Only Dying Roses
By Linda Seaton
from Pete
"Man, you smell bad!" I couldn't help myself. I had to say it.
Clark looks at me and nods. "I know, Pete."
"What is it?" I ask just as I sneeze and realize what it has to be: roses, some really putrid roses. I'm allergic to roses.
I listen to Clark as he rattles off the latest Luthor soap opera and all I can do is shake my head. Rich people are messed up.
"Those things don't smell like any roses I've ever been around." I lean out of the front door of the house and look at the Kent truck in our driveway. You can practically see the odor rising from the flowers. "It smells like one of brother's dorm rooms after he left Chinese take-out in his trash for a month."
"I know it's bad, Pete. But I could really use your help. I know how you feel about the Luthors but the smell is really getting to me. I can barely keep my eyes open. Could you drive the truck?"
"Clark, I'm really allergic to roses. Remember? In fifth grade when Mrs. Clemson retired and the class got her a dozen roses? I had to go home early because I couldn't breathe. And in seventh when we went to that school dance and I also had to leave even though Mara Hanson wanted to dance with me?"
I could have continued with stories about my war with the roses but I don't bother. Clark has that look on his face. He is too distracted with his current Lex problem to remember much of anything.
So, I come up with the only piece of advice that I can offer. "Maybe you should ask Chloe." I sneeze.
He nods his head. "Thanks Pete. And I'm sorry I forgot about your allergies."
I watch Clark drive off in the flower-power truck. Clark is a really linear thinker. He can always solve those "if two trains leave the station" math problems really quickly. In real life it sometimes takes him a long time to remember stuff that happened in the past. He would have remembered my allergies if he had more time.
At least that's what I tell myself as I go back into the house.
tbc...
By Linda Seaton
from Pete
"Man, you smell bad!" I couldn't help myself. I had to say it.
Clark looks at me and nods. "I know, Pete."
"What is it?" I ask just as I sneeze and realize what it has to be: roses, some really putrid roses. I'm allergic to roses.
I listen to Clark as he rattles off the latest Luthor soap opera and all I can do is shake my head. Rich people are messed up.
"Those things don't smell like any roses I've ever been around." I lean out of the front door of the house and look at the Kent truck in our driveway. You can practically see the odor rising from the flowers. "It smells like one of brother's dorm rooms after he left Chinese take-out in his trash for a month."
"I know it's bad, Pete. But I could really use your help. I know how you feel about the Luthors but the smell is really getting to me. I can barely keep my eyes open. Could you drive the truck?"
"Clark, I'm really allergic to roses. Remember? In fifth grade when Mrs. Clemson retired and the class got her a dozen roses? I had to go home early because I couldn't breathe. And in seventh when we went to that school dance and I also had to leave even though Mara Hanson wanted to dance with me?"
I could have continued with stories about my war with the roses but I don't bother. Clark has that look on his face. He is too distracted with his current Lex problem to remember much of anything.
So, I come up with the only piece of advice that I can offer. "Maybe you should ask Chloe." I sneeze.
He nods his head. "Thanks Pete. And I'm sorry I forgot about your allergies."
I watch Clark drive off in the flower-power truck. Clark is a really linear thinker. He can always solve those "if two trains leave the station" math problems really quickly. In real life it sometimes takes him a long time to remember stuff that happened in the past. He would have remembered my allergies if he had more time.
At least that's what I tell myself as I go back into the house.
tbc...