Plant Lady

 She knocks on my door early Friday morning. She’s in her early twenties, cute and petite. “Hi! she says. “I’m Tabitha. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago”.“Hi Tabitha”, I answer. “I’m Mike. Welcome to the building. How do you like it?” “Oh, it’s nice”, she shrugs and tucks a lock of blue-black hair behind her ear. “Listen, I have a bit of a situation, and I was hoping you could help”. “Sure,” I say. “If I can. What’s up?” “I have a to get out of town tonight and need someone to watch my plants.” 

  “It’s only for tonight”, she hurries to explain. “They need special care, and I can’t leave them alone that long. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Do you think you could watch them for me?” That lock of hair slinks away again. Her fingers are long and delicate and she looks up at me from under dark lashes as she wrangles it again. “Please”, she says. “They’re my babies. I know it’s a short notice.” 

  I am almost old enough to be her dad and I’ve been single too long. Even if I had plans, I’d have cancelled. “Sure,” I say. “No problem”. I should have known better.

  She slumps with relief. “Oh my god, thank you so much. Why don’t you come over this evening, 7 o’clock OK? I’m at apartment 6”. “Sure,” 

I smile at her. “See you then”. She smiles back and turns to walk away, I try not to pay attention as to how.

  Ok, I did. So sue me.

  At 7:03 i knock on her door. Her apartment is the same layout as mine, but it couldn’t

Be more different. Soft cream carpet and lavender painted walls hung with tasteful art. She made the bland main room into dining and sitting areas with small rugs, and a purple velvet loveseat. Even the cheap old lighting seems warmer and cozier. I think of the miserable desolation waiting for me at home and sigh internally.

  Tabitha takes my hand and leads me to my charges for the night, that are set an ornate display table by the window. I’m not a plant expert, but they’re definitely something exotic. One has long tubes ending in striped, red lipped trumpets and long, moist leaves. Another has little flowers and a mass of bifurcated fronds. The last has long vines with sticky hairs, and all of them are planted in pretty ceramic pots. They remind me of something I saw on Discovery Channel a million years ago, and frown deeply. “Are these, what do you call them… Carnivores?” “Carnivorous”. She corrects me. “They’re very rare. They have a very specific regimen.” She turns serious. “They need to be fed a very special fertilizer twice a day, exactly twelve hours apart. The next time is at midnight”. She holds up a brown glass dropper bottle, filled with dark fluid.“one drop each. I have all the streaming services, and there’s beer in the fridge. You can stay here until then, if you’d like”. I nod obediently. She makes it very easy.

  “Remember, exactly at midnight”. She says at the open door, eyes big and intense. I give her my best “trust me, I’m a responsible adult” look and she’s off. I order my Friday night pizza, open a beer and settle into the lush purple loveseat. I turn on the large flat screen stare at the various icons half heartedly. The last time I sat in a lovely, cozy place like this was with Eileen, and damn, it’s been a lonely four years. I sit there, in my sweatpants and dinner of champions and feel sorry for myself as I poke at the streaming menus.

  I settle on this LA noir with Julianne Moore and magic. The loveseat is small but very comfortable, between that and the beer and the Friday, I’ve fallen asleep. When my eyes blink open again, the TV screen is offering me a new exciting list of titles to watch if i like the previous one. I look at my phone and it informs me it’s 2:05AM. I jump off the couch and rush towards my charges, heart pounding.“Shit. Oh, shit. Oh SHIT!” 

  The poor exotic, rare, whatdoyoucallthem - carnivore plants are dead. The tubes dried up like ancient shrouds, brown and crisp. The fronds shriveled like dark green cobwebs stretched over their pots like tombs. The vines are black, mummified ropes. They are dead, and I killed them! I grab my phone and dial Dr. Google, but I can’t find them on the carniv-whatever plant sphere. I frantically sift through forums on orchid and fern and tropical as care. Nothing seems right, and the realization begins to dawn on me that I’m going to have to sit Tabitha down tomorrow morning for a very difficult discussion. Shit. Oh shit.

  I shuffle back towards my unintended victims, and stand in front of them, tried, convicted and sentenced. The bottle of plant food is staring at me accusingly. It’s about two hours and a lifetime too late, but It can’t do any harm, right? I carefully place one drop of the dark liquid onto the soil in each pot like last rites. I turn off the grow lights and start thinking of what to say to Tabitha, when - hey, is that stalk above the just above the soil line a little greener?

  It takes me a few moments to understand what I’m looking at. One after another, the little, dead, buried and mourned plants are coming back to life! In front of my eyes, like in a time lapse Nature video. The tubes thicken and regain their color. New fronds pop up from the ground and begin to unfurl, spilling over the edges of their pots. The vines thicken and sprout new leaves. Within minutes, the plants look as healthy as they did earlier in the evening.

  I did ok in science classes. I know this is weird, but in the moment, l didn’t care. I look at my fellow death row escapees and vow that Tabitha will never find out. I set a timer to check on them every half an hour, and settle down to pick a new movie to keep me company on my watch.

 I pick an action flick, get myself a glass of water and settle in for a victorious slice of cold pizza when i feel something on my neck. I swat at it. A a few minutes later, something is caressing my cheek. I swat at that too. I look around for the offending fly, but find nothing. I just settle back into my movie when something cool and slippery is sliding down the back of my shirt. I leap out of the couch and swat furiously. Then something behind the sofa thumps to the floor and shatters.

  I turn to look, and what comes out of my mouth is not fit for print. Vines are crawling from the across the creamy carpet like fat green tentacles, dragging behind them the broken pot. Another is upside down, wobbling on its tubes under its pot like a creepy kind of snail. The fronds on the third grew into thin, many fingered, rubbery arms that drag the plant across the floor. And they’re all coming my way.

  I do the natural thing and freeze to let my mind spin freely. What did I do wrong now? Did I forget something? Water? Sincere apologies? What was even in that dropper bottle? The plants keep crawling and slithering and walking my way, and they seem to be growing. Something is really wrong here. I pinch myself, and wonder if my pizza tasted funny. These are not normal plants, even for rare exotic ones.

  One tentacle vine reaches my side of the sofa and makes a grab for my foot. I let out an unmanly scream, and scramble onto the sofa. A thin, shiny frond arm reaches over the side, and is quickly joined by another. I leap over the back, putting it between me and the botanical horrors, and step on something wet and squishy. I stumble sideways, narrowly miss the coffee table, and back away towards the front door. Whatever is going on here, i need to get out of here and fast. Whatever I messed up, I hope Tabitha will forgive me. But I need to live to apologize for it. Too late. One frond fingered hand grabs the lock, turning. Another wags one of its long frond at me. 

  Two leaping steps and I’m down the short hall that takes me to the bathroom. I slam the door and lock it behind me, shutting out a grabbing vine, barely. It seems larger than the others. I turn on the light, and bend to splash some water on my face. I’m breathing fast and shallow, my lips and throat are dry. I look in the mirror over the sink, and some terrified old guy in a sweaty t-shirt and sweats is looking back at me, lost and terrified. I don’t blame him. The tentacle vine is joined by others, and they’re thumping on the door.

  “Snap out of it, Mike” I tell him. “Think! What would David Attenborough do? Steve Irwin? Robert Muldoon?!” The thumping on the door turns vicious and with a crunch, a tentacle as thick as my arm crushes through the door.

  I scream, and squeeze myself into the farthest corner from it. And the realization hits me. Sorry Tabitha, it’s me or the plants, and it’s not going to be the plants. I want to live, and to do that, i need to get out of this apartment. The first step, get out of this bathroom. I open cabinets and drawers, looking for anything I could use. The most lethal thing i can see is a metal file. I wield the thing like a miniature sword with a mousy shout slash at the tentacle. An unearthly shriek comes up behind the door, and it recoils and pulls out of the hole in the door, a long gash drools yellow-green liquid to the floor. Then a pair of tentacles bursts through the battered door, and they seem even more determined.

  I look at my trusty nail file and it’s clear I’m going to need a bigger weapon. I dig in the cupboard under the sink, and a grin crawls over my face. Plants need moisture, don’t they? And what’s that? Oh, a blow drier. I plug the thing, grip it with both hands and hit the power switch. The blast of heat and noise is deafening in the small bathroom, but the agonized shriek from the other side of the door puts steel into my bones. The tentacles flail helplessly trying to pull back, but they are shriveling fast and in a moment, they are a lifeless brown pile on the floor. I turn off the blow drier, tilt it up and blow imaginary smoke off the nozzle. The guy in the mirror winks at me when i catch a glimpse. 

  An alien shriek rises from the living room, and more thumps follow. “Ok, action hero”, I tell myself. “Let’s get out of here”. The blow drier won’t get me to the door, so i pull out my nail file again and grab a jar of bath salts because why not. I kick down what’s left of the bathroom door and cast a quick glance around, to asses the situation.

  The many armed plant is now growing over front door and most of the wall. I show it I mean business by chopping a couple of its freaky leaves. It hesitates enough to let me pass back through the hall. Something green oozed all over the tube monster repotted itself in the pretty velvet sofa. It’s grown too, waving tubes as thick as tires, sniffing the air. It senses me, and shoots long, sticky leaves in my direction. I duck into the kitchen and hide behind the island, that separates it from the living room. They hit it from the other side, breaking through the drywall, two inches from my head. There goes the security deposit. 

  The leaves pat blindly around the island along and around, and run, crouching, to the counter against the opposite wall. I swap the nail file with a large carving knife but I know I can’t hold them back for long. I have to find a way to get past these monsterous plants. I tear the cabinet under the sink open. I was hoping for drano, or ant spray, but all I find is refills of plant based dish soap a domestic compost bin. The oven is electric and she doesn’t seem to have a meat tenderizer. I guess i could throw boiling water on it, but that doesn’t seem like enough.

  I chop another leaf into salad greens and toss a handful of bath salts at a questing tube, then I catch a can of cooking spray on the other side of the kitchen. Well, I’m sorry Tabitha, this little favor of yours turned out to be quite a hassle. Take it out on me tomorrow if you’d like, but I’m getting out of this damned apartment alive.

  I find a lighter in a drawer and make a run for it. The can fills heavy, full of destructive potential. I don’t suppress another grin. I crab crawl back to the island and peek over the edge. A large leaf barely misses my head. I grip the can with one hand and the lighter in the other and take a deep breath. It’s show time.

  I get up with a wordless war cry, lifting can an lighters in front of me. I squeeze the spray top and flick the wheel hand and bring them together. The roaring flame takes the tubed asshole square at center stem and it explodes in a shower of sap. What’s left of the velvet sofa goes up like a torch, and the coffee table follow suit. The carpet blackens and fizzes sparks into the air, the book case catches some and in seconds it’s burning too. 

  The finger frond freak can’t get away from the door fast enough, but it’s not like i was going to let it either. “So long, sucker” I hiss at it. I spray it, top to bottom, and flick the wheel again. It shrieks like a something that doesn’t belong on this planet. Blackened leaves and bits of stems fall into the burning carpet in chunks. When the roar of my improvised flame thrower and the shrieking die down, I can hear the smoke alarm blaring in the hall outside. 

  I kick the door out and step through it, flames at my back. I am covered in sweat, soot and green gore. Bleary eyed neighbors poke their heads out of their doors, staring at me wide eyed. I ignore them. I pass my own door and keep walking. I take the stairs down to the underground garage and remote my car open with a beep. The engine starts, and we take off, leaving it all behind me.

  As i’m driving through the pre-dawn downtown streets, my mind is clearer than it has been in years. I feel alive and strong and free. I’m getting out of that old building and my crappy apartment. I’m going to move somewhere new and make it into somewhere that feels like home. Maybe there’ll even be someone new to share it with, some day. But one thing’s for sure. It won’t have any goddamned plants.