Figs, and More Figs, and Golden Pothos

Yes, I bought the weakest-looking plant I’ve ever seen, wilting with only a few leaves left intact. I’ll try not to bore you with every detail that led to my choice, like the flourishing lily pads surrounded by an algae bloom in a murky pond. Most people wouldn’t care about the way a fly slipped into the pitcher plant or reached out desperate arms through a fly-traps trigger. I wouldn’t normally care. I’m out of it today, I think. Sorry.

But the trip went like this: it was two in the afternoon and my sandal caught on the last step of the greenhouse; I stumbled into the grainy soil completely disarmed. I haven’t felt dirt in ages. Not since I was a kid, at least, have I stepped on the ground with bare feet. I think I sprouted roots there.

I curled into the ground, grit caught on my teeth and bittersweet fumes on my upper lip. Nobody saw, lucky me, unless some plants have eyes on their stems. I pushed myself up and wiped the damp, muddy debris off my shins: and the room was empty until I realized I was surrounded by figs.

Figs. And more figs. And figs, and golden pothos, and ivy! I spun circles in the entryway, flattening the soil with the pad of my foot and a sandal. The assortment grew with every turn. Snake plants, jades, and ferns. What could I get? What could she want? Walls were lined to the roof, like a library, and I’m sure every pot could tell a story just as well as a book.

My other sandal fell off somewhere, as I stopped spinning and disappeared into the labyrinth of plants. There were wispy stems, and vines dangling from the roof, and from the walls. The air wasn’t circulated, and the oxygen was so viscous and fresh that I thought I could die from breathing so well. I’ve been starved by the smoggy city, I think.

I ventured from the entrance and the sound of rushing water got louder. Past the claustrophobic room of plants, I walked into a new area that was open and displayed a pond with a waterfall. My time limit was approaching, but I got distracted by a series of fiery orange ripples in the water: koi fish. Elegant and strong, they moved with so much purpose despite the lack of a destination. And there was a single blackfish hiding below—sorry, I said I wouldn’t talk about the pond. Sorry. Anyways…

I eventually left that section and returned to the humid greenhouse. Condensation thickened on the walls as I entered the succulent area. There were cacti, green hearts, and aloe vera. I thought I’d get a healing plant, or maybe an herb: a plant that could be helpful, used, adored. But they scoffed at me. Each one I picked up told me to put it back down. They didn’t feel right. That’s what she wants, I’d think, the plants need to resonate with you.

Rejection, over, and over. I considered cancelling: my limbs were getting sluggish, and I sank further into the earth with every step. I could give up and go to bed. Give up. But she’s sick, I reasoned, she’s sick and someone needs to cheer her up and help her get better. I pushed further.

I said I’d visit at a quarter to three with a gift, but that hour came too quick, and I was still scouring. Why hadn’t I left my bed three days ago to start searching early? Why hadn’t I left bed until well after noon today? Weeks spent laying in bed seemed so long ago as I was surrounded by the succulent forest. I couldn’t leave without a gift, could I?

A child and their mother squeezed past me in a tight pathway. The child asked, “why aren’t they wearing shoes? Can I walk barefoot, too?” The mother glared at me.

Hope diminished. I figured that maybe I’d grab a plant and just pretend that it fit. I was a fool: barefoot in a greenhouse, unsure where my shoes were, unsure what I was looking for… Then I snagged on the ugliest, weakest, yellowest clump of leaves. It drooped and cowered in the shadow of a magnificent emerald bush. Its clay pot was dusty and cracked in some places. Abandoned, was what came to me, that’s the one I need. 

I took the plant and searched for my sandals, trying to avoid the guilt from my watch. As I placed the plant on the counter, the cashier chuckled. She offered ten other plants of its kind, each livelier than the last: this one was practically fertilizer. And that’s why I got it. I picked out a shining silver pot, and the cashier helped me transfer it. What a sight it became: a pot for a champion holding a flimsy mush.

So, I walked to your house with the disappointing plant, and we collected sun on the way until we radiated. I haven’t walked so far in months. And with my feet sore and earthy, I crossed over a field just as the sprinklers started going off: and I am drenched, the plant is dripping, but we’re both cooled and revived.

I am an hour late, which you say is better than cancelling again. And I am shameful, frail, pathetic: and you are not sick like you told me on the phone. In fact, you are tall, well-rested, and much stronger than I am. I’m sorry that I can’t express my relief better.

And you ask me how I managed through today? Well, as I have said: I did contemplate laying in bed for another day, and another, and another. But like you say, I am easy to trick. That I can defeat myself if I think I am helping a friend in need, and you are right.

Today, I just needed to see that there was more than just figs, and more figs, and golden pothos.