Leaving the Garden

Leaving the Garden



He heard the door open but didn't move. He sat on the couch with his back to her, watching a movie while she stood in the doorway, until he finally turned and saw her.

"What happened?" he asked.

And she told him about how she knew as soon as she stepped in Jennifer's office what was up, how she'd begged, actually begged this woman not to fire her.

"After I baby-sat her fucking kid," she said. "And after she cried all over me because she thought she was pregnant again."

"That's probably why she did it," he said.

They sat on the couch, staring at the paused movie screen.

"What I don't get," she said. "Is that I had a week left. I'd turned in my notice already."

"One last fuck you from that bitch," he said.

"I guess."

"Don't let it get to you," he said. "We're mostly packed. In two weeks, we're out of this dump."

"I've never been fired before," she said.

"Fuck them," he said. "You hated that job anyway."

"What are you watching?" she said, drying her eyes with her sleeve.

"Movie," he said.

She pushed play and stared at the screen for a moment.

"It looks awful," she said.

"It's pretty bad."

He glanced at her face, hoping she might become involved with the movie, but she was still pretty agitated.

"We should go," he said.

"What? Move already? The truck won't be here for another week."

"No, let's take off. Have some fun."

"I'm not really in the mood. I just want to stay in. Have a hermit evening."

"We could grill."

"Whatever you want to do."

"It'll be fun," he said. "We'll have steaks. Some beers."

"I'm not really hungry."

"You will be," he said, jumping up. "It'll be fun."

"I don't think I'm really in the mood for fun," she said.

"We'll sit out on the patio and grill, watch the sun go down," he said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. "Come on, you can't just sit here."

She shrugged.

He dragged the grill out of the storage room out back onto the concrete patio, filled it with charcoal, and doused this with lighter fluid. He downed a beer and went over to the garden. There were two raised beds by the patio with trellises. One on the left, one on the right, with an open space in between. He shook the trellis on the left. It was staked pretty deep but it would have to come down, all of it, the garden and everything. Their landlord wanted the garden out and grass in. They'd been avoiding doing it for weeks.

"The next tenant wouldn't mind; who wouldn't want a garden?" they'd said, but the landlord was adamant.

"She let us plant it in the first place," he'd said, later, to mitigate their annoyance. "Hell," he'd added. "We improved the property – we filled in all the holes in the backyard."

The sun was sliding down the sky. It was hot out but the heat would be breaking soon. He went back in, found the steaks in the fridge and got them ready. She was still watching the movie in the living room, zoning out.

"Want a beer?" He asked.

"Yeah," she said. "No." She came into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine out of the fridge.

She popped the cork out, grabbed a glass, and took the bottle back into the living room.

Outside, he lit the charcoal and pulled a lawn chair around and sat. A big black dog ran by, startling him. It came back and stood in the space between the trellises, catching his eyes and watching him. It had a ball in its mouth. The dog's owner whistled and the dog took off.

The door slid open and she came out, wine bottle in hand.

"Gave up on the glass, huh?" He said.

"Slowing me down," she said, smiling.

She sat in the other lawn chair.

"Nice out here," he said, after a moment.

"Yeah."

They were quiet.

"Got to take the garden down some time," he said.

She didn't say anything.

"We've let it go to pot anyway," he said. "Pretty good for our first one, though."

"It's still got some life to it," she said, suddenly defensive.

She went around to the other side and he followed. The one on the left, where they grew herbs, was mostly okay, but on the right, grass and weeds were invading their vegetables. He grabbed a plant and pulled it out, exposing a turnip.

"Why'd we plant these, anyway?" he asked.

"I like turnips."

He broke the stalk off and threw it into the yard. She went back inside and emerged a moment later wearing work gloves and carrying a spade. She knelt down and started yanking plants out and tossing them behind her. He went back for his beer and checked the charcoal. It was whitening nicely.

"Maybe we could bake the turnips. Or grill them. Can you grill turnips?"

"I don't see why not," she said.

She pulled the rest of the turnips.

"Found a bell pepper," she said.

"Pick it. I'll cut it up with the turnips."

"Wish our tomatoes had made it," she said.

"Want me to take your wine in?" He asked.

"Sure," she said.

He grabbed the bottle and realized it was empty. He took it around the side of the house and put it in the recycle bin.

When he came back, she had cleared a good portion of the bed. "Hey," he said. "Those are onions. Wild onions. We didn't plant those, did we?"

"No," she said. She pulled them and tossed them on top of the other weeds.

"We can use those," he said, rescuing them. "Pick the spinach. I'll make a salad."

There were two spindly cherry tomato plants. They'd yielded a total of five tomatoes, which he picked. Their cucumbers had fared better. He picked everything they had, while she weeded. Then he took it all inside and washed everything, made a salad with what he could and cut the turnips up with the bell pepper, wrapped this in aluminum foil, and put it on the grill. Then he brought the steaks out and slapped them on.

She finished weeding and went back to the herb garden and weeded that, and picked everything worth picking.

"We can dry the basil," she said.

He started to ask why, but stopped himself. She went inside and came back with twine, which she tied around the basil, then hung it from the door of the storage room. Then she brought the hose around and watered everything that was left.

"Looks good," he said from the grill.

She nodded, staring at it. Then, she remembered herself and went inside to wash up.

He brought out a plate and took everything off the grill. They had a little table to one side, and he set places for them. She came back out and sat.

"You okay?" He said.

"Yeah. I drank that wine too fast."

"We have to get rid of it," he said. "Everything has to go."

"I think it looks really nice," she said, looking at the garden.

"We put a lot of work into it."

He served the salad and the steaks and sat down.

"I'm starving all of a sudden," she said, attacking her plate..

"You raised an appetite in the garden," he said.

They chewed for a moment, studying the garden, the field beyond and the deepening sky.

"This is awful," she said, holding up a forkful of salad.

"Yeah," he said. "I never really liked spinach." He paused. "When we move, we'll plant a new one, even if we have to do it in pots. We'll do better, next time. It just takes some practice."

She nodded and they kept eating and watching the man throw the ball to his dog. Some kids came out and practiced something that looked like a cheerleading routine; They threw a stick up in the air and chanted something, and every so often, one of them fell down. After a while, the sun went down. They watched it all from their chairs, the smoke from the charcoal keeping the worst of the mosquitoes away.


Cortney L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Wheelhouse Magazine