Ms. Ling’s Camellia

A seed floats to the ground, falls to the leafy springs that decorate Mrs. Ling’s yard. Down in the fertile, dark ground, moist soil, the seed takes root. It places green shoots down, anchoring itself to maintain a steady hold during the storms. Water, a steady spring rain, showers the little seed with all it needs. The sun glows, prideful of it’s daughter, as the seed begins to sprout up from the soil. From the tan, ordinary, plain old seed comes a shoot of green. 

4/2/19–

I am watching the plant grow. It seems like a flower, but I can’t be sure. With Orion at work so much, maybe a project would keep me busy? Gardening isn’t bad, maybe I should give it a try? I know what I’ll do, I’ll take care of it, even if it is a weed. I’m twenty, aren’t I, too young to worry about the official no weeds rule in gardens. Weeds can be pretty! I can treat it as a flower! I will give the seedling my full attention. Orion will be proud! Perhaps on our anniversary I can give him the flower, as a gift! He always loved my creative ideas. I couldn’t be happier with newlywed life, but it is a tad bit boring. No matter, this seedling can fix that!

4/9/19–

Through plenty of sunlight and an abundance of spring water, the spring prospers and, there it is! A bud! I wonder what it will become? Perhaps a rose? It isn’t much of a garden, but maybe if I can take care of this little seed, I can take care of more. Something more. Orion doesn’t know yet, but I feel it in my stomach. The tiniest spark of life, as green as the plant outside. I’m only twenty, a newlywed...it’s too soon! I don’t think I can handle it alone, but with Orion, I’m sure I can.

4/16/19–

I have to tell Orion soon, I know as much. I spend nearly all of my time in the garden now, I can’t bear to see him. What will he think of me? We were careful. My stomach is still quite flat, and I suppose I could hide it, but not for long. It’s better to hide among the one flower and wait for the inevitable. I have to tell him. Soon. The bud for my seed is so big, so large, and I’ve poured all my love and tenderness into making the plant grow. I couldn’t bear tearing it out now, even if it were a weed. I love it with all of my heart. Maybe the thing inside me is also a weed, but already...

4/18/19–

 It finally happened, and I feel choked with grief. Orion, he didn’t care about me, or the baby. He just left, shouting all the way to his car while I tried to chase him. I knew people could see me, but it would be worth it if I could make him stay. Raise a family. “I don’t want a family,” he had said. It feels like knives in my stomach, acid drowning my heart. When he was gone, it struck me, so hard, he would never come back. I couldn’t even get into the house, I kneeled by the flower and cried. Sobbed. Big, fat, ugly tears, because he wasn’t coming back, he wouldn’t. There was no need to water my flower today, the salty droplets would do. Even my tears looked pretty in the light of a setting sun. How dare the sun still set! How dare the day go on? Didn’t the whole world know Orion was gone? There was nobody to see the sunset with me now. I went inside after that, and I’m sure I’ve destroyed everything that is his. All of Orion’s games, belongings, bags, everything. I couldn’t bare to go to our bed this night. I think I’ll sleep on the couch instead. It’s no use trying to avoid him, he’s everywhere, but I have to try. In every piece of furniture we lovingly chose, in every tall wineglass we ever shared, in every pillow we slept with, he is there. No matter where I run, he is there, always there, and it’s a horrible, terrible thing.

 4/19/19–

The next morning, I didn’t want to go out again. Anger and sadness had turned to me missing my husband. Not that he would be my husband for very long. The feeling reminds me of homesickness. The home we once shared no longer feels like home. Home is Orion, no matter where we went, he was there. Home isn’t a house, Home is a person. Homesickness grips my heart, twisting it with its clawed hands, back, unyielding, and evil in every sense. I hate it. I saw the seedling again, today, through a window, and I knew I couldn’t let it die. It’d be so cruel to do so, and somehow, I felt the plant held a bit of Orion. A bit of a happy home before the turmoil. Why couldn’t it stay that way? Why couldn’t life stay perfect and blissful? Why couldn’t it stay the unblemished white instead of the black that is staining my very being? I went out again and watered the seed. 

5/6/19–

I’ve kept watering the seed because it seemed to be the only thing I could do. The only reason I could pick my young body from the couch. I called my parents, wanting some sort of advice, anything, everything, I felt hopelessly lost. They wanted me to get an abortion, wanted me to get rid of the kicking spark of life inside me. It was plausible, but—I couldn’t. It would be like ripping my seedling from the ground, bud and all, and letting it die. I couldn’t do that. Even if I did, there would be no way to guarantee Orion’s return. I had to have the baby. Every morning I have woken up, I’ve turn, and I’ve looked among the rumpled sheets for Orion. Then the truth would hit me, slamming into me like a truck on a freeway, and it hurt all over again. The baby was all I had of my ex-husband. Did I really want to be with someone who made me feel those feelings? Yes. Maybe it wasn’t right for me to feel that way, but yes. Even after all he has done, or Orion came back, I’d hug him with open arms. I searched his Facebook online. He’s changed his status to single. I’m not sure what to do, anymore. What is there to do? There is nothing I can change in this nasty, ink black world.

5/20-19

I know it’s been a while, but I’ve been busy. Emailing old friends, grandparents, acquaintances for any sort of advice! Something, anything! I’ve kept watering the plant, urging it and caring for it with an almost motherly composition, because it was the only thing left. I hadn’t made a decision yet, but I went to a doctor. And then, seeing the little child in the monitor...I knew I couldn’t kill it. Orion’s aiming for a divorce. I knew it would happen, so why do I feel like thousands of hammers are pounding my skull? Soon I will not be Mrs. Ling, I will be Ms. Ling. And then I feel my stomach. It’s still flat, but a little rounder now, swelling like my ankles already have. But when I feel my stomach, all my terror is drowned out my love and joy, incomparable to anything else. Why, I’ve never felt such love, such joy. Not for Orion, not for my parents. This must be what they call motherly love. It’s so beautiful, so precious, and so—large! It expands and expands and builds and it’s so wonderful. The little creature inside me is simultaneously the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. I’m only twenty! How can I take care of something this important!

5/30/19–

Doctors are so very expensive and I don’t have any money at all! Me and Orion had never been poor, per se, but he took the majority of the funds when he left. I’ve had to sell the old tv so I could find the gender in a month. A girl! A little girl whose hair I can twist into pigtails, a little girl with sticky jelly fingers and short little dresses. A little girl with a million dollar smile and dolls and horses on her shirts. A girl with the sweetest soul to ever exist. Or a boy! A boy to dress in stylish batman suits. A boy to chase on the playground and to pelt with foam balls. A little boy with the kindest heart to ever exist. Whichever it is, I want to care for it in the best way possible. I couldn’t bare it if he or she was a stillborn. That would be worse than Orion, because I know Orion is alive. I don’t think I could do it if I had a stillborn, the grief would be too much. I’d seen it happen to others before, seen them descend into a spiral that ended in, ultimately, death. Grief sickness. In the back of my mind is always the worry of, “What if I can’t?” I’m only twenty, I never completed college, and I already have a divorce. What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t breastfeed? And what if I can’t pay for enough toys? What if I’m not good enough?

6/28/19–

It’s a girl! A wonderful, beautiful, darling little girl! I learned just a few days ago, and already, I love her. But best of all, today, she kicked! Just a little thump, but I felt it, and the joy... I feel like I am overflowing with love, love for the tiny girl in my stomach. She is no longer an “organism” or even an “it.” She’s a her. The best “her” to ever exist! My stomach is swelling now, noticeable, and I hate the looks I get. In grocery stores, on trains, even in my own neighborhood when I step out to water the bud. Everybody seems to disapprove of me, to hate me, just because I am having a baby. A little girl! Will she grow up to have the same dirty looks as I do? I can’t bear the thought. The bud of my seed has withered, in all the baby craze I’d forgotten about my little plant. I feel awful. I’ve begun to water it again, in the hope, the weird, desperate hope, it will bloom again. I still don’t know what flower it is, for it is definitely not a weed, but I hope I will soon.

8/17/19–

My parents have forked over a small amount of money, but it barely covers labor. I’ve taken to selling any extra belongings, any of Orion’s old shirts, any old nail polish. More than anything, I want a healthy child. I’ve done good watering the old seedling, although it isn’t a seedling anymore. Like my stomach, it’s grown. It hasn’t given me a flower yet, just brilliantly green leaves, but soon. I’d like to believe it will happen soon. I’m four months into the pregnancy now, and the kicks come mor frequently. Same as the pregnancy cravings and hormones. This morning, I woke up, and all I could think was, “I want chocolate ice cream cake.” My head kept reminding me of the fact until I gave in and dragged me and my baby bump to the car. I try to avoid grocery stores now, it does more harm than good to see a single woman with a child. Hopefully I will see a little face though, hopefully I will see my girl soon, and then, it will all have been worth it.

 11/30/19–

Nights and days began to blur into hours of pain, of pregnancy cravings, and of the child inside me kicking at me like I was a soccer ball. My appointments with the doctor stopped, and I’ve been told the next time would be The Time. A premature birth, but I still can’t wait for it to happen. I hope she comes out healthy. I watched my flower. It was definitely unfurling now, but all I could see of my masterpiece was streaks of red and splashes of white. I wasn’t supposed to leave the house now, but I still looked, viewing the world through a smudged window. Soon my flower will bloom, soon my little girl will see my face. Soon.

 Two weeks later, Ms. Ling’s water broke. The twenty year old was in a little of a panic, but she managed to call the hospital to pick her up. And there it began.

Four hours later, a baby girl was born. Ms. Ling’s forehead was streaked with sweat, but nothing compared to the joy she felt when holding her daughter. The doctors gave her a few questions, but then they left the two alone. For not the first time, the doctors admired the miracle of birth from afar. Exhaustion took over, and Ms. Ling handed the little girl, already mewing for milk, to a nurse. “What’s her name?” the nurse asked as she cooed to the child. A name? Ms. Ling didn’t have one.

 1/5/20– I remember the night well. After holding my little girl for the first time, I fell asleep in a jumble of Maggies and Janes. A name? I hadn’t thought of one! And none of the Stacies or Daniellas felt right for the glorious face I had stared into. My own baby girl. Sleep carried me off, offering a brief respite from the world. I took a few days in the hospital, but only a few. I needed to get home, I couldn’t pay for extra time. After the period of rest, I took myself and the baby girl home. I still didn’t have a name perfect enough for the tiny form covered in blankets. In the car, I kissed the tiny nose and watched as the child waved it’s arms around, red fingers wanting to grab onto something but not knowing what. The cab driver, a nice, Australian fellow, made his way to my house, a quaint abode in a small neighborhood. “G’day, m’am,” the cab driver tipped his hat as I exited. I walked with the bundle up to her steps, where I saw my little seedling. It had grown a flower! It had wilted a little from lack of care, but it was still there, beautiful, white with streaks of red. It had finally given its caretaker not a bud but a flower. And then, in that very moment, I now knew what to name the little girl. I would name her after the one thing that helped me through divorce, the living thing I’d taken care of like a child. The bud, the living thing, the flower. “Hello, Camellia,” Ms. Ling said to her daughter.