Aster saves us

“It creaks,” Regina tells Malcolm. Saying so as she recklessly swings the rotted bedroom door back and forth like a Chinese fan.

“It’s just old Regina, like your Father,” Malcolm replies. “Get to know it…It’s your door now. This will be your room, in your house.

“I don’t want an old room,” Regina says stalwart. “Why do I always have to get the old things?”

“Do you like to ask allegorical questions?” asks Malcolm.

“I like to ask all sorts of questions,” says Regina, “even allegorical ones. My teacher Mrs. Gibbs says that’s how you find things out. Things you don’t know. She says that people who ask questions can grow up to be anything they want.”

“Then you should already know the answer, Regina John...”

“And you should know that I don’t care,” she bickers. “I want a new room.”

When it came time to pick the rooms Regina was missing.

“Look it’s not my fault you weren’t here to pick rooms,” says Malcolm. “We all planned the time. You knew it was going to happen. You didn’t show up, so you get stuck with the old room.”

Regina never frowns, but she has perfected the cold stare of her mother, the cold stare of betrayal. A trait held by many broken women.

“You look like your mother with that face,” says annoyed Malcolm. “Look, get comfortable. Diner will be ready in twenty five minutes. Maybe you can clean it up a bit before you wash up. Make it a little cozier, like home.”

“Look, this isn’t my stupid home ok,” slams the bitter girl. “I won’t be here long enough to call this crater home. I already have a home,” she points to the side of her skull. “No one can tell me where home is, nobody, not you, not my mom, not Mrs. Gibbs, nobody.”

“Keep thinking that way Regina,” says Malcolm stoically. “You’ll make a real special wife with that selfish attitude. I’m sure you’ll demolish some poor guy completely…or worse he’ll destroy you. One thing is certain, if you don’t change it quick it won’t really matter anymore, will it?”

“No Mal,” she cowers. “It won’t.”

Her ragged door closes with a slam. “I’m dead,” Regina screams. Her hands are shaking with nervousness. She struggles with her mess. Will he come back? Will he beat me for my disobedience? Will they kick me out?

Nothing returned. No words, no sounds. Silence except for a little girls terrible lonesome crying. The dusty floor makes as comfortable a bed as she requires.
Forty five minutes later she stands again. She makes some new friends. The spider crawling through a thick web in the far corner is called Noah. He will always be there for her and will never, ever, think to betray her trust.
The skinny mouse that has eaten his way through various parts of her wall is called Fredrick. He has communicable diseases, so she must never touch him with her hands.
Finally the large oak outside her window is named Aster. He is dying slowly of cholera. But he will protect her from everyone else. He is there to talk to at all times of the day, silently he pays attention when no one else will, closely he will hold her secrets, never to be reveled.

“I’ve brought your diner down my dear,” Malcolm says passively, soothing his voice to seem fatherly, considerate. “Can I come in?”

“If your asking for an invitation the answer is no,” responds Regina with a cocky flare in her voice. “Your food tastes like ass, and I’m all out of blood today.”

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll leave it here so you can waste it. But you remember this Regina, pride won’t fill your belly, and anger won’t make you any happier. If you want to hate me, or hate us, that’s all well and good, but it will never change anything. You will still be Regina John...”

Malcolm leaves her food resting in front of her door, a sloppy beef sandwich, green cut beans, and milk. She listens for his footsteps to expire from memory. They stay for longer than he does.

“I wish I was dead Aster,” says Regina. “I wish I would never have been born.”

“You know that isn’t possible Regina,” says Aster calmly.

“And why not,” Regina retorts.

“Because I am your coffin, your solid oak, this is your last memory non stop, rolling over and over through your pretty, dead little skull.”