The rose-seller who collects me
The rose-seller who collects me  rose stories

cuculater My not-so- secret pastime :)
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
"Never let a stranger in your car, even if they look like your dead grandma". He left my car, in a hurry to fetch a bus . In a hurry to his roses.

The rose-seller who collects me

You. You, look at me. You may assume- I drank too much. But, I am rather- alcoholically " CHALLENGED". Two-glasses of Kefraya- white wine. That's it.

Yet at 155cm (ok I may have been generous with a cm or two), white wine happens to slap me "ever-so- hard". I can pretend I do not know, but I do. As I have been here one too many times before.

I jump over the railing. I dance on the table. Even my stomach performs a special dance. Twist and Turn. My stomach twists and turns and then some more.

I leave the bar, in a state few should condole. I drink. Yet, I do not trust. Wasted and drunk. I do not know how to reach my car.

On the way, I meet a young boy- selling roses. To my surprise, he puts his roses ASIDE. He escorts me to my car.

He walks, I stumble. He shorter and younger than I. It is HE who collects me.

I stumble in to my car. His hand: firmly glued to my steering wheel.

My drunk mind wondering, is this safe? Is this smart? Too drunk to care. My father's words , repeating at maximum volume in my mind. "Never let a passerbyer in to your car, even if they look like your dead grandmother" .

He could have robbed me. Raped me . Or much worse. Instead, he helped me drive home.

Once near my front-door, he places his worn hand on my cheek... "Be safe", he sweetly states.

He left my car, in a hurry to fetch a bus . In a hurry to his roses. Beatings and scoldings. His reward for helping me. See, he did not sell his quota of roses by the end of the night or early morning.

His one request: add my number. He further states, " You all remember me when drunk, yet when morning comes you will delete me".

Indeed, the self-fulfilling prophecy prevailed: I deleted you.

Previously, I stated I was alcoholicly "challenged". I would like to clarify that I was NOT trivializing disabilities. For a disability is NOT synonymous with being "challenged". Not even close.

Nobody is challenged, except the monster who drinks and drives. See, I am a monster. A monster who takes without giving. Who drinks without thinking. I and only I am challenged.

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