the weight of a rose

1.

When we met I didn't like you...

Money. The root of all evil, yet the root of everything as a whole. If you can't live contently with it, you'll just have to settle living restlessly without it. It's contradictory and unfair really, but who cares about my opinion? I am just a small and unknowledgeable girl in a vast world of 7 billion mindsets and ideologies. But for the record, I don't believe money buys you happiness necessarily, but it definitely solves a majority of your problems.

For instance, I could buy one of the many lottery tickets at the checkout counter next to me, win big, and never have to stand here in this itchy, ill-fitting, brown work shirt and bunion-forming slip free monochrome shoes, pretending I genuinely care about what this woman in front of me is ranting about. "...I mean come on, right? How ridiculous is that?!" the woman groaned. I shook my head free of the reverie that was occupying it and smiled. "That is pretty ridiculous."

"Yeah, I thought so myself." She huffed. The woman, possibly in her mid-forties, was clearly well endowed. So much so, I was wondering what a woman like her was doing on this side of town. It wasn't the "slums" per se, at least not yet. But it definitely wasn't her speed either. I glanced down at the smooth, cool box I was scanning for her; hair dye. Figures. They must run out of the Kerastase she presumably accustomed to. "That'll be $29.97, ma'am." I replied monotonously. "Keep the change." She winked, passing me $30.00. Gee thanks, I thought. "Here you are." I said, pressing a smile to my face. "Thanks for your help...?" the woman trailed.

"Ysabel." I answered, pointing towards my name badge saliently resting on my chest. The question mark on the woman's face was almost palpable. "Iz-ah-bell?" she struggled. "Sure." I muttered. "Right well, thank you, hun." The woman slid her designer sunglasses over her emerald eyes and sent me one more smirk before sashaying out the automatic doors. I sighed and glanced up at the clock above my lane: 1:22 pm. Eight more minutes, I thought. Come on Ysa, you can do this. A few moments later I decided perhaps cleaning my lane would pass the time faster. As I was just beginning to wipe the cleaning spray from the belt, I caught the eyes of an elderly lady.

Insert mental groan here. "Please keep walking," I whispered to myself. I checked the clock again: 1:27 pm. A smile crept across the lady's face as she hurriedly made her way to me. Damnit. "Are you checking out?" she asked in a rushed manner. "Yes ma'am." I answered curtly. She gave me a crinkled eye smiled and quickly threw a bag of black licorice and a deck of playing cards on the conveyor belt. "If you don't mind, I'm in a hurry. I'm not supposed to be here alone." She winked. "Sure." I replied. That works better for me too; 1:29 pm.

"$6.50 please." The woman slid me a folded ten-dollar bill from her skeletal-like hands. Honestly, this elderly lady looked great for whatever her age must be. Pretty minimal wrinkles, fair complexion resting a mischievous smirk, and a standard issue retirement home uniform with a silver walking cane. Fashionable, might I say? "There you are." I smiled handing her due change back. "Thanks-" "Mio!" a voice screeched. The woman rolled her dark eyes before turning slowly to face the voice.

"Mio where have you been?!" a young man called. "Right here." Mio shrugged. The guy frowned shaking his head incredulously. He was clearly a frustrated caregiver for this Mio. His name tag read: Kevin, adorned his blue scrubs. I could sense the angry yet worried energy he was radiating, so I felt the need to defend the older woman. "Excuse me, Kevin? I can assure you Miss. Mio here was no trouble." I chimed, handing Mio her items. The creases in his furrowed brow seemed to slightly relax at the statement. "I'm sure miss, but she isn't allowed to even be out of her room, let alone out of my eyesight." He replied.

Mio sent me an appreciative smile. "Thank you." She whispered. "Let's go." Kevin said walking away with Mio tight in tow. I pondered what had just happened in front of me, before realizing it was 1:35 pm and I was late to clock out. I definitely didn't need my boss on my case again, she wasn't exactly a basket of roses. I hurriedly turned out my lane's light, packed my backpack and headed for the time stamp machine which was conveniently at the other end of the store. Luckily, the store wasn't busy so I wouldn't be disturbed in my pursuit to leave. I had important things to take care of anyway.