little hell;

just passing by

The Botanist;

semi-colon-cancer:

I heard someone shouting out the driveway. I live in a small compound designed to look Italian or Greek. European. Let’s keep it safe at that. Colored white and blue but the verandas resembled more the Italian homes you see in movies. The walls ran drip stains on the sides. The lack of care from the old landlord was apparent. I have lived here for a year now and became friends with almost every neighbor but the one at the far end, left side of the 8-apartment compound. 4 houses on either side facing directly each other. All noise from any of them audible even from the depths of the lonely bedroom I occupy.

Instinctively, I went out. The kids from the house at the right side end have glued their eyes already in their dirty feet, their hands fidgeted on their tail end. I was watching a movie that Sunday afternoon. It was boring and I wanted something to distract me and that moment felt perfect even if the glum look on the kids’ faces made me frown too. Two plant pots scattered its contents on the floor. Some exotic looking plant laid flat looking more lifeless than it usually does. The other plant stood still yet as lifeless as the other. The man shouted shifting his stare from the kids to the plants. His right index finger stiffened. I couldn’t see his left hand from the angle but I imagined it tighten bit by bit on the adjacent hip.

He was screaming about how precious the plants were.

He was screaming. He was red. The kids were gray.

One of the kids, Angelo, shifted his eyes to me almost teary eyed almost pleading for salvation. By this time more and more people were coming out of their houses as he raised his voice saying “don’t you look at him asking for help.” I got the taste of the stiff index finger he had been brandishing about. “Look at me and apologize,” he said repeatedly. With all the meager force Angelo could muster, he said sorry. Rafael (or Raf-Raf as I call usually call him) looked at his brother either in dismay or in envy for having such strength to speak. Rafael remained speechless the entire time. Two small basketballs stopped rolling from the other end, the ones they played with to break the two pots.

They were being (poorly) babysat by an unfamiliar teenager. She was the last person to go out. She wiped her still wet hands on the back of her faded red shirt. It resembled the words high school but I couldn’t figure out which one it was. Probably from a city far from here.

Her face was stretched into a shock, she too was stunned at the very same area the kids stood. The screaming went on for another minute and I still haven’t said anything being the first person to witness the scolding. I occupied the second door on the left which is the same side as the man’s. I stood my half a square meter of a veranda almost leaning on the wall avoiding to look comfortable. Beside me walked a tall woman from the house beside me. The daughter of the old landlord. She shook her head slightly, “hello, what’s going on?”

“They broke my pots!” the man said struggling not to stutter. He said the same things in a calmer sort of anger as what he said to the kids before. I asked myself: why do older people talk to each other differently than to kids? The two kids finally moved two steps back with the help of their babysitter. Even the old landlord’s daughter was puzzled when she saw her face.

The situation hushed down but the intensity of the man’s exclaims still lingered in the air. Half of the remaining doors closed, the occupant of the unit in front of me smiled uncomfortably before doing so. I stayed there making myself more comfortable against the wall. The movie inside my living room kept playing through. I wished it would already end when I come back.

Rafael and Angelo were the only kids in this compound. The other apartments housed two more babies from two newlyweds. The kids have no one else to play with at home but each other. The daughter motioned the babysitter that she can already walk the kids in. Usually when they do we can still hear them play except for today. Within the same minute, everyone else has gone in but me. The two adults weren’t even aware I was still standing there. I hoped for any information why the plants were so special.

A few minutes more, the daughter walked my way again, slowed down, smiled, and shook her head. She mustn’t have understood the sentiments of the man why the plants were so special. The babysitter ran out once more to tell the man she will clean the mess herself. The man, already crouching to pick up the lifeless plant, waved his hand, “it’s okay, just go in.”

From the angry man the he was not 15 minutes ago he became the most careful person I have seen. His movements even seemed calculated. Like fixing a bed in the morning. Like a devoted encoffiner. He was suddenly distracted by my presence but continued in what seemed a crucial activity for something he hoped wouldn’t happen. He suddenly spoke as if in monologue.

“I have seen you there since earlier. You haven’t moved much and it’s weird.” He paused but he didn’t want me to answer. “Why you’re there, I’m pretty sure because you’re wondering why I was so angry earlier. I’m not angry anymore, don’t worry. I won’t blare at you. The kids were just having fun and I can’t be angry about that. I might buy the kids some candies later today or a cake. What do you think?” but even in an actual question, it still seemed he didn’t want me to answer. “You know,”

“I’m a botanist. I have been studying science almost my entire life. Even when I was young I especially dreamed of becoming a plant scientist. It’s not just because I think they’re pretty. Or they’re harmless and fragile. I mainly relied on herbal medications growing up. And yes, you guessed it right, at least one of my parents must be a botanist as well.

“I’m pretty sure you haven’t heard of my mother’s name but she’s a pretty big deal in the field of botany. She homeschooled me mainly because she usually went on trips. My father died when I was young so no one else would be there if I didn’t go with my mother on her trips. Funny thing, even in science, a lot of shagging happens. A huge part of my life was spent in hotel rooms and I was used to hearing my mother sneak out although not very carefully.”

Slowly and carefully, he continued fixing the mess. There is now some degree of grace in his movements. I still took his pause as a dramatic punctuation and not a chance for me to speak. I won’t even have any input in the topic he chose to share.

“That’s where I met Sarah. I know, yeah, a very typical name for a daughter of a scientist. There were a lot of tropical plants at that time. And one of them was this plant. It can live a long time if given sufficient care. I wanted to keep it in to be safe but it really needs to be out for air and sun. Sarah and I were the only kids in that seminar so we kinda had no choice but to be with each other. Besides, our parents were good friends and teammates.” He chuckled, I finally sat. “I’m not sure if our parents slept with each other that night, though.

“This is a cycad that my mother’s team crossbred. This one, I tried this on my own after my mother died. I saw Sarah once more during the burial but she couldn’t remember me that well until she extended her condolences. Her father sat in front of her on a wheelchair. She still looked beautiful as then when we were kids. She was the one who threw the same plant into my mother’s grave.” He looked at me and smiled trying to know if I’m still interested in the story. For the first time, I said something: go on.

“All right. This won’t last long anymore, I’m about done fixing this anyway. So yeah, I asked her out and we went out thrice. We weren’t the best pair together but she was the woman of my dreams. Until this happened. I kept this plant alive because it kept the image and the memory of her. More of her than of my mother. She’s been married for 10 years now. My mother died 11 years ago. I don’t even see the point of keeping this plant anymore and I needed a reason to let it go.”

He paused. I didn’t answer. He carried the remnants of what was a lifeless-looking cycad. I sat there and stared at the clouds. I heard shouting in the living room and I realized the movie was still on.

2 out of 12 short stories i plan to write within the year. :)