{"id":7689,"date":"2011-09-30T19:15:11","date_gmt":"2011-09-30T17:15:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=7689"},"modified":"2011-09-30T23:33:58","modified_gmt":"2011-09-30T21:33:58","slug":"white-roses","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=7689","title":{"rendered":"White Roses"},"content":{"rendered":"<p align=right>by Cornel Nistea  [Romania]<br \/>\ntranslated from Romanian by: Nigel Walker &#038; Alina-Olimpia Miron<br \/>\npentru versiunea rom\u00e2n\u0103 click <a href=\"http:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=7688\">aici<\/a><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p align=justify>\n\tMany years later, I came across T. on the street. She didn\u2019t look well at all. She had lost so much weight and had such a tired appearance, I almost didn\u2019t recognize her. I instantly asked myself: \u2018Where had her once exquisite youth and beauty gone?\u2019 We greeted each other as if we were strangers. She took a few steps forward, then suddenly turned her head and looked behind her. A suspicious and almost scared gaze scanned me. I waved at her, although it was more like a wave of farewell. She looked too feeble to walk any further. I realised she wanted to speak to me, so I went to her. <!--more--><br \/>\n&#8211; Hello, T. How are you? Long time no see.<br \/>\n&#8211; Indeed&#8230;Time flies by. I\u2019m on my way to the pharmacy to buy some vitamins. I think I have some kind of anaemia&#8230;<br \/>\n&#8211; Come on&#8230;you\u2019re still young&#8230;you shouldn\u2019t complain about anaemia.<br \/>\n&#8211; Is that so? Truth is&#8230;I haven\u2019t been feeling very well lately.<br \/>\n&#8211; I wouldn\u2019t worry about it. It\u2019s only temporary.<br \/>\nHer eyes studied me insistently, as if she wished to revive the past.<br \/>\n&#8211; We were once friends. Do you remember that? she said.<br \/>\n           &#8211; Are we no longer friends? I asked her in a somewhat doubtful voice.<br \/>\n          &#8211; I don\u2019t know anymore. I can\u2019t tell. We just meet by accident on the street and greet each other. Once upon a time, we walked together under the same umbrella, in the pouring rain. Do you remember?<br \/>\n&#8211; Yes, I do.<br \/>\n&#8211; You had been to the market and had bought a bag of cherries.<br \/>\n&#8211; Yes, yes, summer had set in and it was raining cats and dogs. I remember it.<br \/>\n&#8211; Would you like to walk together a while longer?<br \/>\n&#8211; Yes, of course.<br \/>\nShe took my arm and we headed towards the park, on one of the pathways or park paths we had once trod together. She stopped next to a little bench under the huge magnolia near a patch of scattered flowers.<br \/>\n&#8211; I\u2019m tired. Would you mind if we sat down a bit?<br \/>\n&#8211; Of course not. It\u2019s a good idea.<br \/>\nWe sat on the bench and she took a chocolate bar out of her bag. She offered it, asking me to take a bite. I shouldn\u2019t refuse her. Her hands had shed the rotund and velvety texture and had become thin and bony. I broke off a piece of chocolate, after which she bit from the bar with certain precaution. She didn\u2019t even look at me. Her blue gaze went far away, beyond the red-tiled roofs of the houses bordering the park.<br \/>\n         &#8211; The flowerbed doesn\u2019t have the petunias and begonias we would once feast our eyes upon&#8230;See?<br \/>\n&#8211; It\u2019s still the same patch though. The magnolia has just shaken off its flowers&#8230;<br \/>\nThe wind had started to blow. Even a few cold raindrops had fallen on our faces from the cloud above. We got to our feet and headed towards the parkway. She wanted to walk a little longer. The wind soon turned into gale. I placed my hand over her arm, as in the old days.<br \/>\n\t&#8211; You know&#8230;she began, I\u2019ve recently seen an oncologist. Apparently, I have a bunch of nodules on my right breast. Their evolution is quite unpredictable. The doctors cannot give me a definite diagnosis\u2026 I won\u2019t be sorry if I die. I know what I\u2019m dealing with. We buried my first cousin last week. She died of breast cancer too. So many wreaths were brought&#8230;What can I say&#8230;I\u2019ve bought myself a tomb in the same cemetery&#8230;Though it isn\u2019t as nice as hers&#8230;I\u2019m so happy we met. Remember when you promised me you\u2019d bring red roses, lots of roses to my tomb should I die?<br \/>\n            &#8211; Of course I do. But you are not going to die. You\u2019ll live many, many years.<br \/>\n&#8211; How sweet of you to encourage me&#8230; However, I don\u2019t think there\u2019s any hope left for me&#8230;<br \/>\nHer anxiety sent a chill down my spine. We had reached the main road. I had to leave. Business called. She turned her eyes to me.<br \/>\n\t&#8211; Regarding the roses&#8230;I\u2019ve changed my mind. If you do come to my funeral, please bring me white roses. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>by Cornel Nistea [Romania] translated from Romanian by: Nigel Walker &#038; Alina-Olimpia Miron pentru versiunea rom\u00e2n\u0103 click aici &nbsp; Many years later, I came across T. on the street. She didn\u2019t look well at all. She had lost so much weight and had such a tired appearance, I almost didn\u2019t recognize her. I instantly asked [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[739,22],"tags":[304,798,1153,403,580,1116,312],"class_list":["post-7689","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-32","category-short-story","tag-alina-olimpia-miron","tag-cornel-nistea","tag-egophobia-32","tag-mttlc","tag-nigel-walker","tag-short-story","tag-translation"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-201","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7689","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7689"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7689\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7692,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7689\/revisions\/7692"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7689"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7689"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7689"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}