I posted on Facebook earlier this week that our writing prompt for today was going to come from 642 Things to Write About (Buy it Here), and was going to involve telling a dying houseplant why it needs to live.
So, here goes! Please feel free to share your versions on the Facebook page or in the comments here on the blog.
Thanks for reading!
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(As always, all original work posted by me is copyright Joanna Peterson 2015. Thanks!)
I stared at the wilted leaves, wondering why, after I'd cared so diligently for it, it had decided to die anyway. I watered it when the soil dried out. I kept it near the window so it would get enough sunlight. Heck, I even bought the expensive plant food at the nursery and followed the directions to the letter.
And yet, there it sat in front of me, dying. I knelt on the floor next to the little side table I'd set the basket on and clasped my hands before it.
"Please, little plant," I begged. "Please, oh please, don't die on me. Not now. He already thinks I have the Black Thumb of Death. If you die now, despite my best efforts to care for you, he'll blame me forever."
I stared intently at the little plant my boyfriend had given me just a few weeks before, as if I was waiting for it to respond. Like it would explain to me why, after all my hard work and loving care, it was deciding to leave this world. Naturally, it didn't say anything. It was just a plant, after all.
"Come on!" I shouted, slamming my fist down on the table. "Really? You're really going to die on me?"
Now I was starting to feel silly. I was shouting at a plant. A houseplant. A freaking peace lily!
I pushed myself off the floor and started toward the kitchen where I kept the plant food and the watering can. I wasn't going to let it just drop dead on my watch. I would nurture the crap out of that little plant until it either gave in and perked up and continued to live, or decided to go all in and die on me.
"Fine!" I shouted at it as I filled the watering can in the kitchen sink. "See if I care if you die or not! I won't give up on you though, little plant. And if you do crap out on me, he'll understand. He's seen the care I've given you. He won't blame me. Your little plan to screw with our relationship won't work."
I shoved the watering spout down toward the roots of the little, dying peace lily and poured water on its dry roots. I'd show it. I'd show it I wasn't giving up. I'd die before I let that stupid little plant die.
Okay, maybe not, I thought to myself as I returned to the kitchen and placed the watering can back beneath the sink. I was just being dramatic. But that plant meant so much to me. It was the first real thing he'd given me. And if it died, well, I was afraid it was a sign of how our relationship would end. I glanced back over my shoulder, sizing up the wilted leaves.
I blinked. Were they that wilted before? Or did they seem a little perkier now that they'd been watered. I sat on the couch, staring directly at the plant. I was going to sit there and wait until I knew for sure. I'd sit there all night if I had to. Luckily, I didn't. Three hours later, the leaves definitely looked perkier than before. I smiled as I brushed past the peace lily to draw the curtains closed.
"That's a good plant," I said, patting its leaves softly as I walked past toward my bedroom. "That's a good plant indeed."