(with respect to George Saunders)             Twice already Melody’s mind has concentrated on the allure of the bright moon reflected on the shiny little pond because the allure of the bright moon reflected on the shiny little pond made her think about the inevitable end. Not that she was ever going to be familiar with the notion of ending. But when she thought of the allure of the bright etc. etc., she wanted Knight to have the same association, to share a brief moment of appreciation with her, like lovers do, like friends do, like spouses do.             But the response was always the same. When she repeated it the second, the third, the fourth, and the fifth time, Knight’s response was still the same “Yes, Mel, you can see the moon from the car window, now can I listen to the song?”  and his hand was immediately back on the radio, as if it has become some sort of reflex.             Still, everything was okay. Maybe he did not think about the notion of ending. Or maybe his notion of ending was totally different from hers. But that was okay, too. They did not have to think alike. That was the beauty of it, they were their own independent selves, with their independent thoughts. She was just his wife. He did not have to feel the way she felt. He just had to feel supported. She was going to love him enough for the both of them, anyways.             Her train of thought was interrupted by the sudden urge to connect with him on a new level. “Whenever I see a moon like that,” she started timidly, “it always makes me think about things ending.”             “I don't care what you think unless it is about me. It is now my duty to completely drain you…” Knight was shouting along with the radio.             Speaking of Nirvana’s “Drain You,” Melody remembered the club they met five years ago when she spilled her signature drink, gin and cranberry juice, all over his brand-new white shirt. How hard they had laughed. Those little moments of quiet happiness are what she cherished most. She had none of that in her past relationship. It was all silence, or “I don’t knows,” or doubts. In the rare moments when she and her first husband, Bratt, actually went to a bar, he would shoot her with these serious looks the moment she began dancing. She was not supposed to show off that much.             Well, in this new family she had built, laughter was encouraged, dancing was, too. Last night before going to bed, Knight had put on her favorite song, “Perfect,” and they swayed to the rhythm for hours until they finally fell asleep. Just before closing their eyes, Knight had said with such nostalgia in his voice, “Do you remember that rose I gave you on the seacoast when I proposed?”             And hence this Great Road trip. Knight had finally agreed to go. He was so invested in the music that he could not actually hear her talking, but things were better. Especially after she had done her research and learned everything there was to know about his favorite band, Nirvana. She could now refer to the fact that it was founded in 1987, that their first single was a cover of Shocking Blue’s “Love Buzz” and that Cobain wore a brownish vest during that magnificent interview in 1991. Knight was less distant now. When she corrected him that Cobain was born in 1967, not 1965, he even turned his gaze to her.  While listening to music! Who could’ve imagined? He even started showing her affection. Last week, when he had accidentally thrown her novel in the trash bin, they even shared a long hug. If that wasn’t progress!             So her best friend could go right ahead and claim that Melody had made the same mistake, yet again, and married a man that does not love her. But she did not know Knight. He danced with her and gave her a rose, once. He was not Bratt who had left her crying alone in the car, in the heavy rain, after telling her that he didn’t not know if he was happy with her. Knight is a whole different person. And this time her love was going to be enough.             Oh God, what a beautiful night. The moonshine illuminating the contours of the trees, kissing the horizon, luminescent light coming from the billboard on the right side of the road.             This time it would be different, she reassured herself. When they get the rose, Knight was going to give it to her and they would be right back at the beginning.
            Kiara got up and opened the curtains.             She was certain, now she was doing the right thing.             Jamie would be so much happier in England. It would be full of people. Opportunities. There would be no limits for him and he would finally be able to tell all of his stories to the world. Those magical, life-changing stories that, once you hear, echo through your mind forever.             He was going to understand some years later. Then, he would even thank her for breaking his heart. Now, he just needed a push, someone to believe in him enough. Would he hate her? Well, now he would but it wouldn’t be like that forever.             She waited till after they had the most perfect day to end things. They went to see a marvelous play. After that, she cooked his favorite meal and laid the table in the yard, under the midnight sky, decorating the gazebo with some old Christmas lights. They talked about the future and she was so mesmerized by his fiery eyes that she continued talking till 4 am. Then, Jamie stood up, poked her nose with his index finger and pulled her in the coziest hug she had ever felt.             That sweet man. Why did he have to make everything so damn hard?             She knew it. She was prolonging the inevitable and had to rip the band-aid off. Now. But how could she when all she could think about at that particular moment was not how to tell him, was not how to utter the words that are going to shatter their dreams forever but how to get rid of that stupid rose. The rose they planted together on the day he moved in her house. The same day she promised they were going to be together forever.             “I just don’t love you anymore,” she said abruptly as she gathered every little bit of strength left in her to try and make the lie sound remotely believable. Her eyes were still closed in a futile attempt to hide her tears away. Jamie released her from the hug while gently placing his palms on her cheeks. “What are you talking about, my moon,” he was smiling perplexedly, not being able to grasp the reality of the situation. How the conversation went on, Kiara did not remember. She didn’t know if she managed to answer his questions, if she chased after him when he left, if she was able to hold her tears in front of him. She just recalled one distinct sound – of the wooden front door breaking after Jamie slammed it on his way out. Or maybe it was the sound of her heart breaking. She could no longer tell the difference.             Her daily routine now consisted of trying not to wake up before sunset and reading poetry in the dark hours of the night. Cheap wine bottles have become her loyal companions, old dirty dishes have been turned into aesthetic kitchen décor. The only task that disrupted this new tranquility of hers was the question of what to do with that damn rose. She couldn’t just root it up, could she? Though, she did not need the reminder. There was only one way to go – she had to sell it if she wanted to keep the last shred of sanity she had left.             The next day, an overly excited lady called her over the phone and wanted to buy the rose. And even though Kiara was far from religious, that evening she prayed to God that the lady was going to turn up and take the flower as soon as possible.
            Melody passed through the arbor and with her peripheral view, she glanced at the rose. “It is the perfect rose for the perfect new beginning,” she thought. She started to look around. The garden that seemed like it was once so full of vitality was now completely desolated. The parlor in the yard looked like a remnant of a happy home, utterly destroyed by the storm that is life.             Well, wow, the Great Road trip that would resurrect love, Melody thought, ha ha ha. She approached the entrance and knocked timidly on the once-white door, cracked in the middle. She jumped at the loud thud she heard coming from inside the house. It took Kiara only a few minutes to gather the strength to stand up from her chair near the window overlooking the lonely rose and open the door. She welcomed Melody in with a polite nod. Taking small calculated steps, Melody followed Kiara inside and started looking around the house awkwardly – the sink was full of unwashed dishes, the kitchen table was covered by wine corks, the bed that showed through the half-ajar bedroom door was still unmade.             Please do not touch anything, please do not touch, she ordered herself as she slowly approached the big, lonely living room. The only two pieces of furniture there were a small coffee table with a few books on top and a vintage wooden chair overlooking the yard. Her gaze got immediately fixated on the broken picture frame on the floor. Amidst a million tiny pieces of shattered glass, there was a photograph of two young lovers with muddy faces planting a rose.              As she tried to shake off this horrid sight, Melody instinctively pulled the curtain off the window and her face went pale. She was in utter shock, shaking her head as if trying to wake herself from a nightmare. She witnessed a handsome man, two or three years younger than her Knight, kicking the fence aggressively then sitting on the stairs in front of the house with his palms covering his eyes.             Melody was suddenly back in Bratt’s car again, all alone, crying unceasingly, as she repeated the words over and over in her head. She almost heard the sound of the raindrops falling over the rearview mirrors. God, she would have killed just for one righteous person that would confront Bratt at that moment and make him see what he was missing.             The sight of the rose in the garden interrupted that line of horrific memories. O.K., then, she and Knight would plant a rose in their garden. She would pass by it every day when she leaves for work and the mere scent of it would take her back to the night when Knight became her husband. He would tell her that she is as beautiful as the flower blooming in their garden.             Ha ha, wow, what wild fantasies the mind can take on.             After Kiara finally managed to convince herself she is ready to speak to another human being, she turned to Melody and asked hoarsely “Where are you going to plant the rose because it needs the perfect balance between shadow and sun in order to thrive?”             After a few moments of silent hesitation, Melody stated with a cold flat voice: “I’m afraid we won’t be buying it after all.”  And they couldn’t take the rose, she convinced herself, because they were not supposed to possess something so beautiful without having put the effort to make it bloom first. They could never be the couple with the muddy faces in the garden. But it was all okay. She was just going to go back home, buy some concert tickets for one of Knight’s favorite bands and forget all about the flower. All would be back to normal.             Melody walked out of the house, passing by the gorgeous heartbroken man on the stairs, his palms still covering his face. If only she could tell him with a single look:  Life is not always this unfairly harsh. You possess the strength to glue yourself back together. It happens. It happened to me. But secret looks that convey meaning beyond anything tangible and blah, blah, blah were all a fairytale.             After taking a few minutes to contemplate on what had just happened, Kiara went chasing after Melody, crying almost hysterically, “Wait, wait, wait, just take it for free, please, I have to get rid of it.” But it was all pointless. The car had already driven away. Melody had taken off, Jamie had gone, too, and Kiara was all alone. Again.             She glanced at the stupid rose and her mind traveled back to Jamie again, poking her nose with his index finger, tucking her wayward hair behind her ear, smiling with his fiery eyes. What did it matter, planted in another garden or rooted up? The rose will not be where it was supposed to be anyways.             Close your eyes, close your eyes, she told herself as she pulled the gentle stem. Then, she walked toward the once-white door with her head up, like some great heroine in a movie, except she was nowhere near a heroine, she knew that ‘cause heroines did not feel empty. Ha ha! She knew that. She wasn’t stupid. She had just made stupid choices. But what the hell. She had to put him first. Before herself, her happiness, and her sanity. She just loved him too much to allow her selfish desires to keep him from fulfilling his destiny. And his magical stories were destined to be read. Love was an excruciating and illuminatingly beautiful process during which we take in a whole personality and learn to cherish it. Sometimes, we even end up cherishing it more than our own.             Pushing the words rooting up rose out of her head, she put in her head the words peaceful quiet evening I’m loving this peaceful quiet evening so much –             What had she just said? That had been good. Love was an excruciating and illuminatingly beautiful process during which we take in a whole personality and learn to cherish it. Sometimes, we even end up cherishing it more than our own.             Jamie wasn’t going to be sad forever. He was going to inspire so much change and ignite the world with the passion of his work. He was going to find a good woman and start a happy family. But at the end of the day, “Who would be able to love him so much that they would sacrifice their own happy end, all in the name of his art, his soul, which were one and the same thing?” Her. She would. She did. She would do it all over again.