Gardens
Fifth in a series of Flash Fiction shorts that I’m writing while in Thailand. I’m allowing myself a maximum of two hours per story so please forgive the rough edges. Cheers!
—SW
He loved it: the black soil under the nails, the gentle prickle of exertion on his skin. Roger straightened up and looked over his work. Dampened sunlight danced across the wide leaves of a tropical shrub he bought a couple months before.
Now that it was full size, he’d given it pride of place at the center of the greenhouse. Beautiful. Native to the jungles of Indochina. Not that he’d ever been. Zane, the guy who worked at the nursery, smuggled it into the country after a trip through Asia. Stupid archaic customs laws. Cost more than a few smackers but worth it.
“Dad, are you coming in for lunch? Mom’s getting, you know.” Braden was a ball of proto-teenage exasperation.
“Sure, sure.” Roger set down the trowel. “Come here for a second first, I want to show you something.”
“Yeah, but lunch is–.”
“See these leaves? This thing grows in Thailand and Vietnam, deep in the mountain jungles. That’s why I have the mist hose hooked up to a timer and, ah, sorry. Tell your mother I’m washing up, be in a bit.”
He ran the sink, scrubbed his hands until they were pink. Ran the brush under his nails. Took the apron off and stepped out of his little jungle into the dry Summerville air.
“Dad’s getting weird about the plants again.”
“Be nice, Braden.” Jennifer winked at Roger, triggering an eye roll. “Your father and I have a deal. As long as he doesn’t track any of his jungle dirt into the house he can be as weird about as many plants as he likes.” She gave Roger a squeeze on the shoulder. “Maybe a shower before we meet the Edwards for dinner though, huh?”
“You know we could go sometime? We don’t even have to fly all the way to Asia. I was googling some stuff about Peru–.”
“Oh, just Peru huh?”
Roger smiled over his teeth and switched the subject to Braden’s soccer league.
Roger met up with Zane out back of the nursery, he’d brought back from his latest overseas trip.
“From Kerala?” Roger had seen that episode of Anthony Bourdain. “With the canals and stuff?”
“Same state, but this only grows deep in the hills.” Zane grinned showing off a concerning amount of tooth decay. He dug around in his pocket and produced a smooth seed the size of a robin’s egg. “You don’t want to ask how I got this through customs.”
They both laughed, Zane for a little longer than Roger was comfortable with.
Zane began to enumerate the plant’s needs: soil ph, nutrients, what-have-you.
“Can’t I just look it up online?”
“Not on your life, man. Nobody’s even heard of this before. Shit, if the guide I was with knew I grabbed one of these, well I wouldn’t have made it out.” Zane’s face darkened. “Why don’t I start from the top and you take notes, okay?”
Roger dutifully followed the directions. He placed the seed in a shallow pot, carefully mixed the soil, packed it in but not too firm. God, if Jennifer knew how much he spent on this thing he’d be in trouble.
In that case she better not find out, huh.
Zane refused to tell him what the thing would even look like when it sprouted. Told him to come back for further instruction. Pissed him off at first but maybe he was being a stick in the mud. Now, looking at the mound of dirt in front of him he was thankful for the suspense. Was it sad that this was the most fun he’d had in years?
Probably.
Roger smiled himself to sleep that night.
“Dad, where’s mom?”
Roger squinted at the Sunday morning sun peeking through the blinds. “Dunno, check the garage or something.”
Braden left. Roger jumped out of bed, snatching up the clothes he wore the day before. Silly but he couldn’t get that plant out of his head. Doubtful the seed had even begun to germinate after only a day but he had to take a look nonetheless.
On seeing the greenhouse he froze.
The whole of the structure was dark. Some some kind of mold, probably. He’d finally done it with his stupid infatuation with these exotic plants. Jesus Herbert Christ, for that to have spread so quickly everything inside must be absolutely covered.
“She’s not in the garage.” Braden walked up. “Whoa. What happened to your greenhouse?”
“Dad screwed up, kiddo. Why don’t you come in here and I can show you what an irresponsible dolt your old man has been.”
Braden seemed confused but he wasn’t about to give up a chance to see a real life dad screwup.
Roger took a deep breath.
Which was good because the breath flew out of his mouth almost immediately after he opened the door.
The greenhouse was covered in vines. Not just the walls. The tables, the floor, everything. Green with purple veins. Vines as big around as your forearm.
Roger ran toward the little dish he’d planted the seed in the night before but was blocked by a tangle of twisted stalks tied up like a ball of yarn. The dish lay comically upside down on the floor near his feet.
“Holy sh-, shoot.” He’d lost every single plant he owned but this was, “incredible. Just incredible. Braden, come over here, I want to show you something.”
“Uh, dad. Do you hear that?”
Unmistakably. A creaking sound like the tightening of dry ropes. No, that wasn’t it, something like a moan.
“Mom!”
Roger pushed through a tangle to the far corner of the greenhouse. The moans grew louder. They were coming from a five foot four cocoon of vines.
“Jennifer! Can you hear me? Braden, get out of here!”
Behind him, his boy screamed. Roger tried to get a grip on the vines but they were tougher than rope. No matter how he pulled he felt like he was making them tighter. “God, oh god, Jennifer. . . .”
Braden’s screams cut out.
Roger turned. His son’s hand stuck from a tangle, flailing around. A single crawling sprout reached from the wall, brushing against Roger’s finger. He yelped and ran out of the greenhouse.
The garage.
The axe.
The weedkiller.
Roger snatched the weedkiller and the axe and charged back into the greenhouse. How had he not noticed the walls crawling with those little green sprouts?
They wiggled, reaching toward him as he hacked his way toward the ball at the center of the room.
Roger swung the axe into the ball. Purple sap flew out, covering his face. He swung again. And again. The way this thing grew, the speed. He knew if he tried to be surgical and cut Jennifer or Braden out he’d be overwhelmed in no time at all.
He had to get the source.
He swung the axe until the ball had been hacked open into a writhing purple mess. Like some giant anemone.
He sprayed the weed killer over the squirming bundle.
Exhausted, he ran to where Braden and Jennifer were trapped, their arms both poking through the mess. Both of them gasping for air. Breathing. Safe.
“Roger?”
“Yes?”
“No more gardening.”
“No more gardening.”