Only Dying Roses
By Linda Seaton
from Lex - Clark - Lionel
My father has been outside on one of the back terraces since I got home from the Kent farm. The servants are smart enough to not approach him. I wish I had that luxury.
I walk toward him and he hears my steps on the stone. He turns and tosses his hair back on his shoulders. I used to believe that he did that to mock my baldness but I think I give myself too much credit. My father does everything merely because he can.
"The roses should be here soon."
He nods and remains uncharacteristically quiet.
I move to his side and finally ask a more or less direct question.
"Why are you really here?"
"I lost your mother today, Lex. You can't have forgotten."
"You're wrong." I say it with complete confidence and he smiles at me in that Cheshire cat possessed by the devil way of his.
"Can you prove it?"
"Yes. Wait here." I rush into the house and am halfway up the stairs before I remember that Clark should be at the estate anytime now. I look out one of the windows at the grounds and see the Kent truck fast approaching on an access road.
I half throw myself down the stairs in pursuit of my father whom I can see moving toward the main entry door of the house.
"Clark, once we're at the house do we have to unload all the roses or are there people on staff for that?"
I steer the truck up the Luthor drive and marvel at Chloe's ability to sound so happy and yet so bitter at the same time. I think I would get confused if I tried to combine the two.
"I'll probably be the one unloading," I explain.
"Too bad you don't have a dump truck." Chloe smiles at me as I put the truck that I do have in park.
We step out onto the drive and Chloe comes up behind my shoulder. I'm more in control of my senses thanks to Chloe's menthol gift. I just started concentrating on the new smell and now I think I've got the sensory overload under control.
"Do we knock?"
Before I can answer Chloe, the main door of the house swings open and Lionel Luthor, under a full head of steam, appears.
He walks straight toward me and even though I'm pretty much indestructible I wish I was on the other side of the truck.
Chloe edges out a little from behind me. She doesn't step completely clear of me - it's kind of like the time we went hiking and we found that snake on the path -- but she does speak to him.
"Hello, Mr. Luthor."
And he recognizes her. He actually smiles at Chloe. "Miss Sullivan, we seem to always be saying our hellos and good-byes on the driveway of this house."
"At least there's no flitting flames on the 'Emperor's pavement'."
I haven't a clue what Chloe is talking about and then I spot Lex heading toward us.
Clark, Chloe and my father. I have had nightmares remarkably similar to this but at least in this case I am not frozen in place and my father hasn't chopped off Clark's head. Yet.
"Clark." I say his name while I'm still too far away and I practically have to run to close the distance. "You managed to find them all?"
Before Clark can answer my father swings around to face me. "Miss Sullivan and I were just discussing traveling to "Byzantium."
I recognize my father is talking about something literary by the inflection of the word but Clark looks like he thinks there's a plane in the garage.
Chloe smiles, almost sunnily for being in the presence of the Dark Lord himself, and looks to the mound of roses. "You must really be fond of Yeats to want these roses back after they've been cut."
"Yeats?" I hear myself saying it and notice my father's smile. My mother loved Yeats.
"They're Yeats roses," Chloe offers with a note of confusion in her voice.
No, Chloe, I didn't know they were Yeats roses. Remind me to put you on payroll so you can explain my father to me.
"Lex has never been fond of flowers." Lionel rolls his "r's" as he explains me away.
Then he turns all his attention on me and waits for some kind of reaction. I just hold my ground and my blank expression.
The ever-practical Clark finally asks, "What should I do with them?"
"Just throw them out of the truck. Here will be fine." My father steps back and gestures to the center of the driveway.
Clark gives me a slightly questioning look and then moves to obey. Sliding on a pair of work gloves, he starts tossing armfuls of roses onto the drive. The smell is overwhelming and I have to fight down the gag impulse.
And then the truck is empty and the drive is covered in blood reds and greens.
"Thank you, Clark." My voice sounds tired even to my own ears. I always seem to be thanking the boy. "Would you like to come in?"
He shakes his head. "I have to get home and change. My dad and I are taking Mom out for Mother's Day."
He and Chloe say their good-byes to my father and I wait until the truck is out of sight before I speak.
"Mother's Day."
"Can you get one of the servants to bring me some gasoline?"
I have been dismissed and I walk back to the house. I order one of the servants to get the devil his gasoline and I take refuge in the conservatory. The window here overlooks my father's little tableau.
I watch as the gardener brings Lionel a tin of gasoline. My father takes it and pours the fluid in a slow spiral over the roses. He tosses the can behind him and even from the second floor I can hear it clatter on the stone.
He stands for what seems like hours with his thin arms folded almost protectively across his chest. He merely stares down at the roses. A slight breeze begins to stir the petals and my father reaches into his coat pocket. His lighter gleams as he strikes it to flame and tosses it into the roses. They ignite with a whoosh of blue.
Happy Mother's Day. Mother's Day. The day my mother died for him. I leave the window and hurry to my room.
The fire is somehow fitting and the stench gives the whole thing the effect of a funeral pyre. Lex had been watching from the window but he has retreated. The boy's biggest flaw is that his emotions ultimately rule his behavior.
I wonder what you would think of our son, Lillian? When he was a child you had maintained that a person who lacks passion lacks the ability to do the extraordinary. You had told me that I had to teach Lex to find the proper balance between emotion and reason.
I think all I have ultimately taught him is rage - a poorly veiled and contained rage.
He defies me at every turn and then retreats once his feelings are hurt. I told him about the roses. They were the only thing I specifically mentioned about this house when he moved here and he saw no reason to find out why.
His hatred, his fear, his resentment of me blinds him to what I want him to discover about me, about you, about himself. He is content to accept half-truths rather than challenge me or call me a fool.
I can almost hear Yeats' words in his burning roses.
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
The End
By Linda Seaton
from Lex - Clark - Lionel
My father has been outside on one of the back terraces since I got home from the Kent farm. The servants are smart enough to not approach him. I wish I had that luxury.
I walk toward him and he hears my steps on the stone. He turns and tosses his hair back on his shoulders. I used to believe that he did that to mock my baldness but I think I give myself too much credit. My father does everything merely because he can.
"The roses should be here soon."
He nods and remains uncharacteristically quiet.
I move to his side and finally ask a more or less direct question.
"Why are you really here?"
"I lost your mother today, Lex. You can't have forgotten."
"You're wrong." I say it with complete confidence and he smiles at me in that Cheshire cat possessed by the devil way of his.
"Can you prove it?"
"Yes. Wait here." I rush into the house and am halfway up the stairs before I remember that Clark should be at the estate anytime now. I look out one of the windows at the grounds and see the Kent truck fast approaching on an access road.
I half throw myself down the stairs in pursuit of my father whom I can see moving toward the main entry door of the house.
"Clark, once we're at the house do we have to unload all the roses or are there people on staff for that?"
I steer the truck up the Luthor drive and marvel at Chloe's ability to sound so happy and yet so bitter at the same time. I think I would get confused if I tried to combine the two.
"I'll probably be the one unloading," I explain.
"Too bad you don't have a dump truck." Chloe smiles at me as I put the truck that I do have in park.
We step out onto the drive and Chloe comes up behind my shoulder. I'm more in control of my senses thanks to Chloe's menthol gift. I just started concentrating on the new smell and now I think I've got the sensory overload under control.
"Do we knock?"
Before I can answer Chloe, the main door of the house swings open and Lionel Luthor, under a full head of steam, appears.
He walks straight toward me and even though I'm pretty much indestructible I wish I was on the other side of the truck.
Chloe edges out a little from behind me. She doesn't step completely clear of me - it's kind of like the time we went hiking and we found that snake on the path -- but she does speak to him.
"Hello, Mr. Luthor."
And he recognizes her. He actually smiles at Chloe. "Miss Sullivan, we seem to always be saying our hellos and good-byes on the driveway of this house."
"At least there's no flitting flames on the 'Emperor's pavement'."
I haven't a clue what Chloe is talking about and then I spot Lex heading toward us.
Clark, Chloe and my father. I have had nightmares remarkably similar to this but at least in this case I am not frozen in place and my father hasn't chopped off Clark's head. Yet.
"Clark." I say his name while I'm still too far away and I practically have to run to close the distance. "You managed to find them all?"
Before Clark can answer my father swings around to face me. "Miss Sullivan and I were just discussing traveling to "Byzantium."
I recognize my father is talking about something literary by the inflection of the word but Clark looks like he thinks there's a plane in the garage.
Chloe smiles, almost sunnily for being in the presence of the Dark Lord himself, and looks to the mound of roses. "You must really be fond of Yeats to want these roses back after they've been cut."
"Yeats?" I hear myself saying it and notice my father's smile. My mother loved Yeats.
"They're Yeats roses," Chloe offers with a note of confusion in her voice.
No, Chloe, I didn't know they were Yeats roses. Remind me to put you on payroll so you can explain my father to me.
"Lex has never been fond of flowers." Lionel rolls his "r's" as he explains me away.
Then he turns all his attention on me and waits for some kind of reaction. I just hold my ground and my blank expression.
The ever-practical Clark finally asks, "What should I do with them?"
"Just throw them out of the truck. Here will be fine." My father steps back and gestures to the center of the driveway.
Clark gives me a slightly questioning look and then moves to obey. Sliding on a pair of work gloves, he starts tossing armfuls of roses onto the drive. The smell is overwhelming and I have to fight down the gag impulse.
And then the truck is empty and the drive is covered in blood reds and greens.
"Thank you, Clark." My voice sounds tired even to my own ears. I always seem to be thanking the boy. "Would you like to come in?"
He shakes his head. "I have to get home and change. My dad and I are taking Mom out for Mother's Day."
He and Chloe say their good-byes to my father and I wait until the truck is out of sight before I speak.
"Mother's Day."
"Can you get one of the servants to bring me some gasoline?"
I have been dismissed and I walk back to the house. I order one of the servants to get the devil his gasoline and I take refuge in the conservatory. The window here overlooks my father's little tableau.
I watch as the gardener brings Lionel a tin of gasoline. My father takes it and pours the fluid in a slow spiral over the roses. He tosses the can behind him and even from the second floor I can hear it clatter on the stone.
He stands for what seems like hours with his thin arms folded almost protectively across his chest. He merely stares down at the roses. A slight breeze begins to stir the petals and my father reaches into his coat pocket. His lighter gleams as he strikes it to flame and tosses it into the roses. They ignite with a whoosh of blue.
Happy Mother's Day. Mother's Day. The day my mother died for him. I leave the window and hurry to my room.
The fire is somehow fitting and the stench gives the whole thing the effect of a funeral pyre. Lex had been watching from the window but he has retreated. The boy's biggest flaw is that his emotions ultimately rule his behavior.
I wonder what you would think of our son, Lillian? When he was a child you had maintained that a person who lacks passion lacks the ability to do the extraordinary. You had told me that I had to teach Lex to find the proper balance between emotion and reason.
I think all I have ultimately taught him is rage - a poorly veiled and contained rage.
He defies me at every turn and then retreats once his feelings are hurt. I told him about the roses. They were the only thing I specifically mentioned about this house when he moved here and he saw no reason to find out why.
His hatred, his fear, his resentment of me blinds him to what I want him to discover about me, about you, about himself. He is content to accept half-truths rather than challenge me or call me a fool.
I can almost hear Yeats' words in his burning roses.
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
The End