Searching For Roses

chapter one

[ CHAPTER ONE ]

• • •

LEO WAS FOURTEEN WHEN his psychic grandmother died of a stroke.

There were only four things listed in her will:
1. Spread my ashes in the wooded area of the Quabbin Overlook in New Salem
2. Split my fortune amongst my children
3. Give Sybil a good home (Sybil was her cat)
4. Give the attached letter to my grandson, Leonardo Fitzpatrick. He must not open it until he's at least eighteen.

His mother's jaw slightly trembled when she received the call from her sister. She lightly dabbed her eyes with a tissue and promptly packed their bags to Massachusetts where his grandmother had lived.

Leo and his grandmother had never been very close. She ran a psychic shop in Salem, Massachusetts, crystal ball and all. His mother didn't have much patience for her "gift", so Leo had grown up without knowing his grandmother for most of his life.

From what little he'd seen of her, she had metal-framed glasses that hung around her neck by a beaded necklace. Her white, curly mess of hair looked like that of a poodle's. Her short stature was still somehow intimidating, especially when she peered over her wiry glasses.

The funeral was his first — he wore a black, loosely fit tux that even had a pocket for a handkerchief. His hands sweat when he saw the casket, even though he knew she wasn't in the closed, suffocating box, with her wanting to be cremated and spread along the wooded area of the Quabbin Overlook in New Salem and all.

When the service had finished, he remembered his aunt handing his mother a letter with his name in cursive on the front. He had asked his mom what the letter said, and if there was any money in it like Grandma usually did for his birthday and holidays. His mother told him not to worry about it, and she was going to tuck it away safely for the future.

Leo sat through the rest of the service, restless and confused, until they packed their bags and headed back to Pasadena, California.

• • •

Years passed like pages in a scrapbook and then, on his eighteenth birthday in mid-October, a letter was on his bedside table when he woke up in the morning.

"Mom," he yelled downstairs, rubbing his eyes and lazily reaching for it, expecting it to be a birthday card. "Am I supposed to open this now?"

She gave a muffled reply that he couldn't quite make out, so Leo assumed he was good to go. His eyes darted to the unfamiliar cursive handwriting until suddenly, everything clicked, and he became that little boy that had fidgeted in the wooden chair at his grandmother's funeral. The sweaty palms as he saw her empty casket, the caving chest when he saw his mother cry. He had forgotten this day would come.

The old glue was barely holding the envelope closed anymore, and he carefully slid his fingernail along the flap. A piece of lined paper met his eyes, the same curly writing on one side of it.

Leonardo,

What a grown-up young boy you are. How I wish I could have seen you become the man you are today.

Your mother would never allow me to share this with you as a child, so it only felt appropriate to tell you when you were finally an adult.

Leonardo, when you were born, I always knew that something was different. I would always picture a rose, a bright, beautiful red rose basking in the sunlight whenever I saw your chubby little cheeks or your golden-brown eyes. A reflection of that red rose always stared back at me. I never quite understood what was trying to communicate itself to me until I saw you, Leonardo, surrounded by roses in the backyard of your mother's new house in California, and I had a feeling — the strongest vision that had ever come over me. I can recall your mother helping me sit down on one of her patio chairs and running to get me a glass of water as you happily reached for one of the red, red roses. I felt the sudden need to protect you come over me, and I realized the roses were meant to keep you safe and to love you. The rose would save you from a danger you may not be aware of or ready for at some point in your life. Trust roses. Be on the lookout for them, or someone that has anything to do with them, and keep them close. Someone will save you from this terrible fate, as long as you find them in time.

Your mother pushed me away when I told her of what I'd seen. She didn't approve of me spreading this nonsense, but Leonardo, please keep yourself safe. I am only telling you this to protect you. Deep in my heart, I know that I am right, as much as I wish I were wrong. Trust your gut. When you find the one, you will know. Look for roses. They will save you.

I love you, my grandson. I have a feeling I will be gone by the time you read this. I will be looking after you and your mother from above. Tell her that I love her and that I understand why she did what she did. It was for the best.

Love,
Grandma

He scratched his head, putting the letter back on his bedside table. Roses. Alright then.

Leo wasn't great at analyzing writing. He was in a level one English class, just barely holding on to a B average. He didn't quite understand what she was trying to tell him — save him from a danger? Trust roses? Protect and love him?

Part of him was calling BS. He'd never looked at a rose and thought, "Huh, that's gonna save my life someday."

However, Leo had heard of some instances where his grandmother had predicted pretty significant things; his aunt's pregnancy, her sister's illness . . . There was some credibility to her words, so he couldn't help but feel a little queasy.

He tucked the letter in his backpack and swung it over his shoulder, heading to his car. He sat in his driveway nearly half an hour before school was going to start, rereading the letter that sat in his lap. Love, love . . . Was he supposed to fall in love with this rose person? Leo began searching through his social media for anyone who could possibly be "the one", as his grandmother had put it.  Searching for anyone he followed with a rose emoji in their bio, holding a rose in their profile picture, anything.

He sighed and turned his car on. What was he doing? Leo folded the letter back up and stuffed it into his backpack's front pocket.

He began to drive himself to school and was hypersensitive to all of the roses in people's backyards. Leo began to rack his brain for all the people named Rose that he had met from his church or after-school clubs or a friend of a friend of a friend. Any florist he'd ever come into contact with. Anyone ever wearing a shirt with a rose on it. The options were limitless, the people were numerous. How was he supposed to find the right one, the one that would "save" him from whatever-the-hell? What was whatever-the-hell?

He had taken the long way to school, not wanting to show up thirty minutes early. He'd prefer to be at school as little time as possible.

The roads were quiet, and the sky was like a camera lens out of focus. His hands vibrated on the wheel as he tightly gripped it, passing by houses that appeared to have been sat on and overgrown trees with dancing fingers, trying to clear his mind.

His distraction had been working, until his eyes shifted to the looming stadium just barely in his line of vision. Rose Bowl stadium. His heart fluttered and he quickly switched lanes, putting on his blinker and swerving into one of the many parking lots.

Pasadena, California. His hometown, the place he grew up, the place he learned to walk and speak and spell and write and read and swim and ride a bike and make friends and kiss girls and drive a car, the place where his sister went to college and the place where his dad taught history classes and the place where his mom managed her own diner.  He knew the town inside and out, from every popular hang-out spot to all the kids at his high school.

How could he forget about the Tournament of Roses Parade?

a/n

here's the first chapter! let me know what you think! what do you think of leo? and what do you think it going to happen at the tournament of roses parade?

happy easter fools day! i'm still stuffed from brunch omg

my plan — if i can force myself to write this month — is to update this on sundays. i have the whole book planned out, so if all goes well. sorry this chapter was a little short, i think it's a good beginning!

i'm going to pasadena california this summer, and i'm planning on putting together a trailer then! stay tuned~

i did this with my last book, A Note A Day, and i'm gonna put my own goals for this book at the end of each chapter!

thanks for reading! leave a vote and a comment — maybe give some predictions!

— Sophie
(4/1/18)

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