~~A3~~

Thursday, May 13, 2010

The Lottery Rose

When I was in 7th grade we read "The Lottery Rose" together as a class. A young boy that grows up in an abusive family wins a rosebush in a grocery store lottery. As he tends to this rosebush he is able to deal with the negative outside influences in his life. The book ended well and all of my fellow classmates were into it just as much as I was.

After we finished the book, my teacher surprised us with a rosebush. She instructed all of us write our names down on a piece of paper, and then she would draw the lucky winner out of a bowl. The name of the person that was called, got to take the rose home, plant it, and then keep the entire class updated on the rosebush.

I wanted the rosebush so bad. My desire to win this was almost tangible. I needed it. As I sat at my desk and wrote my name on that piece of scratch paper, I focused all of the cosmic energy I could muster into somehow winning this "lottery rose." I told myself, God and any other heavenly being that winning this rosebush would complete me. I promised whoever was listening that I would find the best place to plant it, and I would be out there in the driving snow, tenderly taking care of this helpless (without me) beautiful rosebush. I would start being nice to my little brother. I would help around the house more. I would even stop stealing my sister's clothes out of her closet after she left for high school, if I could only win this rosebush.

The time of reckoning soon came. After the last student put their name in the bowl, my teacher put her hand in, shook the paper scraps around for a bit and then drew the winner.

It was as if time stopped. I can still see her so clearly. Standing in front of the class and unwrapping the piece of paper that would decided my fate. I was in the second row, close to the door and ringing my hands and tapping my feet. I just knew that I would win that. I just knew it.

"And the winner is Ashley . . . . . . . " I heard my name! As I started to scoot off my chair to claim my prize, my teacher continued talking: ". . . . . . Green."

Wait, what? Ashley Green!?!? That stupid Ashley Green stood up and walked to the front of the classroom, gloating the whole way up. Why did Ashley Green win the rosebush! Ugh! She probably doesn't even like roses. There was no way she was going to give the rosebush the attention it needed and deserved. Why? Why?

I felt so cheated. Of course there had to be two "Ashleys" in the class. Of course. Stupid! I felt a little embarrassed as well. It was totally obvious that I was on my way up to claim my prize before my teacher finished saying the winner's name. And why does my teacher have to talk so slow anyway? She should have said the winner's name real fast. That way, I wouldn't have had half my butt cheek off the chair.

I laid my head down on my desk and tuned out the universe for the rest of the class period. When the bell rang, I trudged my sorry loser self down the hall to my locker. The injustice was killing me.

Ashley Green never did keep us updated on that rosebush. To this day, I have my doubts that she even ever planted it.

Fast forward 7 years. After getting engaged to my husband, we were at a family get together at his Mother's house. The doorbell rang. And to my total amazement - my 7th grade teacher walked in the house. For a moment, time stopped. Just like in 7th grade. I thought to myself - Finally! Mrs. _________ has realized that the rose should have belonged to me, and she's tried to hunt me down the last 7 years so I can claim the prize that is rightfully mine. No. That wasn't the case. Apparently, J's Mom and my 7th grade English teacher have been best friends for 30 years and it was just a total cosmic, in-your-face, coincidence.

I've seen Mrs. ________ many times over the last 10 years that J and I have been married. I've never told her the heartbreaking story of the day my life changed - because of her. I will spare her the horribly awful details and let her remain in her sheltered innocence. Because that's the kind of person I am. I'm a survivor. Just like that little boy who took care of the rosebush. Damn! I should have won that rosebush!