Patrick's Green Thumb

Patrick's Green Thumb

Patrick went into the greenhouse to avoid the rain. He had been waiting for the bus but it would be a good fifteen minutes before it came. Normally he'd never have stepped foot into a nursery. He had a black thumb, he disliked growing things and he lived in a small house with no yard. His eyes caught on the plant beside the door. It's orange petalled flowers beckoned his fingers to touch. It's jagged foliage was softer than velvet as he traced each leaf. His chest filled with a thick breath of joy such as he'd never felt before.

"How much is this?" he found himself saying to the attendant.

The cashier turned a dazed face to him. Her black curly hair was damp from being outside. Her lackluster brown eyes focused on the plant.

"That?" She swayed as she walked, her green skirt catching on the branches of the ficus trees she passed. "We just got it in today. Don't even know what it is or where it's from. I think it was supposed to go to DeMarco's Flowers."

She ran a hand over the leaves just as Patrick had done and smiled. "It is lovely. I've never seen anything like it. Do you like plants?"

"No," Patrick answered in all honesty. He drew a hand through his blonde curls and smiled his sideways grin. "I just like the look of this one."

"Well, I guess since the manager isn't here and there's no price on it, I'll let you take it for $4.95."

"Deal," Patrick said.

He paid for the plant and hastened to the door for the bus was coming down the hill.

"Be sure to water it, and keep it by a sunny window, and talk to it."

His head spun round just as he'd opened the door to leave. "Talk to it? But it's a plant."

"It helps them grow," the attendant replied.

~*~

The bus ride home was unusual. Normally Patrick would sit in the front seat reading a book and no one would talk to him. But that rainy day, the front seat was taken. The passengers smiled at him, nodding hellos and commenting 'oh what a lovely plant' as he passed to the back of the bus. He sat down just as the bus hissed and went forward on its route. The scent of people, rain and wet leather boots filled the musty air.

Patrick smiled down at his plant and stroked a leaf. His chest swelled with that joyful feeling again. The perfume of the flowers became stronger and overwhelmed all else.

"What kind of plant is that?" the gray haired lady beside him asked. Patrick looked up at her, noticing the many lines of her face, the thickness of her glasses and the pleasant way in which she smiled.

"I don't know; the girl at the plant store didn't know either."

"It's lovely. You'd better take good care of it." She reached a hand tentatively over to touch the leaves. Patrick pulled the plant away. It was his after all and he didn't have to share it.

A leaf curled up, seeming to recoil from the woman. Yes, Patrick thought, you don't want anyone else to touch you, but me. Don't worry little plant, I won't let anyone touch you.

~*~

At home, Patrick set the plant on the windowsill beside his kitchen table. His neighbors walked by that window every day and never before stopped to look in or say hello. But that day was different. Mrs. Riley stopped dead center in front of the window and stared blatantly at the plant, mesmerized. Mr. Plum came up behind her and stopped too, at first just looking to see what she was looking at.

Patrick was sitting at his kitchen table reading a book. He looked up to find at least ten people outside his window, admiring the plant. This won't do, he thought. He drew the curtains closed, closing off the sunlight from the room as well as the curious gazes of the onlookers. He moved the plant to his bedroom. The only window there faced a wall and so was of little use if he opened the curtains for light.

The leaves on the plant shriveled a bit more. Patrick ran his fingers along the flower petals and sighed. Maybe it needs water, he thought.

He watered the plant and then went to bed.

~*~

By morning, the flowers had dropped some of their petals. Many of the lower leaves on the plant had shriveled into dead spider leg shapes.

Patrick's best friend Lynn came that day to visit him. She'd heard from Mrs. Riley about the beautiful plant.

"Where's this plant your neighbors keep talking about?" she asked as she danced into the room, her golden hair bouncing behind her.

"In my room," he answered, a crease forming on his forehead as he wondered whether he should let her see it or not. She was his best friend after all. So he led her into the room.

Lynn studied the fading petals, the velvety, yet crinkling leaves. "It's lovely Pat, but I think you should put it in the window by the kitchen. It looks sick. And have you talked to it?"

"That's just silly," he said, his smile catching Lynn off guard.

"There, there, little plant," Lynn murmured as she stroked a jagged leaf, "it's all right."

As if in response, the leaf unfurled a bit and reached toward the sound of her voice. Patrick saw the little movement and pulled the pot into his lap.

"Just leave it alone. You don't need to touch it!"

After Lynn left, Patrick put the plant in his closet. He'd had enough of people looking at it, touching it, admiring it. It was his! He leaned down to look at the plant before shutting the closet door.

~*~

A week later, Patrick was waiting for the bus outside the nursery. The girl that sold him the plant saw him and rushed outside to say hello. "How's you plant?" she asked as she pushed a stray curl behind her ear.

Patrick's heart sank in a moment of panic. Before he could answer, the bus stopped and he climbed inside, avoiding the attendant's curious gaze. He sat in the front seat and read his book, all the while wondering how he could have forgotten the plant. He thought about that feeling he'd had the first time he'd seen it, touched it. Pure joy, simple and strong.

He ran to his bedroom and opened the closet door. A flurry of petals blew out in the rush of air and Patrick stared down at the 'thing' in the pot. It was greenish-black, crispy on the edges and curled into a messy ball. He reached down and picked up the pot, noticing how much lighter it felt as though the pot itself was empty. He carried it to the kitchen and watered it.

Staring hopelessly at the plant in his sink, the water seeping errantly from the bottom of the pot, Patrick sighed. "I'm sorry I put you in there," he mumbled. "I'm sorry I didn't leave you in the sun, that I forgot you. Please don't die."

He turned off the water and watched the last of it drain from the bottom of the pot. He placed the pot back on its saucer and carried the plant to the window. When he opened the curtains, the sun shone down into the room, making Patrick squint. He sat the pot on the sill again and reached a hand out to touch a curled leaf.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

As if in response, the leaf unfurled, reaching out to Patrick.