The Rose In the Lilly Pond.

Rainbow Wheels.


A bright red kettle hisses and squeals like the train that could.
“Jan, would ya get that? Coro’s on.” The kettle sings merrily away.
“Jan, please love. They’re about to reveal who murdered Mr. Jones from number five” A smooth hiss sounds as boiling water hits the element.
“Jan! oh, bloody hell!” Pat heaves off his chair and a dense groove reveals years of T.V. pass time. He hobbles his saggy bones over to the fireworks of boiling hot water.   
“Christ!” He grabs a tea towel and relieves the kettle. Where the devil could Jan be, he wonders.
A knot of loneliness and despair tightens in his intestines. He shakes it off and pulls out two cups from the cupboard.  
He places a tea beside an empty indented chair and settles into his own indent.
“Yes love, of course I remembered the sugar.”

Pat’s unadulterated TV pleasure is interrupted by a violent banging on the door. Pat grumbles and groans as he heads for the door.  
“Gggrrrrandad!” Pat eye’s up his only granddaughter. There’s a new silver stud in her nose to go with the bull ring hanging from her lip. Not to mention, the studs running up and down her ears like ladders. She’s far too skinny and needs some of Jan’s baking to fatten her up, and she wears the most outlandish clothing. Today its her ‘poo’ pants as she calls them. Baggy ‘I dream of Jeanie’ pants that she insists on wearing as low as socially acceptable, with shoes that look like gumboots and a white embroidered singlet.
“Lilly, my darling!” She nearly topples him over with a bear hug. He eyes up the patch work suitcase. “Come to stay for awhile?”
“Yes Grandad, remember we talked about this at Grandma’s…” She averts her eyes and blushes. Grandma’s what? Pat wonders, he dear not ask his cheeky granddaughter for fear of being teased of a ‘senior moment’.
“Great. I’ll put the kettle on.”

 Pat goes about his business making three cups of tea and setting a plate at Jan’s seat, oblivious to Lilly’s stares of love and concern.
“Looks good Grandad.” cautiously Lilly sits down.
He smiles at Jan’s empty seat. “Your Grandma could make a fortune with her baking.” He serves Jan a piece of carrot cake left over from the wake.
“Grandma’s not here anymore Grandad.” Lilly blurts out.
Pat keeps a smile plastered at Jan’s empty seat, he chews his carrot cake and wonders why Jan added his most despised nut, the walnut. Lilly grabs hold of her Grandfathers arm.
“Did you hear me Grandad?
Pat takes another bite and discovers a taste he has never experienced before in Jan’s baking, bitterness. He spits out a large glump of baking soda.
“Grandma’s not here.”
“Your Grandma didn’t make this cake, did she?”
“But I am here Granddad. I am here.” A wave of loneliness pulses through Pat’s body.  

*

Pat braces himself as he glances his granddaughter coming at him full throttle. She grimaces at Jan’s uneaten toast that Pat has prepared for her, and says with all the gusto she can manage.
“Grandad, we’re going to do something fun.”
Pat glances at the brochure, and is faced with a pair of huge boobs on a bike staring back at him. He gives his quirky Granddaughter a look. Who does she think she is bringing sordid material into his house?
“Is this an invite to some illicit party Lilly?”
“No, no, god no. Look.” She shoves the brochure in Pat’s face.
Pat reads, “Show your true colors, ride naked through the streets of Vancouver, and raise awareness for Multiple Sclerosis”
“Come on Grandad, for Grandma? I’ll do it with you of course.”  
“That’s very well dear, but no one wants to see my old bones.” Pat thrusts the brochure back, and turns to walk away.
“That’s not true Grandad, It says right here,” Lilly scrambles through the brochure. “All ages, shapes and sizes welcome. You can even leave your underpants on.”    
“I’m not like you Lilly.” Pat searches his head for an enthusiasm. “I’m not ‘free spirited’ like you.”
Pat hobbles out to the Garden, Lilly’s disappointed eyes stinging his back.

Pat feels a swirl of emotions as he grabs the secateurs. How dare his Granddaughter to suggest a naked bike ride, then again it was just like his Granddaughter to suggest a naked bike ride. He starts to hack at the garden. I know Jan had, HAS, has MS but riding through Vancouver with my saggy bottom hanging over the handlebars isn’t going to help, is it. He hacks with the force of his emotions, turning the secateurs into something more sinister, more like a chainsaw. How dare she? how dare she! Horror strikes as he views what is left of Jan’s favorite rose bush.  A sad stem and a few spidery leaves. Loose roses surround Pat like an umbrella.
“Pat what have you done?” He drops to his knees overwhelmed by loss and failure.
“Did you cut me some roses Grandad?” Lilly’s warm smile infectious. She gathers up the loose roses, “they’ll look great on the kitchen table.” She turns to walk back and calls over her shoulder, “The thing with plants is, they grow back.”
Pat smiles at her warm optimism. “Now hold it right there young lady.” Lilly spins around. “Where and when exactly is this bike ride?”

 “Right everyone, on ya bikes!” A stark naked man with a megaphone announces.
Pat fumbles with his shirt and reveals his chest. “For my wife” is painted in purple. He glances at Lilly before removing his pants, shyly they look away. Pat wonders if he can ever look his granddaughter straight in the eye again. The participants line up, a sea of flesh and wheels.
“Ready, set, ride!”

Pat stays in the middle of the pack too embarrassed to be seen, everyone walking in the street stops and stares at the pandemonium. Cars stopped in their tracks by police, as the pack of naked riders roll by. There must be 50 naked riders in total, and all shapes and sizes that’s for sure. Pat’s view is a male bottom, large and hairy. He skirts around the outside to try and pass his hairy companion, and sees that the bystanders are smiling and pulling out their cameras, not shaking their heads in disapproval. He gives a small wave and a cheer goes up in the crowd. By Robson Street Pat waves like the queen and struts his stuff like a proud peacock. Out of the corner of his eye , he sees Lilly whooping and whistling, she yells to the crowd “That’s my Grandad!”

“Grandad look you made the paper!” She slams the Vancouver Sun down on the table. There Pat is, waving away, with “for my wife” on his chest, and everything hanging out. Lilly giggles and Pat joins in until the kitchen is amplified with laughter. Pat pulls out two mugs for a cup of tea. One for himself and one for his Granddaughter.