Garden

Pulling weeds in the middle of the night. Not the most common thing in the world, but what else did I have to do? I sighed softly. How many nights had it been now?

It was silent tonight. All I could hear was the chirping of crickets and the faint humming of the back porch light I was using to see. Which is why it was easy to hear the cab pull in front of the house. I heard some faint, slurred mumbling. He'd been drinking again.

My loneliness quickly turned to rage. I started to rip the weeds up viciously. How therapeutic. I was actually glad I decided to do this now. I heard him stumbling around the house, confused. Finally, he made his way to the back yard.

I ignored it as the back door swung open. I focused on my weeds instead. I could feel him staring at me, waiting for me to acknowledge him. Too bad. He could see how it felt for once.

“What are you doing?” He mumbled.

“Gardening,” I said simply.

“At two in the morning?” He asked.

“Why not? It’s not like have anything else to do,” I huffed.

He didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t going to try to force him. I was sick of being the one who had to initiate everything. If he had something to say, he’d say it. If not, then why bother? He shifted back and forth on his foot for a minute.

“Did you make dinner?” He said finally.

I rolled my eyes. Of course. I don’t know what I expected.

“I ordered out. Seemed pointless cooking for just me,” I said stiffly.

He sighed, frustrated. “Why not? What else did you have to do all day?”

“Work in the garden.”

“Again?” He groaned. “Didn’t you just work in that thing yesterday?”

“Some things require care and attention,” I said, angrily yanking a weed. “If you abandon them, they die.”

“For one day?” He asked skeptically, crossing his arms.

I shrugged. “Oh, that’s how it always starts. You say it’s just one day, it doesn’t matter. Next thing you know, you’ve gone a week without even looking at it.”

“So what?” He asked. “It can’t take care of itself for a little while? What’s the point of having something so needy? Sounds like a pain.”

I tossed a weed into the bucket angrily. As oblivious as always. He didn’t get it. He’d probably never get it.

“The point is that you love it,” I said pointedly. “You don’t just abandon something you love. You can’t just leave it all the time because it ‘should be able to care for itself.’ Whether you like it or not, it needs you, and if you love it, then you need to be there for it.”

Realization crossed his face as I said this. He frowned and crossed his arms, glaring my way. I guess he was waiting for me to say something. I ignored him. After a moment he huffed impatiently.

“Well, what if you can’t just abandon everything to spend all day with it?” He asked sarcastically. “Some people have jobs, bills to pay. They can’t drop everything else because the garden can’t be by itself for a little while.”

“Oh, the garden would be fine for several hours at a time, even a day or two. However, when you have free time,” I emphasized, “it wouldn’t hurt to stay home a tend to your garden a little bit instead of getting shitfaced all night.”

“For fuck’s sake!” He shouted. “This again? I work hard all day. Is it that bad if I want to go out and have a drink with my friends after? If you don’t like it, why don’t you get a job?”

“Yeah and who’s gonna take care of the house?” I asked angrily, standing. “You make it sound like I sit on my ass all day, but without me, this house would fall apart.”

“Get over yourself, the house would be fine,” he said rolling his eyes.

Anger seethed inside of me. I was sick of this. I was tired of him belittling everything I did, of always disappearing and leaving me here to take care of everything. He thought it was easy, then fine. I sat back down and returned to my garden.

“What, nothing to say? Or do you just not want to admit I’m right?” He asked.

I ignored him and kept work on the garden. He waited impatiently. I started sprinkling water over the plants.

“So, what? You’re just not talking to me now? Real mature,” he scoffed.

“I’m not ignoring you,” I said calmly, “I’m just done.”

“Done? You mean gardening?” He said, confused.

“Surviving.”

“What the hell do you mean ‘surviving’?”

“Gardens take work,” I sighed. “You don’t plant one thinking it’s going to be easy. You make a commitment that you’re going to care for it, even when it’s a pain.

You do it though. You do it because you get something in return. When you care for your garden you can see the progress. Every day that you see it flourish, you know you’re doing things right. It’s a labor of love, and when you stop loving it, it dies.”

“God, you’re not dying,” he muttered.

“Earth doesn’t die, the plants do,” I explained. “Everything you worked so hard to create can disappear before you know it. If you salt the Earth, then nothing else will grow there. And, honestly, anymore salt and I think I’d be a fucking pretzel.”

I tossed the last of the weeds into the bucket and pushed past him to get into the house. He grabbed my arms.

“Hey, where are you going?” He asked.

“Bed,” I said simply. “What’s the point of providing anything for you when I just end up neglected? Take care of yourself from now on. It’s what you’re best at.”

I pulled away from him and started walking to the bedroom. Saying it was painful, but also freeing. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe. I guess I had finally pulled all the weeds from my garden.