Moonflowers

It had been two months since you left when the package arrived. The knock had surprised me. I was sitting on the couch in your only knitted sweater- the one we bought on our second trip to chicago- rewatching “Sex and the City” for the third consecutive time, sipping a cup of lukewarm Earl Grey when crack, crack, crack. The sound of someone breaking their knuckles on our thin apartment door made my heart flutter and then pound.

I suddenly became very self-aware. I couldn’t remember the last time I had showered and I was scared to take my hair out of the bun it had been in for over a week. When you’re alone, there’s just no need to think about self-preservation. There was just no reason for it. Besides, you needed all of that energy just to survive. Well- and the cats never seem to notice anyway.

But when I heard the knock, that all disappeared. All I was aware of was how bad I stunk like cigarette smoke and dirty hair and how truly, desperately I needed a shower. I was in the worst part of grief where I was so caught up in remembering and simultaneously forgetting your life, that I stopped caring about my own. Your death became a weed that started as a small seed of disbelief and grew to eclipse the sun that woke me up in the morning. It seeped the water from my roots and left me here, withering, alone. That is until I heard the knock on the door.

For a second, I considered ignoring it. I had no plans. I was long past the point of people checking in on me. The novelty of having a sad friend had worn off and the meal trains had stopped when people realized I was only eating taco bell take-out. Turns out losing your partner wasn’t very aesthetic. You would have laughed at that. Hell, you laughed at most of the things I said. Now I just say them to the air or not at all. Whoever was at the door knocked again- a sharp rapping noise that was stark against the quiet backdrop of Sex and the City and a soft Clairo record. I stood up and pulled your sweater down to cover my pink underwear since I wasn’t wearing pants and dusted off the crumbs. The sweater was plenty long since you were an XXL and I was a medium on a bad day. I glanced in the mirror hanging on the wall next to the couch- a bronze decorative thing- and rubbed the dark circles under my eyes. They didn’t appear to be going anywhere and there was no point in even touching the nest that was my hair, so I continued to the door. I used to glance through the peephole everytime I answered the door, even when I knew who it was and you would laugh and call me paranoid and make some joke about the gun we kept next to the bed, but when you left, there was no need for me to be protective. I didn’t even bother and just opened the door.

The fedex delivery guy looked bored and impatient, but was at least polite enough to ignore the smell emanating from my body as he handed me a small, wrapped brown box.

“Oh I actually didn’t order anything.” I tried to hand the package back, but he just stared at me.

“Is this not apartment 32B?” He glanced at the number on my door.

“No… I mean… it is.” I took the package back and looked down at the name on the handwritten address. You. It was your name.

“If it isn’t your package, I can take it back to the post office.” He gestured back at the brown mail delivery van behind him.

“Uh no… that’s okay. It’s mine. Well, it belongs here anyway. Thanks.” I closed the door and leaned against the doorframe. The script on the package was curly and uneven. It didn’t look like any handwriting I had ever seen before. In short, I had no idea who sent this or what it was. It had been a while since the accident- that’s what they called it at your funeral, an accidental overdose. I knew it wasn’t the truth, but it was comforting for your mother to think about it that way so I never corrected her. It had been a full 61 days, so whatever this was was either meant to be post-mortem or was very late in getting delivered. If it was meant to be post-mortem, it probably should have been sent to your mother. She appreciated the flowers and cards more than I ever did. Besides, I was only the girlfriend. What right did I have to that level of grief? In fact, what right did I have to open your mail at all? All of the mail that had come for you, including the spam credit card offers, were sitting in a lumpy mess on the counter. I hadn’t touched them. To be honest, I didn’t think I ever would. To do so would mean to accept that you would never again be here to open them or throw them away.

I sat the package- this mysterious brown box- on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. I thought about calling your mom. She would know what to do with it probably or maybe she would know what it was. Either way, it would no longer be my responsibility.

Responsibility. A word I had been avoiding for a while now. My job had been understanding for a few weeks- until the emails to return stopped coming and a week later I received my severance package in the form of a paper check and a short letter. Your mom agreed to pay the rent until the lease was up in another 4 months using your health insurance. It’s only fair, she said, since you did sign the lease with me. I always liked your mom. If you were here, you’d say I was using tragedy as an excuse, and maybe you were kinda right. After all, I wasn’t even showering which is the most basic responsibility.

No- I would keep the package. I would face this myself. I tried to imagine what you would have ordered, knowing what I know now. Was it something that, had it arrived on time, could have saved your life? Could there have possibly been anything that could have saved your life? Some sort of antidote for when you realized you went too far? Suddenly, I was furious at this package for not arriving sooner, at this person with the curly script for not sending it sooner. My thoughts quickly spiraled until all I felt like doing was tossing the package over the balcony into the pond. I decided this was ridiculous since I didn’t even know what was in the box- lifesaving or not. I just needed to open it.

I stared at it until the sun had set fully and the only thing illuminating our address on the brown paper wrapping the box was the moonlight, full and white. I couldn’t imagine actually ripping the paper and tearing through your name. It felt like a betrayal- to you but more to the idea that you weren’t truly gone and that at any moment you would burst through the door in your converse and black sabbath t-shirt, an idea I had been relying on. I couldn’t imagine doing it until I just was. The paper crunched in my hands and mixed with my tears, softening in little spots. I sniffled as I pulled up the tape and opened the cardboard top. Datura Seeds (Moonflower) read the small package buried under more paper. Moonflower seeds. We had talked about these a few weeks before you died. I had finished rewatching one of our favorite series and had mentioned how cool it would be to grow these on our balcony during the fall.

Moon flowers only bloom once, for a short time, before dying, but during their life, they are luminous, glowing as bright as the full moon. It's a beauty much too rare to last. I tried not to read too much into the irony.

These had been meant as a gift to me. Your last package was for me. Like so many of the other things you had done for me, it almost went unnoticed. I rubbed my eyes and decided to get some sleep. I was exhausted by the emotions I had been avoiding.

The next morning, I got up and made myself a cup of Earl Grey and smelled the sleeve on your sweater. It still smelled like you, only a little less. After I drank the glass of tea, I picked up the seeds and walked out onto the balcony, where an unused pot had been sitting since a few days before you left, and started burying seeds an inch apart and half an inch deep. Afterwards, I moistened the soil with my watering can and sat on the chair in the sunlight.

I sat there, soaking up the sunlight I so desperately needed with my eyes closed. I felt the warmth engulf me, cover me like a yellow blanket. For a moment, I felt your luminescence cover me just one last time. For a moment, I was at peace. For a moment.

I rested there until I felt ready and then I went to the bathroom and took my hair down for a shower. Afterall, plants also need water and sunlight to grow.