My (Friend) Vinny

From the moment I first set my eyes on Vinny, I knew my life was completely and irrevocably going to change.

I bumped into her in the plant section of Briar Greene Nurseries, my town’s local version of Homestead. I wasn’t even looking for flowers—really, I just needed to find a bird-feeder that wouldn’t succumb to the squirrels—but without intending to, I found myself frozen in the middle of the houseplants section, transfixed to the Venus fly trap that hid amongst tomato stalks and perennials.

I’d never seen a Venus fly trap up close before. I’d seen them in textbooks and nature documentaries, of course—never truly paying attention—but when I saw the tiny plant for the first time within a three-foot snapping radius, it was almost as if the world had stopped spinning on its axis. Face-to-face with the world’s most prominent carnivorous plant, I knew no simpler truth than that “I must have this for myself.”

And so our friendship began, right there in the checkout aisle.

Quickly, Vinny the Venus fly trap became my closest confidant, the only person (or rather, plant) that truly understood me. We'd have highly spirited conversations about our days after I came home from work. We would laugh together. I would put Seinfeld on the TV when I left for work so she wouldn’t get lonely. The more time I spent around her, the more I began to understand that Vinny was special. She was special not only because of her patience—and god, did she have patience—but also because of her quiet empathy.

“Hey, I’m back,” I called one day after coming home from a shift. Vinny said nothing, of course, but I didn’t take her lack of enthusiasm to heart.

“So. There was a little snafu with the fly supply, and I had to get the cheap flies today.” I glanced over to where she lay in her pot, soaking up the sunlight. “Don’t look at me like that; they were the only ones in supply! Would you rather starve?”

I shot another look in her direction as I pulled out the ingredients to make a PB&J sandwich.

“I know, I know. You’re right. But sometimes you just gotta make do with what you’ve got. You hear that, Vinny? Make do with what you’ve got.”

As I dipped my knife into the jar of jelly, I caught a reflection of myself talking and stopped. I set down the knife. Looked around the room, watching for any sign that somebody could see me. I stared for a moment at the beloved Venus fly trap directly to my right.

“Well then. Don't just stand there. Help me with this sandwich, would you?”

Tuesday dinner was always tacos, and yet, on the third Tuesday of April, I found myself agreeing to a date at an Italian place a couple streets down with my coworker’s friend.

“Okay, don’t get into any kind of trouble while I’m gone. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

I propped the door open, pausing to check that my key was in my purse. “Alright, alright. But don't get too crazy!” I tempted Vinny, not even looking up. Within seconds, I was out the door—out of my comfort zone, no longer aided by the company of my trusted plant. I took a deep breath. Soon, I’d be back, and able to talk to Vinny again. But for now, I had to do the hard thing and talk to a human for once.

When I made it to the restaurant, my date was already there. I made the (harrowing) journey across the room and sat down uncomfortably in the leather booth.

“So…how’s it going?” He started.

I mustered up a smile. “Not too bad. Same old, same old, I guess.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his water. “So…what made you pick this restaurant?”

“Oh, um…” I glanced at my menu. “Just, you know. A friend of mine told me it was good.”

A lie. I’d picked the place because it was close to my apartment, where Vinny was waiting patiently for me to come back.

He didn’t seem to catch my sneaky attempt, though. “So. What do you usually do for fun?” He asked.

“Oh, um…I like gardening.”

“Interesting.” His face morphed into some expression that I couldn't quite place. “Are there any specific plants you like, or…?”

Not expecting to have to elaborate on my answers, I drew into myself, surprised into honesty. “I like Venus fly traps.”

“Huh. I can’t say I have much experience with those. But I do have a lot of experience with plants.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I actually grew up on a farm, so I know a thing or two about plant care.”

“Huh.” I fought to hold back a smile. “So you’re like—”

A sudden chime drew my attention away from my date and towards my phone, where the “Ring” app displayed a notification. I watched as my screen portrayed a video of my neighbor’s cat prying open the front door—how could I have forgotten to close it all the way?—and jumping onto a table, knocking over a set of dishes. Immediately, my face paled.

“Uh…I think I have to go,” I said.

“Wait—”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, and as I met his eyes, I realized I really meant it. I’d like to have spent more time asking him all the questions that jumped to my mind—how many plants did he usually take care of? Was their soil different from Lottie’s?—but I knew I didn’t have much time before the cat destroyed everything in my home. Sending one last regretful glance, I grabbed my purse and sprinted out of the building.

When I got to my apartment, the place was a mess.

“Oh no,” I breathed. The cat had knocked over all the picture frames on my dressers, leaving a wake of broken glass and scattered objects. Holding my breath, I made my way to the back of my kitchen, where Vinny usually sat perched on the windowsill.

Yet Vinny wasn’t where I had left her. She lay, broken, discarded, splayed across the floor amongst shards of ceramic and clots of dirt.

“Mrow?”

I turned around, face-to-face with the culprit. “You,” I spat.

The cat just stared politely right back at me, head slightly cocked and tail swishing freely.

“Lottie? Lottie?”

From the hallway, I could hear the muffled call of my next-door neighbor. It took me a second to realize she was looking for her cat.

Gathering up all of my rage, I picked up the cat, marching to the door like a soldier on a mission. “Are you looking for her?” I asked when I pushed past it, shoving any trace of annoyance into the back of my throat like bile as I displayed the cat to my neighbor.

“Oh my god, Lottie! I’m so sorry. I swear, I had only left the door open a crack. She didn’t make a mess in your apartment, did she?”

Too stunned to lie, I looked around the room. “Umm…”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I swear, she’s such a bad cat. Hold on. Give me one second. I can pay you back for whatever she damaged. Just let me…”

Before I could protest, she had already disappeared into her room. I stood in the hallway wondering if I should go back into my room for only a moment before she appeared again, propping the door open with her foot.

In one hand, my neighbor fished through her wallet, supposedly for cash. “Oh, you don’t have to—” I protested, but she held a hand up as if to cut me off.

Awkwardly, I waited as she rifled through her cash. Without realizing, my eyes wandered towards her apartment, and with a pang—right there, on the counter—I saw a Venus fly trap, a near replica of my Vinny.

I’m not proud to say that a wave of jealousy overcame me at that moment. “Oh, you’ve got a Venus fly trap,” I noted bitterly, mostly to myself. As she pulled out what must have been a sufficient reallocation fee (though she never even saw the extent of the damage to my room in the first place), she turned and looked over her shoulder.

“Oh, that,” she said. “I’ve actually been meaning to find a home for that. I didn’t realize how much work they were.”

I must not have hidden my expression well, because when she glanced up at me, the look on her face shifted. “Actually, you could take it, if you want. I mean, I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. But if you know of a better home…”

“I can take it,” I said. The words couldn’t get out of my mouth fast enough.

“Oh. Well. Then, um…” She paused to fetch the plant from her counter. “For your troubles,” she chided, and blankly, I accepted her gifts.

In a blur, I walked back into my apartment. Stared at the broken glass everywhere. I made my way over to the window, where Vinny lie before the windowsill like a martyr, cupping the new plant in my hands. I watched myself pick up a crumpled leaf from the floor, placing it delicately on top of the new plant’s ring of soil. I placed the plant gingerly on the ledge.

Lottie, I decided, nodding to myself. I’m going to call you Lottie.