The Seed That Nearly Grew

Sweat dripped from Connie’s brow as she pulled away at the weeds flourishing around her, loosening the roots from the hardened dirt with a small knife she had borrowed from her husband. Her fragile arms and muscles which are useless in almost every other area of life, even the grocery store, are now full of strength and vigor and creativity in this place. The place she’d go to most every afternoon, feeling the sun on the back of her neck while she pulls and digs and waters. Connie could put anything there and have it grow to its fullest potential. Cucumbers, zucchini, potatoes, tomatoes, artichokes, oregano, and basil are just a small taste of her repertoire.

Her mornings were spent reading, and breakfast with her best friend Tiff, afternoons in her garden, and evenings with her husband Amos. Amos didn’t much like Tiff for her constant nail biting and chit chat about the latest clothing styles, but he tolerated her for the sake of Connie’s wrath. Connie of course did not involve herself with this talk of clothing and hair styles but did what she always did for the 40 years or so she had known Tiff, she listened and let her talk herself to the point of exhaustion. This is what made it a good, or at least lasting, friendship.

Most days her time spent in her garden were used for growth and expending energy, however today was different. Digging, and digging, until the hole was much too big for the seeds she’d buried, or even the largest pumpkin she’d grown two years prior, 39 inches in diameter, 23 inches in height. As the hole got larger, her fears grew smaller and her life seemed brighter rather than darker, even as the dirt walls now blocked out the sun which had already left its mark on her. She kept digging, the adrenaline of reaching the bottom now funding her bank of arm strength, as if she had been saving up strength her entire life for this moment.

               Connie married Amos when they were very young, too young to even remember, being in her 60’s now. They loved each other, and he loved her very much. Connie even took care of him after his terrible motorcycle accident. Amos was a good husband most of the time, as all good husbands are, in comparison with wonderful husbands, and the unachievable (even for newlyweds no matter what they might say) perfect husband. He helped her with the dishes, put the garbage on the curb every Tuesday, he even cleaned the bathroom on occasion. His socks and underwear went on the floor every day after work, and his mouth ate anything Connie would make him, even what he didn’t like so much. He never told her these things he didn’t like, how Connie would leave the lights on, or put things in new places without telling him, or fake it while they were doing it, most of all though, he didn’t tell her he cared for her.

Connie sat there, surrounded by dirt, with an opening that appeared to be the size of a mouse hole, looking at her frail arms and blistered hands, satisfied with her work, and decided to climb up, though not before leaving a small seed at the bottom of the pit. She grabbed onto the roots she had watered so thoroughly and they supported her body, 112 pounds, 5 feet 6 inches. By the time she reached the top her adrenaline had run its course and she was ready to enjoy some of that pumpkin pie and oolong tea.

‘Well deserved’, she thought to herself, ‘you fought through a lot today. Tomorrow you’ll get back at it.’

“Hey honey, have you seen my pocket knife?”

Connie hadn’t seen his pocket knife and she didn’t care to give him a straight answer. Her dear husband had lost many articles and items and stuff this week that she didn’t care to hear anymore about. Things she’d gladly throw into that hole she had dug. Things she would enthusiastically throw to the bottom of the Mariana Trench if it meant not hearing about it ever again. That is what made this moment so very special in Connie’s eyes because it was at that moment she remembered that she had been using his pocket knife in the garden and she saw it from her patio chair lying straight next to the hole she had been digging.

She considered the possibilities and threw a glance over to the knife resting peacefully in the dirt as the last possibility which also happened to be the first thought she had lie peacefully on her mind. ‘It’s right over there she said. I’ve been using it I was going to give it back. I hope you’re not mad.’

“I told you not to use it out there I don’t want it dirtied.”

“Go ahead and take it back then, I’m not stopping you.”

Sighing in frustration, Amos walked over to the knife to pick it up. His thoughts dwelled on the past, and he thought of Connie’s smile, the one she used to wear so frequently whenever he was around, he wished to see it again. He wished a lot of things, but he did not wish to tell her. But he remembered his mother as he often did and how she never told him to clean his room, or that she genuinely appreciated him, rather she told him to quit being a nuisance, my goodness, how much this would frustrate him. He had tried not being like this, though he felt he was fighting an army when he did, hopelessly fighting to tell Connie thank you, or even just look at her with a smile, when all he would get back was ignored, sometimes even a leave me alone. He wasn’t sure exactly where things took the turn for the worse, he didn’t much care, he yearned for things to be the way they were and the way things felt before when Connie would give him her smile. So as he leaned over to pick up the knife, he went over to sit next to Connie with no intentions at all, only to be.

Connie, still sitting there in frustration, watched as he sat down next to her. Surprised he didn’t ask her to get him a slice of pie as he would, instead he just sat there. They continued in silence for a while, the sun got to about the level where it shone beautifully through the trees when Connie finally spoke up, “What a serene afternoon.” Her thoughts of anger and even her thought of pushing him into the hole she had dug had all been burned up by the sun.

That evening they agreed to fill in that hole together. The hole which divided them had begun destroying them, the hole they nearly allowed to bury them.