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“Gardening” by @the-erickson-labrynthian
It was early in the morning, not quite dawn, closer to that thin moment of the day where the sky layers at the distance, colors all screaming out to rise but unable to, for it is not their time. Patience is a virtue. While the colors of yellows and oranges that burn themselves into the clouds had their battle off miles away, a fight they could continue for up to an hour, it was light blue and the warm purple that of a lavender flower that the only faint illumination John needed to get to work.
Whether a true statement or not, John would be the first person to declare that he could do all his work blindfolded; that the garden was him home. That part was true, at least, like colors burn into the sky, John burned into the garden, using colors, the prettiest pinks and blues he found worth looking at, all splattered along the family property to create a maze, and it was all his. His child. The backyard was little more than the paths around his handiwork, a path he stomped into now, pressed into the soft dirt and held firmly in place as he bent over to dig a hole for his latest project at the only time he thought it sensible to do so.
The morning was quiet around now. Not even the most hardcore of fishermen and hunters got up as early as this. Even animals, they were faint whispers at this time. Nuzzled into their nests, their homes, all waiting for the morning wake up call to feed, eat, nurture their young, and rest once more. Man has a cycle of his own, however, and there are times where man must bend it, where man deals with the strife upon his shoulders for the idea of something better. And such a man tended to his garden, whilst another carried his strife with him as he make mark against the soft soil, bending and turning around John’s garden until he was at his side. John heard the noise, but paid no mind to it. There was this root from an old lingering plant that refused to give to his will.
“You’re out here too much,” Jake aspoused, “Mom wants you back inside.”
“How couldn’t she be? With you digging like a maniac out here. Trying to tiptoe down the stairs when you’re wearing gardening boots.”
John glanced back at the house where an amber colored light peeked out from the windows, the dull shade of their living room lamp.
Jake bent down to a squat, tilting his head to the right to put it within John’s field of vision, “Mom’ll make us some breakfast before school, but you gotta come inside.”
“Tell her to go back to sleep. I’ll be in before the bus comes anyways.”
John stabbed the trowel into the dirt as he began to build a redness from everything around him, his cheeks flaring up and his head giving slight stressed twitches that only his brother could notice.
“You know that she’s not making you food because she wants to make sure you eat. She wants you inside. We all would kind of prefer that too. It’s crazy seeing you out here working all the time, especially this early in the damn morning!”
“Sounds like your guys’ problem. I’ll try to be quieter next time.”
Jake sighed and ran his hands through his hair, “It’s not about waking us up. We wake each other up all the time with our bullshit. It’s about your… ‘ya know, your well being! Its just… not good the amount of time your out here, just… working on this place. And… barely doing anything in school, never talking to us, and all that… I,” He sighed again, a placeholder to find his words, “Listen, I wouldn’t be out here talking to you like this if it wasn’t really getting to Mom. I mean, she liked gardening, she liked having a couple flower beds out here, and at first she was happy you’re getting into it, but then you take it all over and are out here so much it’s like you’re disconnected from the real world! Even she can’t stand the sight of a flower from this much gardening,” He laughed.
“How’s it any different from spending all your time reading, or writing, or dancing, or… playing video games?”
“Well… when you don’t make responsibilities it can be fine but… I mean, you never even liked going outside and getting dirty!”
“That’s why I have gloves and boots,” John carved circles into the dirt, glancing every now and then at the brick of soil to his right, where his flowers sat perched, waiting or nutrients at any moment. Patience is a virtue.
“You never liked hard work!”
“I never liked being forced into hard work, or working for some asshole.”
Jake groaned and rubbed his face, “Just… just why? Why now? Why all of the sudden, and why can’t you come back inside?”
“Really? Complicated? That’s gonna be your excuse? I’m gonna walk back and tell her that?”
“You don’t have to tell her anything. I don’t feel like sharing my whole life with her anyways.”
“Yeah, I know, we’re all a bunch of edgy teens who hate our mothers getting into our business, but all she wants to do is make sure you’re not hurt. She’s looking out for you.”
“Am I supposed to tell her thank you? I didn't ask her to. It’s nice, but it doesn’t change that she ignores me when I say that I’m fine, and if she wants me to be happy about that it’s not gonna happen.”
Jake paused, “She knows that. And, she knows not to worry too much. That’s why I’m out here. Like I could handle you any better, though.”
“Nothing to handle. I said I’m fine.”
“I’ve never met anyone who actually means fine when they say fine, especially when they’re stabbing into the ground like a psychopath.”
“It’s this stupid root! I’m too distracted to get it out.”
Jake looked over at the darkened dirt and extended his hand out for the trowel, “Here, let me handle it.”
He handed his brother the trowel and Jake gave one strong stab into the ground, then twisted around vigorously until the root was uplifted. The dirt scarred his hands in brushstroke patterns as each twist kicked up and rubbed dirt along his usually so clean hands. But, the job was done, and he signed and sealed his work by flinging the roots across to the back of the backyard, where it hit the top of the fence and fell on the other side, painting the white of the fence as well in a soil brown.
“You’re welcome,” Jake finished.
“Alright, give me my trowel back so I can plant these guys.”
Jake moved the trowel away from his reaching hand, “Nu-uh, not ‘till you tell me why you’re out here so much.”
“What do you want me to say? What every other person says about a hobby? It’s calm, relaxing, helps me clear out my thoughts, gets me away from the day, and it’s a nice quiet job-”
John stopped in his tracks, looking up at his brother. That look on his face, the way his brows bent sideways as he glared, it pierced right through any attempts to move the conversation to anything else.
“Maybe I… I just like being in control of something… for once.”
“Maybe everything in my life keeps being a living hell, and… I can’t stand it. I’m so tired of trying, and putting all this effort into something that never works out. I’m tired of the world doing everything it can to stop what I want to do in my life. I just feel… helpless, alright? And being out here I get to vent it all out and maybe do something that nobody can stop. At least, not yet. I get to make the decisions. I get to do what I want. For once. So… maybe that’s why.”
Jake said nothing, eyeing the tool in his hand.
“Is that so horrible of a thing to want to do?”
“No,” He let out in a small whisper, tossing the trowel back into the dirt hole, “I’m sorry… about whatever you’re going through,” He pulled himself up in a mild grunt and dusted off his jeans, “I know sometimes it’s hard to talk much, but… I’m her for you if you need anything. And, I’ll get Mom off your back for today, at least.”
“Thank you…” John picked up the trowel and the plant, gently laying down the plant to fill the whole, covering up the signs of human intervention by washing dirt over the cracks, padding the soil and packing it tight, and ta-dah, his Azalea's had been planted. He heard Jake begin a soft trot back through the flower maze and to the house.
“But, uh, John, you’ll come in for food when you’re done, right?” He heard his brother ask from a few yards away.
“Yeah…” He muttered, “I’ll be in soon.”
After that John was left with his silence, and the cold of the morning air. Things were a bit brighter outside, the layer of before now thicker and rushing in like tidal wave. Yellow and orange and even faint reds that would soon disappear and give way to the blossoming sky blue. And hopefully by then he’d be in for breakfast. Anytime now, but not before a job well done.
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