Perfectly Scarred

The Weed

A weed is just a flower growing in the wrong place.

They're not my words, they're my granddad's.

He sees the beauty in everything, or perhaps it's more that he thinks things that are unconventional and out of place are more beautiful than anything else.

I see this trait of him everyday, favoring the old farm house rather than living in the modernized gatehouses. It's not that he's afraid of progress-in fact he's the first person to fight for change-but he like's authenticity , everything in its truest form.

Including weeds. He admires their audacity, growing in places they haven't been planted. It is the trait of him that drawn me to him in my time of need, and why is he putting his own safety on the line to harbor me.

Harbor.

That's the word Society has used: Anybody who is aiding or harboring Roseanne Park will face severe punishment.

They don't state the punishment, but the Society's reputation allows us to imagine. The danger of keeping me on his land doesn't appear to scare Granddad; it makes him even more convinced of his duty to protect me.

Protect me. The words that Lisa uttered the last time I saw her.

"There you are"

"Lisa?" I say, feeling confused.

"I've been waiting for you." She takes a step forward.

"It's always you who finds me" I whisper.

"I have this need to protect you, to always keep my eyes on you, Rosie"

"Thank you for saving me again. I owe you one" she comes closer to me and envelopes me with a warm embrace.

"But.. what are you doing here?" I ask

"Your granddad ordered me to pick you up and I'm just an abiding granddaughter-in-law" Lisa chuckles.

"What? Oh, so you already met him?"

She nods. "He was worried about you, we had to take him to the hospital since he's bleeding a lot. He was hesistant at first but I have the power of persuasion so, he did. And He's pretty cool actually. I like him. Told me to call him granddad, too"

"That sounds like my granddad"

I really have a lot of things to day but it seems like all the words fade away when I saw her.

"Uhm, so that means I owe you half of my life for saving granddad, too"

"I guess you can say that. Well you need to be in my life so you can repay me" she said seriously and then she laughs. "I'm kidding, you don't owe me anything, Rosie."

How can this girl make silly jokes in times of trouble.

"I originally planned on taking you with me, to protect you but your granddad said that it's best if you'll be with him for now until you figure your next step"

"I really don't want to put anyone else in trouble. I'm planning on living with my own. Plan things, then find you but then" I trail off "you found me" I say looking into her eyes. For a moment, I was lost.

"I'll always find ways to be with you. To see you, to at least have a glimpse of you even if it means risking my own life"

"I don't want you risking your life for me."

"It's my pleasure. Even if you don't want to, I've already invested myself to you so let's go?"

Lisa offered her hand and together we run away.

"A weed is simply a plant that wants to grow where people want something else" Granddad adds now, stooping low to pluck the intruder from the soil with his strong hands.

He has fighting hands, big and strong like shovels, but then in contradiction to that, they're nurturing hands, too.

Maybe the strongest fighters are the nurturers because they're connected something deep in their core, they've got something to fight for, they've got something worth saving.

Granddad owns one hundred acres, not all strawberry fields like one we're in now, but he opens this part of the land up to the public in the summer months. Families pay to pick their own strawberries; he says that his income helps him to keeps things ticking over. But he can't stop now, not because for monetary reasons but the Society will know he's hiding me.

The Society is keeping a close eye on him. The Whistleblowers are watching him.

I used to love coming here as a child with my sister, Jisoo, in the strawberry-picking season. At the end of the long day, we would have more berries in our bellies than in our own baskets, but it doesn't feel like the same magical place anymore.

Now I'm de-weeding the soil where I once played make-believe.

I know that when granddad talks about plants growing where they're not wanted, he's talking about me, like he's invented his own brand of farmer therapy, but though he means well, it just succeeds in highlighting the facts to me.

I'm the weed.

Branded Failure in five areas on my body and a secret sixth for good measure, for aiding a Failure and lying to the Society.

I was given a clear message: Society didn't want me. They tore me from my terra firma, dangled me by my roots, shook me around, and tossed me aside.

"But who called those weeds?" Granddad continues as we work our way through the beds. "Not nature. It's people who did that. Nature allows them to grow. Nature gives them their place. It is people who brand them and toss them aside."

"But this one is strangling the flowers" I finally say, looking up from my work, back sore, nails filthy with soil.

Granddad fixes me with a look, tweed cap low over his dark brown eyes, always alert, always on the lookout, like a hawk.

"They're survivors, Roseanne. They're fighting for their place."

I swallow my sadness and look away.

I'm a weed. I'm a survivor.
I'm a Failure.
I'm eighteen years old today.

******************************
Describe Rosie and Lisa's current situation
Me: