Indoor gardening

On the south side of the house, in the petty part of the yard, there is a small garden. The garden grows cucumbers, mugwort, lavender, carrots, tomatoes, and marigolds. The Peartree grows in that same plot too. In the springtime, the bed gets made again and the earthy smell gets trapped and rescued under the nail beds of Henry. Kate watches him from the study, as Henry takes the seeds from the packet and plunges them into the dirt, covers it, and presses his hands on the top of the soil almost like kneading dough. And then moves to the next, Kate is unsure if he plans out a pattern prior to the planting or if he simply moves without thought. She often feels like she is watching something secret like she’s watching him change his clothes or something. It feels intimate, but it’s gardening, she reassured herself, surely this is fine. Kate’s condition didn’t allow her much time outside. Her mother told her that the fresh air was only suitable in small doses, however, when she did have outings it was invigorating, and thought that her passing out was simply a sign of that. The pear tree was always a peculiar tree to her, the trunk so rough and squat, and this one was particularly pear-shaped in its foliage, the white blossoms would aromate the space, and she would crack the window just a touch brings her face down to the sill and inhale deeply, once her mother walked in and Kate was able to pretend she was tying her shoe, not sniffing the magnificent smell that wafted over in the warming midday sun. She often imagined that smell wrapping around her like a gauzy white cloak or blanket like the one that she had had as a baby, the waffled texture bringing weight to the blanket that was otherwise not there at all. She felt safe and bigger than she was somehow.

Each day she would watch and measure how the garden was changing and growing. Even though she was not able to go out and tend to it herself she would imagine Henry’s hands as her own, she would imagine the soil to be heavy and sturdy. The cucumbers and the curly tendrils would tickle her wrists, the carrots with their bold green shoots distracting her from the orange bulge that would grow bigger by the day, and if she listened it was like she could hear and feel when the best day to bring them up would be. It was always entertaining to see if Henry received the same message as she.

The pear tree was a different story altogether, the pear tree seemed to grow bigger only when she caught herself in negative self-talk, or monster talk as she called it for example when she told herself using the same cadence that her mother had used, that she was just too sensitive so staying inside was the safe place to be. The pears themselves were also manifestations of these horrible thoughts, and Kate would watch near the end of the season how these pears would drop to the ground with a hollow thud as if to say -see I won, you should not try to stop these negative thoughts for I am telling you the truth, why can’t you just trust me when I say you are not important, you are just a measly little girl and a burden to your mother. The fruit would spoil on the ground there as if it was nourishing this snarl barked beauty, and her tears would further the growth.

One day she had an idea, a rather bold idea for a girl who had otherwise not questioned herself. She thought, If I can eat the pears before they have a chance to fall to the ground, then I will not feel so horrible all the time. She thought on this for days, maybe even weeks, she watched as the tomato vines had to be supported by their wire towers, and the lavender plumped up their sweet-smelling heads, and she grew to understand that Henry was caring for this garden and each day as he knelt down it was like he was saying thank you. She would mimic his care his movements and gestures and she would feel as if she were there too.

Each night as she lies in bed she would think of how she would ever be able to capture all of the pears from the tree, for she had to spend once whole afternoon counting and after 300 gave up, realizing there could be close to 1000. She thought she might box them up and post a free sign, or try to convince her mother or the nanny to bake with them, but the. The main obstacle was that she wasn’t allowed unsupervised outside and could even still only be out for 15 minutes a day. It’s when you are told you can't have something that you really want it hay, she thought.

That afternoon, she watched through the sage colored translucent curtains as Henry packed up his things and stood up from the edge of the garden, the wind blew slightly and it looked as if the plants were saying goodbye to him. Her mother had gone out to the store and the nanny was off on Tuesdays - she felt a jolt through her realizing this was her chance.

She was able to make it to the kitchen and to the backdoor where the garden was and opened the door slowly, she knew that she was alone and the large room carried the sound only of the clock ticking, her stomach felt like it was playing jump rope, hopping up and down like double dutch. She used the handrail to go down the brick steps and found her foot on the grass, it was then that she realized that she had forgotten to put on shoes, and she froze. She didn’t know what might happen if her mother found her here, but she thought I am this far already might as well carry on, and so she did. Her stockings stuck to the grass some, the sprinklers had been on this morning, mud gathered in the bare spaces between the grass, she knew she was getting dirty, but she didn’t care. She got to the garden and she knelt down and said thank you, and then took her face and moved it across the bed like a car wash, breathing in deeply. The different leaves, blooms, and fruit touched her like one plant versus a garden full, and it was soft and fragrant like a long-lost friend returning, she giggled softly and felt the garden smile. She glanced up to the pear tree which from this close was much taller than she could imagine, and she moved over to it, when she stood up, she realized that the branches came down to around her middle and that only her legs popped out. She thought how she had assigned this tree to her monster voice, and now in its presence it felt to loving for that. She put a hand to her heart and a sound came out of her mouth, it was like a whimper, or a groan, and it said, I am sorry. Without thought she reached up to a pear and let the gritty skin touch her palm, her thumb moved to caress it, and her body felt suddenly cold. The pear unattached itself from the tree and came to rest in her hand. She brought the fruit up to her lips and inhaled deeply again feeling the cloak of the gauze white envelope her, she felt safe and trusted. And she took a bite, the juice dripping down her chin, and she slopped her lips together as the soft flesh melted on her tongue, mmmm. She murmured, her whole body felt it, something magical happened inside of her.

Unaware of how much time she had been here or how many pears she had consumed she looked down, and saw that her dress and her stockings were evidence to her adventure. She didn’t know what else to do, so she laid down under the pear tree, looked up to watch the wind blow the leaves, and shake the ripening pears just so, and she fell asleep.