Blue Rose

“You. The girl with the green eyes that are as green as algae, that make you slip and fall into the abyss. And who can’t cook.

“I don't know you. But this song is for you.”

Osaka, 2005. A pub off Dotonburi. The Blue Rose. The lead singer of that band on the stage. The spotlight on him. The girl sitting alone with her Blue Rose. All eyes on her.

Osaka, 2008. The entrance of the Blue Rose.

“Oh, it’s you, the girl with the green eyes…and I can’t remember the rest,” the owner with the ponytail stopped wiping the countertop when he saw her. “What a way to describe a person. You know, only he could have come up with that.”

She took a seat at the bar, putting her bag down on the adjacent seat. 5 in the afternoon, they were the only souls.

"Blue Rose?”

She nodded.

“Are you still writing that book?”

She nodded. He placed the glass in front of her. “Please.”

She murmured her thanks. Taking a sip from it, she surveyed the small pub. The fading paint, the old photographs, the cracks on the wall, the torn cushions, the calendar stuck on 18 March 2005.

The old grandfather clock marking time with its monotone- uncannily like a death knell.

She sucked in a deep breath and looked up at him. “Maybe I should get going.”

“It’s barely touched.”

She rummaged around her bag for her purse.

“It’s on me.”

She stopped. “Thank you.”

She stepped out, and he knew that perhaps he would never see her again.

She didn’t know where she was going, but found herself at Dotonbori Bridge. Where she stood, gazing into the water, as the world hurried by.

She seemed to see images from another time. A happier time, perhaps.

She rummaged in her bag again, and took out a pile of papers, a little yellowed. The first of it read, “Blue Rose.”

She closed her eyes and threw it into the water. The papers floated on the air, and seemed as though they would never touch the water. When she opened her eyes again, the papers were on the water, slowly being engulfed.

The river flowed.

Back at The Blue Rose, the owner turned on the radio.

“Osaka Boys’ newest single He doesn’t love you debuts at Number 1 on the Oricon…”

He went to the panel of photographs and took that photograph down. He stared at the young couple on it. He turned it over.

Scribbled in two different handwritings, one neat, one barely legible:

He promises to write a song titled ‘Blue Rose.’

She promises to write a book titled ‘Blue Rose.’

“Promises…what are they?” he sighed and stuck it back to its original position.

As he turned, it fell.