The Rose

Someone was knocking at the door. Maria groaned and opened one eye. The clock was flashing midnight; the power had been out. Another series of sharp knocks sounded with the insistence of a machine gun. Whoever it was, they weren't going away.

Maria threw the blankets back and stood. She could reach the white robe hung over the chair and an elastic to tame her slept-in hair. For once, the tiny apartment was a blessing. With a minimum of steps, Maria had reached the door and turned the lock.

"Do you know what time it is?" she muttered as she swung the door open.

A thin, bald woman stood in the hall, washed out by the lemon glow of the streetlight. She was looking at the floor and fingering the edge of her over-sized sweatshirt, festooned with faded roses. Her lower lip looked like she'd been biting it for a long time.

"Maria," she said, "can I use your shower?"

The moment dragged on. This woman sounded like Annie, but looked like a cancer patient. Her wrists were so angular.

"My shower. I haven't seen you in a year and you want to use my shower."

Maria stepped back inside, leaving the door open. She quietly moved to the kitchenette and poured water into the coffeemaker. The door to the bathroom closed and the shower sputtered and sang. She set two mugs on the coffee table and settled onto the futon. Annie came back into the room wearing the same ratty shirt.

"Come here," Maria said. "Where have you been?"

It looked like it hurt Annie to sit down.

"Staying with friends mostly," she replied. "I have an apartment now. And a job. I'm doing really well, actually."

They sipped coffee for a few moments, stealing glances. Maria wanted to believe that everything was better. But with Annie, "doing really well" usually meant total collapse. She had been swinging wildly between despair and giggling chaos since college.

"Are you taking your meds?" She knew that Annie hated the question but she always asked anyway.

"Of course. I get insurance now, through the company," Annie said, her voice too brazen. "It's really helping. In fact, the doctor says I've had the fastest improvement he's ever seen."

She ran her hand over her head and her sleeve fell to her elbow. Thick red marks zigzagged down her forearm. Most were old scars, but a few were fresh.

"Yeah, I'm modeling now," Annie continued. "I really have the body for it, you know. Tall and slim. I'm doing a spread for Vogue next month."

Two hours and another pot of coffee later, Annie was curled around a pillow, crying. Maria stared into her mug. She was caught up in the drama of her sister's life. Her heart was sympathetic. Her mind was angry. And Annie simply could not be anyone else.

"I want you to sleep here tonight," she murmured. "In the morning, we'll see Dr. Anderson and have your prescription renewed."

Annie's breaths were shallow as if she didn't want to breathe anymore. She scratched at her arm through her sleeve.

Maria brought her a blanket and hung her robe on the chair. She found her watch and reset the alarm. Then she tossed the pillows to the foot of the bed so she could see Annie sleeping through the door. Just in case.

She dreamed of roses.

The alarm sounded as reliably and annoyingly as ever. Maria hit it with her foot and craned her neck to see the futon. Annie was lying nude over the blanket, rubbing her scars. Her ribs and hips and collarbones were sharp.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she said cheerfully as she tossed one of her outfits toward the futon. "I think all I have is cereal. I'll let you dig in while I take a quick shower."

She left the cereal and carton of milk on the counter, knowing that Annie would probably eat two or three bowls. That would keep her occupied for a while.

Maria grabbed a towel from the closet and made her way to the bathroom, trying not to watch the skeleton in her living room get dressed.

"Maria?" Annie sounded like a child. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

She lathered and rinsed with urgency. Annie couldn't be alone for long. Her feet were still wet when she stepped back into the living room.

The sweatshirt was folded on the futon. The cereal and milk were gone. Annie was gone. She'd wiped Maria's schedule from the dry erase board on the fridge. It now said, "Thank you for loving me." It was signed with roses.