men are soldiers. They have always known they may not return home. It is part of their job. Now I’ll have no more objections. Go.”

       “As you wish, your majesty.” Carly turned and walked off the stage.

       “I will crush the Rosicrucians as I have crushed all my other enemies,” Jemina declared.

       At this point, a black SUV pulled up in front of the Stop ‘n’ Shop, and a young couple emerged. Jemina paid them no heed, but continued her monologue, lapsing into a rhyme scheme: “They hide out like cowards, fearing our approach, but on their façade we steadfastly encroach. They hide out in towers and forts, the knaves. Raze them to the ground, and send them to the grave! They hide underwater, breathing through reeds. Raise them to the ground, and punish their deeds!”

       Then, having run out of rhymes, Jemina turned to face the empty parking lot, setting the pitch of her voice to that of a narrator: “A day passes, and the commander carries the queen’s orders back to the troops. Another day passes, and a lone man on horseback arrives at the queen’s door. He claims that he carries urgent news for the queen from the battlefront, and is taken in to see her.”

       Carly walked back onstage, and Jemina turned to face her. “Soldier,” she said. “Why do you not bow before your queen?”

       “I have come to tell you that I will not fight for you anymore,” said Carly. “I have seen too many battles, too many fallen comrades. I don’t care what you do to me—I realize that desertion is a capital offense. But before you have me arrested, I am begging you to tell me one thing. Tell me why you persist in waging wars, throwing the lives of your citizens into the fray like chess pieces?”

       The couple who had been in the SUV emerged from the Stop ‘n’ Shop, and they seemed to be watching what was happening as they headed for their car.

       “I am under no obligation to explain myself to you, soldier,” said Jemina.

       “I understand that, your majesty,” said Carly. “That is why I am only asking.”

       “You would not understand if I explained it. I am the queen.”

       “You are a woman.”

       “I am the woman who rules this country.”

       “But only a woman. And perhaps not even that. Perhaps only a girl.”

       “I warn you, soldier, insolence will get you nowhere with me.”

       “And what have I to lose? I am already a deserter.”

       “Enough. I will not listen to this.”

       “I believe that I know the answer to my question, but I want to hear you say it.”

       “I believe you are a fool if you think you can hope to comprehend anything I do.”

       “I believe it is all for your fun. I believe you are playing a game of chess. Knight moves.”

       Jemina stood still, gazing at Carly intently. The couple drove off in their SUV. “I warn you, soldier,” Jemina said, softly, but audibly enough that the parking lot could hear. “I will make your death long and unbearable.”

       “And I warn you, girl,” said Carly, “that you will only frustrate yourself trying, for no matter what you do to me, it cannot approach the horror I have felt on your battlefield.”

       Jemina turned her back on Carly. “Go, soldier,” she said.

       Carly turned around and walked off stage.

       Jemina, completely disengaging from her queen persona, turned back towards the parking lot and resumed her narrator tone to conclude the production: “Shortly after the soldier left the room, the queen called in her captain of the guard and ordered that the man be followed until he reached his home, and that his family be killed and all he owned burned to the ground. And she specified that the soldier was not to be killed under any circumstances.

       “And the queen, having turned her back on the soldier, continued to wage her wars until the end of her long reign. But ever since the day the soldier came to see her, she could not sleep soundly for all the nightmares she experienced. Never again, as long as she lived, did she enjoy a full night’s rest.

       “At first, within her nightmares, it was not the soldier who tormented her, but the fanged, winged spirits of little children, whose entire bodies were consumed in billowing flames. But then, towards the end of her life, when the nightmares reached their peak and became more elaborate than ever, she realized that the face of each demon child was that of the soldier.”

       Carly walked back out onto the stage and took her place next to Jemina, and the two of them bowed in unison, several times, thanking the parking spaces for being such a good audience.

       “There, you see?” said Jemina, sitting down on the curb. “That was totally worth it.”

       “I guess,” said Carly, sitting down next to her. “I’m still pissed off about the Rosicrucians thing, but whatever. That short rhyming monologue you had was pretty funny. Did you do that freestyle?”

       Jemina nodded. “Maybe I should be a rapper,” she said.

       “Eww,” said Carly.

       Jemina took out a fresh cigarette and lit it. “I’m going to be an actress one day,” she said.

       “I thought you were going to be a fireman.”

       “I can be both. I’ll be an actress, and be a fireman on the side.”

       Carly snorted, but didn’t say anything.

       “What are you going to be?” Jemina asked. “I always say, but you never do.”

       “I don’t really buy into the whole idea of being something when you grow up,” said Carly.

       “What? Why not?”

       “Because it’s bullshit. Having a career just means you’ve settled into somebody else’s rules. I do what I want when I want to do it, and that’s all. The future is of no concern. It’s as nonexistent as the past.”

       Jemina, mouth half agape, mind half estranged, looked at her friend with new eyes. “I never knew that about you,” she said. “Why haven’t you ever told me this before?”

       Carly shrugged. “Because I’m not like you,” she said. “I don’t feel the need to throw myself at everything I see.”

       Jemina looked at her a moment longer, then turned back to her cigarette and shrugged, as if falling back on Hardy Boys after trying out Joyce. “That’s fair enough,” she said. “But you should try it sometime. Yourself is the best thing to throw. It’s better for throwing than fits, parties, you for a loop, or even up.”

       Carly smiled. “I don’t know,” she said. “Those are all things you really love to throw.”

       “You’re right,” said Jemina. “I didn’t even think of it, but they are.”

       “Come on. Let’s get back to your dad’s place. You may not care if you’re a total wreck for school tomorrow, but I do.”

       “Yeah, okay. I guess this has been enough excitement for one night.”

       The girls stood up, beginning to empty themselves of the energy of breaking rules. Jemina dropped her cigarette to the ground and smooshed it into the asphalt.

       They started heading back down the road, quiet this time. Streetlights gazed wistfully at them with their single light-shedding eyes, and arched protectively over their heads. Carly examined the license plates of parked cars, while Jemina choreographed martial arts routines in her mind. The night seemed a bit darker, the streets a bit more barren, than when they had first set out.

       Carly noticed, as they neared their destination, that the same man she had observed on the way to the Stop ‘n’ Shop was still there, this time on their side of the street, so that the girls would have to pass in front of him. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, a cigarette was cradled between his lips, and he was leaning against a telephone pole.

       “Jem,” Carly whispered. “I don’t think we should go anywhere near that guy. Let’s circle around.”

       Jemina rolled her eyes. “It’s just one guy,” she said. “We’re not going through a dark alley.”

       “I’ve just got a bad feeling about it.”

       “You’ve got me.”

       “What if he has a weapon?”

       “I’ll disarm him, and then kick him in the junk.”

       “You’re not invincible.”

       “Invincibility is a mindset.”

       “Ugh. You are unbelievable. Is nothing serious to you? Do you not understand the gravity of anything?”

       Jemina snickered. “Gravity,” she said, “doesn’t exist.”

Carly sighed. Jemina would get her way, and she’d turn out to be right, like always.

       As they approached, the man in the leather jacket looked up and stared at them. Carly grew more nervous, but she dared not say anything now for fear that the stranger would hear her. Jemina simply stared straight ahead as they walked.

       As soon as they were within a few feet of the stranger, he stood up. Carly’s head began to swim. Time began to slow down. The stranger reached into his leather jacket. Images raced through Carly’s head. She imagined the man pulling out a handgun, a shotgun, a cell phone, a box of cigarettes, a bag of cocaine, a switchblade. When his hand emerged from his jacket, the object he was actually holding was: A switchblade.

       The girls stopped short. Carly’s mouth was agape in horror; Jemina’s fell open in abject indignation.

       The stranger did not say anything, but took a step forward, holding the weapon steadily.

       “Who the hell do you think you are?” Jemina shrieked, and in an almost automatic sequence of maneuvers, she disarmed him by striking above his wrist and punched him twice in the gut before he had time to react. Having stunned him, she followed up by elbowing him in the nose (for he was now doubled over, and she lacked the proper distance for another punch), and, in classic Jemina fashion, finishing the onslaught by kicking him in the junk.

       The stranger fell to the ground, bloodstained and moaning. Neither of the girls wasted any time wondering if he might have friends on the way; instead they bolted straight over him and down the rest of the block.

       Jemina had never felt so relieved to see her father’s apartment building. “Quick,” she said, but Carly was already dragging over the trashcan that always served as their stepladder back inside.

       “Didn’t I say that guy was trouble?” Carly whispershouted as she dragged the can under the escape window.

       “Look, I took care of it,” Jemina shot back. “Just get in there already.”

       “I’m going.” Carly was in fact in the middle of climbing in the window and back onto the vending machines. Jemina was quick to follow her up.

       Carly managed to ease herself to the hall floor without too much trouble, but Jemina, as always, plopped unceremoniously to the ground. “Ugh,” she said. “I hate getting down.”

       “Come on,” Carly whispered. “Let’s move.”

       The girls turned around to face the end of the hallway, and were greeted with none other than Jemina’s father standing at the end of it. Jemina gasped quite audibly.

       There was an impasse for a few seconds. Finally, it was Jemina that broke the silence. “Hi, dad,” she said. “We were just out for some air.”

       Jemina’s dad checked his watch. “It’s four-thirty,” he said.

       “So?” she asked, her nerve returning, her hands finding their way to her hips. “What the hell is wrong with that, anyway?”

       “You’re grounded.”

       Jemina opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but she thought better of it, and merely crossed her arms. “Alright, fine,” she said. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

       “Yes you are,” said her father, even as she stomped forward and past him. “And we’re going to talk about what happens as a result of this tomorrow.”

       Carly walked sheepishly past him as well, following Jemina. “Hey,” she said, catching up as they approached the elevators. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”

       “Of course it’s that bad,” Jemina said. She was lighting a cigarette as she pressed the up arrow on the elevator. A single tear was making its way across her cheek.

       “Come on. I thought you couldn’t be grounded. You’re ungroundable, right?”

       “He’s going to ground me for like five months now or something, I know it.”

       “You’ll talk to him tomorrow. It won’t be that bad.”

       “It will be.”

       Carly was out of things to suggest. The elevator was taking its own sweet time in arriving. Jemina kicked the doors. If they’d had junk, she’d have kicked them in it.

       Finally, after another thirty seconds or so, the doors opened, and the girls walked inside.

       “Look,” said Carly, “if you do get grounded longer and you need me, I’m there. Okay? Just call any time.”

       Jemina nodded. “Thanks,” she said, and she reached out and hugged her friend. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

       “Me neither,” Carly sighed.

       “We’re the alternate meanings of an ambiguous word.”

       When they were finished hugging, Jemina took a long drag on her cigarette. “You’re right, you know,” she said.

       “About what?”

       “I can’t be grounded. I’m ungroundable.”

       “Right. Ungroundable.”

       “But I do fall down from time to time.”

       “Yes. Quite often, actually. Are you okay?”

       “Of course I’m okay,” said Jemina. “I’ll get out of this no problem. But for now, I’m mad. I’m pissed off.” And then, her voice rising in volume: “I’m furious!” She struck the 4^th floor button as she said it.

“Okay, Furious,” Carly chided her. The elevator began its ascent.

Furious rose.