The Tomato Garden

CW: Death

I feel a soft weight on my right cheek as the other side of my face rests against the hard earth. My nostrils take in specks of dirt with every breath. One of my eyes flutters open and is faced with a looming color of red. This is not a daunting type of red but a bright color with splashes of yellow and scratches of green. Tomatoes are piled around my head. I could smell the freshness of the growing vine alongside the soil my lungs were beginning to truly inhale. I sprung up with a cough that turned into a gag, rubbing off the drool on the side of my mouth. 

The sun is bright in the sky with barely any clouds to scare it away. It is the type of sky that reminds children to jump in the pool before everyone has to sit and eat lunch on a day where no one has anywhere to be except by a pool, shoving Doritos in their mouths. There is no pool here. I looked to my left to see a chocolate-colored fence that is streaked with wear, showing its age. The wood is at a point that if I needed to climb over, I would leave with more than a couple of splinters. Before reaching the fence, I would have to climb over the endless amount of tomato plants that dominate this side of the yard. Fresh cut grass sprawls across the rest of the yard and becomes vacant the moment the tomatoes begin their reign. Splitting the beautifully trimmed lawn in half, rests a fairytale-looking porch shrouded with greenery of all sorts. Vines are woven through the lattice patio walls while flowers with every color imaginable are lining the steps up to the main desk that the surrounding flora keeps covered. Sunlight is the only thing granted permission through the ethereal layout, leaving a small arched opening for someone to walk through. 

My eyes ran over the landscape to keep surveying the garden before me. The inspection is halted to a stop when I spot a man bent over on the left side of the patio. My heart drops. I wipe the sweat that has formed on my forehead and check my pockets. Where is my phone? Where are my keys? Did I drive here? There are so many questions to which I have zero answers. For some reason, I am not feeling panicked; I feel curious. I spring behind the right side of the stairs. Even with my lack of panicking, there is no reason to be careless. I dig my fingers into the dirt to stabilize myself higher than the ground. Keeping low, I peered around the plants to get a clear look on the man. My eyes study the wrinkled madras shirt and khaki shorts that are presented before me. The man’s shorts drape perfectly over his scrawny knee caps with socks that cover his ankles. I am unsure why, but I let out a giggle at the long socks. The man’s head whips around as he hears my giggles drift in the wind. I hold my breath. He lets out a chuckle as well. I slam my hand over my mouth hard enough to push my entire body down into the tomatoes. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks. Why did he laugh? Why was his laugh so familiar? The lush garden is protecting me, and I am thankful.

The crunching of grass echoes from the other side of the lawn. I wish I had more time to survey that side of the yard and look for an escape. I wouldn’t dare go up the porch steps and risk the possibility of more people. Why does my body feel calm? My body feels rooted in the ground. The steps are rounding the corner, and the shadow forming on the ground solidifies that the man is getting closer. I double check my pulse—normal. In an instant, I look up to the plaid shirt looming over me. 

“Peanut, why on earth are you buried in my tomato plants?” The man sounds just as confused as I, yet he projects a tone of recognition. 

“I have been waiting hours out here for you. Let’s go now, the tomatoes on this side need some pickin’.” Without waiting for a response, he grabs my arm to yank me from the safety the dirt provided me. 

The dirt has finally fled from the inside of my nose, and I am filled with summer air. My senses become flooded with the scent of this grey-haired, wide-grinned, chuckling man. My nose greets him with joy, my eyes say hello with a strong, stinging sensation, and my ears dance with the melody from the invitation. I allow myself to fall into step alongside the person I have been waiting to see.

***

The seeds drip from my mouth as I chomp down on the salted tomato. I slurp to catch every last drop, and the man begins to laugh when his seeds hit the ground too. 

“How’s school, kiddo?” He says in between slurps. I put the delicious fruit down on the napkin in front of me and wipe my hands.

“I graduate next month, so I guess that’s a good thing.” My eyes flicker over to him for confirmation that he will be attending graduation with Grandma. Quickly, he changes the topic away from graduation. 

“Hey now, it is money well spent right there! How goes everything else?” Everything else? What did he mean? Mom comes over at least twice a week for their usual gathering. He should know. 

“Catch me up on all the happenin’,” he continued to pry. He grabs a paper towel to clean up our mess and allows me to think. Before I can respond, my attention drifts to the house attached to the patio, which we have been welcomed on for our feast. 

A sudden, overwhelming headache consumes the front of my head as I struggle to remember the inside of the house. The outside looks every bit like it always had. The screen door has the scratch Roxy, their seventy-eight-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback, made a few years back. It still manages to stay propped open by a horrifically colored school project one of the cousins made ages ago. At least they still have some use from a rock decorated by a kid. There is a wall that travels out on a slant to connect the bumped-out room and cuts off the house from the rest of the desk. On this outside wall, there rests a singular window. The tan tweed curtains, now colored a dusty orange, blow in the wind from the horizontal opening. I think it is the kitchen sink right behind it. Grandma always does dishes there and the screen permits her to continue chatting with us through the sounds of scrubbing and, sometimes, dropping glass. Beyond that, it is a blur. Everything I expect to know drifts behind a locked door in a place I am unable to reach. I wish that door was propped open with a rock. 

I take a deep breath, dropping my confusion, and begin. 

“So, I guess everything is okay. I still don’t have much money saved up, but I plan to get my teaching job before graduation. All my roommates are going to different places, so it makes me think I should go somewhere. Miya is going to Chicago and Lauren is going to D.C. and Talia is going to New York and Sarah is going back to Ohio and I don't know where the other ones are going, but I know I have to go somewhere. I was thinking about New York too or maybe somewhere near the beach, possibly the Carolinas. But then there’s Mom and Dad. I don’t know how they will feel. You know Grandma always tells me to go anywhere I want! I am young! I am able to pick a place to go! How are we supposed to pick a place when we are barely confident with the salary our jobs are giving us? I guess everyone figures it out, right? You and Grandma were able to live off of barely any money and raise an entire family! For God’s sake, you guys got married at twenty-one and made it work. Don’t even get me started on trying to find someone to date at school. Mom asks me all of the time about how the boys are. I don’t even know what to say. These guys don’t plan for the future, care about our wellbeing, and they struggle to even ask us on a real date! It is horrendous, I mean it. You would have a field day with these guys. It is insanity but I realized—” My ramble stops when he starts coughing enough to take his arm off of the back of my chair and lean to the side. 

“Are you okay? Let me grab—” I am cut off again when he places his hand on my shoulder to stop me from getting up. 

“Oh peanut, I am just fine.” He pounds on his chest to clear whatever is consuming his lungs and continues. “Well that sounds like a whole lot of thoughts someone does have at this time of life. You’ll find your answers, just like we all did.”

I attempt to give a confident grin, but I have a feeling it comes off a little weary. “Did Mom not mention any of this recently?” 

He gives a shrug as he slowly rises to gather our tomato scrapings and tosses them in the yard. “Darlin’ I haven’t been able to talk to your mom in a little while. Let her know I am doing just fine.”

My headache returns with haste, and I fall into my prior state of confusion. I can’t remember the last time Mom stopped over here or called to be me on speaker with him. Suddenly, my fingertips are filled with a numbing sensation and squeeze my fists to feel something more than the million invisible needles pricking my skin. I am filled with flashes of scenes I am unable to recognize, and I press the palms of my hands into my closed eyes. 

He starts to give me light pats on my back. “It seems to be gettin’ you all at one time, huh?” I furiously shake my head trying to throw the flashing pictures out of my mind. 

It feels like a hand reaching through my skin to pull my organs out one by one. My stomach is peeled open with only my heart and lungs for the taking. It doesn't take long for the pressure to find my heart and sink it through the floor. I am left with my lungs to provide my body with some sort of rhythm. 

“Grandpa?” 

“Yes, peanut?”

“We didn’t, did we?”

He chuckles. “You didn’t do what?

“We did, didn’t we?”

“Come on! I taught you better than this, spit it out!”

“We buried you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that. Think of it more as a sendin’ me back on home.” 

I grab the hand that remains on my shoulder. We look at each other, my eyes filled with awe and desperation. His are filled with a sense of longing and heaviness. 

I release his hand and see a dark shadow radiate from under my palm. I slowly turn the bottom of my hand up and examine the darkness. Soot-colored dust covers every inch of the skin that was holding his hand. I glance up to see his reaction. I am filled with horror to find the soot dripping out of his right elbow. The entirety of the forearm is already gone. 

Inaudible sentences unravel from my quivering lips. I wrap my arms around his head and feel him crumble in my arms. We are surrounded in a cloud of soot, and I struggle to see the fairytale garden around me. I wipe my teary face and feel the dust smear over every inch of my body. There is one more scrap of tomato left on the table. He missed that one. I drag it to my mouth and accept the replacement of delicious salt with a mush of soggy ash. I slowly tilt to my left and rest my hair on the stained chair. I close my eyes. Maybe I will go back to lying with the tomatoes.