The Flower Killer

Are You there, God? It’s me, Justin. I think You are there because I can smell the lilacs and hear the distant grackles making their staccato music while pecking up broken potato chips at the gas station. The lilacs are a sweet relief from the nearby pollution kicked up by that damned skyscraper they’re building. It’s a real flower killer. What have I done to motivate You to allow a city to spring up this quickly in my neighborhood? On top of the pollution, I had to put a tarp over the greenhouse to keep the neighbors in the tall buildings from seeing it. As You well know it’s my own personal secret garden so they have no business looking at it. Now it just gets direct sunlight twice a day, and not much either.

Oh well. I’m eternally grateful for the sweet aroma of the lilacs. It’s like a woman’s perfume. They calm me when I think of all the selfish people in the world who are mean to each other. The smell makes me feel the good kind of numb. Every one of my secret flowers do, each representing the jerk who P.O.’d me on that day.

Justin pushed the soil up around the azalea, — pushing the right amount down into the planter. He hummed “Into the Black” by Neil Young. My my, hey hey…

Mrs. Harrison tapped her cane on the ten-foot-tall black plastic wrap wall Justin had around his greenhouse. Between the plastic wrap wall and the greenhouse, he grew a solid row of bamboo. No one could ever see in unless they poked holes through all three. He hated having to put a tarp on top of the greenhouse with barely a couple of feet separating the wall from the plastic ceiling. He had some flaps on the walls of the greenhouse so he could hear if someone was sneaking up on him. Damned commercial development. Big cities were beautiful, but this one cramped his style. He didn’t want to move because he’d put so much time and care into his secret garden.

She tapped louder, “Hey old man. You over there?”

“Well of course Mrs. Harrison. Where else would I be?”

“Oh I don’t know. Out saving the whales.”

“Ha,” he said. “I would but I don’t know any.”

“Nobody does. But they need saving.”

“Well, I’m a bit too busy. You know, with the gardening.”

“When are you going to let me check it out? I’ve lived here twenty-two years and nothing doing.”

“Now you know I can’t do that. This garden is for me and no one else,” he said. He didn’t want to let her in because he liked her. This garden was for saying goodbye to bad people, not good ones. So he kept it a secret. He didn’t want to hurt anyone with who didn’t deserve it.

Each plant represented a bad memory. The azalea he was working on now came from a man being rude to him on the bus. The asshole wouldn’t pick up his bag to let him sit. He even asked politely but the douche bag gave him the finger, then spread his shit out further so Justin couldn’t even get an inch on the seat. “You need to get some respect for your elders young man. We can make or break you. You’re nice to us, we teach you things. You’re not…well…we haven’t lived this long being nice.” The jerk still wouldn’t move.

“What sense does it make to grow a nice garden nobody can see?”

“I can see it. I practically live in it. The smells calm my spirit.” He slid over to the lilacs. His favorite kind of flowers. He pushed his nose close, inhaling like he was trying to suck the plant up to his frontal lobe. So refreshing. So calming. Goodbye idiot lady who let her dog shit in his yard.

“Maybe we should step out then. Grab a burger,” she said.

He looked up at the small fraction of the sky he could see around the edges of the tarp. It was crystal blue except for the areas where the new buildings cut it into pieces. Not a cloud around. “I need to water first. Then I guess that would be fine.”

“Coolio. Rap on my door when you’re set.”

He twisted the knob to run the water. His sprinkler system shot out the geysers needed to keep his plants alive and fresh. He washed his hands in the spray then dried them on his overalls. As he walked into his house, he stroked the ivy crawling up the brick façade. “Good day officer who wrote me a ticket for driving five miles over the speed limit.”

Are You there, God? It’s me Justin. Why won’t You stop people from being mean? You have the power to do it. We don’t need mean people. I’ve lived a long time on this earth to have seen war, famine, peace, prosperity, poverty, and the shooting up of tall buildings where I don’t want them. Don’t You care about Your environment? They’re destroying it and filling the building with mindless ants who treat each other like garbage. Even ants work together. These creatures You call people hurt each other so they can have more of what they already have enough of. Why?

Justin wouldn’t touch the door to Burger Joint because he hated touching doors. The nice lady with her two toddlers held it open for him while he walked in. About time somebody nice lived around here.

Mrs. Harrison sat in a booth near the windows. Justin liked how the moonlight set her smooth black skin aglow. She looked like a quiet angel. Her cataracts made her green eyes a little muddy, but they still looked as pretty as his Bells of Ireland plant. Goodbye Mr. jerk who revved his motorcycle at night disturbing his sleep.

“Well old man. You shaved your beard,” she said.

He slid into the other side of the booth. “It gets itchy in the Summer.”

“You look mighty dapper.”

“Oh you,” he said. He chuckled behind his liver spotted hand. “And I might say you look lovely this evening.”

“Well. Maybe we should have gone to a steak house.”

“I love a juicy steak. But I also love a juicy burger. Let’s get one,” He said. He smiled coyly with one eyebrow up.

She giggled like a little girl talking to her little girl friends about a cute boy. They went to the counter to order. They sat back down. The pimpled face teenager brought them their food, then picked up the pike with the number at the top.

“You remember being a whipper snapper?” she said.

“Oh Lord no. Ages ago. I don’t have the same energy now I had then.”

“I bet you could still go a few rounds baby cakes. In a fight I mean.”

“Is that what you mean? You figure me for a fighter?”

She dipped her French fry in a puddle of ketchup. Three times. “I figure you for disco dancer.”

He grinned through a mouth full of burger. He swallowed it then said, “I can still boogie. If you know what I mean.”

She grinned. “Old man. I can too. I can cha cha all night baby.”

He was glad he had the pills at home. Because without them, this conversation would be as pointless as a broken trowel.

Are You there, God? It’s me, Justin. Thank You for the good neighbor. It’s refreshing to have at least one good thing in the world. We kicked up quite a stink last night. The good kind of stink. I hope You can forgive me for the sex out of wedlock, but at our age, what’s the point of getting married? Doubtful she wants to get married again anyway, what with her being a widow and all. Either one of us could drop dead any minute. Will You please give us a few good years together?

Justin sat on the bench throwing bread to the grackles — like any old man would. He looked at the construction site. Men and women carried supplies here and there. A welder tied to the beams plugged together to rods making a Justin-didn’t-know-what. The whole building still looked like bones with no skin. He was in a better mood because of last night with the sweet lady, but nothing would make his anger against this build go away.

A young woman carrying a clip board looked at various parts checking things off as she went. Another young woman approached her. They both wore their reflective vests and yellow hard hats looking like little Lego critters. They smiled the same smile as soon as they locked eyes. He could read the body language a mile away. They were in love. There was a time when that kind of thing was so forbidden they wouldn’t even think about talking to each other in public. But those days were gone. Truth be told, he was glad. He knew it was a sin, but it was a sin full of love. He didn’t think God would fault them their sins if their love was real. Love was everything.

He looked up to the second floor. Six men stood around another wearing vests and hard hats. The one man pointed around as he talked to them. They listened intently, clocking everything he pointed at. He was the boss. But was he the big boss or merely a minor boss?

Justin had an ulterior motive for being there. He wanted to have a chat with the big boss about putting up such an obtrusive eyesore this close to his old house. He had fought tooth and nail with a young upstart prick working for the city about not tearing down his home. They offered him gobs of money — but he wouldn’t sell. It wasn’t so much about the house as it was about his garden. He’d put too much time into it and didn’t want to start over somewhere else. Not even with all that money.

He thought about it for a minute because if he moved out to the country he could make a bigger secret garden. Far enough out in the country to keep it away from prying eyes. But no. His garden was so lovely and important he wound not dishonor it. There was no replacing it. If he let them have the land, they’d bury it with the secrets of the pain he’d experienced with people. Then the pain would come back stronger —buried deep inside his chest. No. Not moving.

He would let the big boss know how he felt about the whole thing all right. He spent the rest of the day watching the little boss — trying to figure out which one was the big boss. Maybe he was it, but Justin wanted to be sure. No point in wasting time with a lesser creature. Wouldn’t accomplish anything.

Then the little boss walked over to a big truck with tinted windows. The driver window rolled down revealing a well-kept man, cleanly shaven, wearing the same Lego costume as the others — but without the helmet on his head. Even from all the way across the street Justin could feel the man’s power. He was definitely the big boss. Justin watched him and the little boss chat. Then he watched the big boss pull his truck up to the triple wide trailer adjoining the construction site. The big boss went in carrying a briefcase. Yep. The right guy.

Now he had to answer the question — how to have a private conversation with the man? He didn’t want anyone else in ear shot because it wasn’t going to be a civil conversation. He didn’t want to project his own toxic anger on anyone who didn’t deserve it. The rest of the creatures — including the little boss — were just following orders. This piece of shit gave the orders. If he could stop the orders, he could stop the build. If they abandoned it, he’d plant an ivy that would eat the whole thing. Instead of being an industrial eyesore it would be a giant plant. Over time he would sneak in to grow some other flowers.

If the conversation didn’t go the way he wanted — if the big boss wouldn’t shut down the build — if he was rude to Justin — he’d have to plant a snake plant to squash his rudeness. If he wouldn’t comply — that would make the big boss a snake. Snake plants were powerful, resilient plants. It would stay fresh long enough for Justin to never feel the pain.

Are You there, God? It’s me, Justin. Thank You for keeping the big boss there late. I’m sorry about the lady he brought in there to commit adultery. I know it’s a grave sin, because Your Commandments are most important. It’s the only way I could get in though, because without it he might have gone home early. I’m glad I got to have the conversation with the rude man who laughed at me when I told him to shut down the build at once. He even offered me a cold bottle of water like that was supposed to calm me down. It served to fill me with a greater rage. How dare he try to pacify me!

Justin always planted his new plants at night while the city slept. Any other city would have been loud, but in Austin, Texas, the people go home around two. There were stragglers, going to raves and such, until three or four, but between four A.M. and Sunup the city grew quiet. Hardly any cars moving around — much less people.

After his conversation with the big boss, he invited the man to his home for coffee. If he could just show him how beautiful his home was maybe he’d shut down the build. If he remained stubborn — he’d take him out to the garden to show him what he’d made to hide his pain —which came from dealing with rude people over the years. He would never invite someone as nice as Mrs. Harrison into the garden because he didn’t want her to feel his pain. But this asshole who wouldn’t stop like he was told…

Justin wore his overalls when the man came over. They talked.

The big boss wouldn’t budge. “Mr. Justin, there’s nothing I can do for you. This project employs over a thousand people and will bring tons of money to the city.”

No good for Justin because it meant more buildings.

“The whole thing is so entrenched no one can shut it down now. I feel for you, but I’m sorry sir. Nothing can be done.”

“Maybe it would help if I showed you my garden,” Justin said.

The big boss tried to be nice to Justin the whole time. He appreciated his love for his home. He wanted to do anything he could to make Justin happy — short of shutting down a multi-million-dollar construction project. He had to assume the old man was just being a silly old man. Sometimes old people don’t think as clearly as they did in their youth. He had a ninety-year-old grandfather with Alzheimer’s. Of course he would love to see his garden.

“After you,” Justin said. The big boss accommodated him. They walked out through the screened in deck.

The big boss opened the screen door, stepped out into the garden, lit dimly by the last moonlight of the evening. He saw the flowers and was blown away by the hard work Justin had done.

Then he looked down. He froze in disbelief. But he didn’t have time to scream because Justin smashed his head with an autographed Louisville Slugger, by Pete Rose, Justin’s favorite ball player. The big boss fell face first into the soft soil where there weren’t yet any plants.

Justin picked up his always sharpened ax to promptly chop off his head. He grabbed the big boss’s body by the feet to drag it onto his porch. He leaned the neck over the edge so he didn’t get any blood where someone would find it. It dripped into a hole he’d burrowed for just that reason.

He went back outside. He picked up the man’s head then set it to the side. He took his favorite trowel to dig a small hole. He picked up the head, then put it down into the soil where only his face was out of the dirt. He pushed the soil down around the head to pack it in solid. He used a crowbar to open the mouth wide. He dropped some more soil into the mouth, mixing in some Miracle Grow. He pulled the bag of Snake Plant seeds out of his pocket. He buried them gently into the creature’s mouth.

“Now you shush,” he said in the quiet night. The crickets had even stopped squawking already. He looked at the multitude of his beautiful plants, each one buried in the faces of the disrespectful.

Now on to disposing of the body, then maybe a roll in the hay with Mrs. Harrison.