Growing Pains

The plant was set carefully on her desk. It was a small, unassuming thing, yet it stood out in the small bedroom of May’s second-floor apartment. It brought color to the white drywall she hadn’t been allowed to paint. 

 It was its newness to the room, perhaps, that explained why it overshadowed the rest of the furnishings. The blue bedspread had faded from many washes, and the sun had taken its toll on the posters and pictures that were tacked up on the walls, but they were still colorful. They had no reason to look as dull as they did. 

Green wasn’t her favorite color, but the leaves shone with life, and she thought maybe there was some truth to the studies her mom kept telling her about houseplants brightening your mood. 

She’d seen the plant store from across the street earlier that morning. The windowed storefront was crowded with overflowing plants and a cheery bell rang when she’d opened the door. She remembered the smell of freshly turned earth. 

There were more kinds of house plants displayed around the shop than she had ever known existed. Spindly fingers of spider plants and snake plants jutted into the air, and monsteras towered in large pots with expensive price tags. Succulents and cacti sat loftily on a bright shelf. She reached into the pocket of her black sweater and scrounged up a grand total of $6.31 and a button. 

“Is there anything I can get for this?” She didn’t mention the button. 

The woman had a head of honey blond curls that didn’t reach her shoulders, faintly streaked with gray. It reminded her of her mom’s, before her haircut. The woman’s face was lined, and her eyes were full of warmth. May found it difficult to meet them. “Oh, hon, I’ve got just the one for you,” she said. “Do you have much experience with plants?”

May shook her head. 

“Well, that’s alright. This one here is a really forgiving plant.” The woman led her to a shelf laden with glass jars, little leafy sprigs poking out the tops. “It’s called a pothos, one of your most common houseplants."

May reached out toward one of the pothos plants, her fingertips brushing the leaves with a feather-light touch. The plant was small, a single leaf attached to a delicate lattice of roots that trailed into the water.

“That one looks good! A little small, but still ready to pot, I’d say. And of course it will grow.”

At the counter, the woman explained the proper steps of care for the little plant. Water it about once a week. Check the top of the dirt for dryness to see when it needs watering again. If the leaves are yellow or the stems are too soft, you’re overwatering it. If the weather is too hot, it may need to be watered more often. 

She left the store with the small sprout cradled in her hands. The woman, Donna, she’d read on her nametag, had wrapped the roots in a wet paper towel and ziplock bag, leaving her five dollars lighter. 

At her apartment, she deposited the ziplock on the desk, and scrounged in her closet for a pot. She didn’t have any gardening experience, but her mom had given her a Grow-Your-Own Basil! kit a couple of years ago. When she’d remembered it suddenly in the middle of the night weeks ago, she’d gone down a rabbit hole on the internet about how to grow it, but she’d read that the seeds in those kits lost their viability after about two years, and had lost the heart to try it. 

May had never been interested in gardening, but her Mom loved it. The house May had grown up in had been vibrant with life. With plenty of plants, fresh flowers, to a veritable menagerie of pets, her childhood had never been dull. 

Her landlord didn’t allow pets.

After finding the pot in her closet, just a small terracotta one little bigger than her fist, she filched some dirt from a flowery section of landscape in front of her apartment, and carefully planted her sprout. She watered it from a cup on her nightstand, and stood back to admire her work. Her black sweater was streaked with dirt. 

Only hours later, May found herself compulsively checking to see if her little plant needed more water. Of course, she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help fussing with its placement on her desk. She turned the plant so its three leaves faced the waning light from the window. 

When she checked in the morning, the dirt was completely dry. She had to refill her cup twice before it seemed saturated enough. The plant seemed to perk up, standing a bit taller after she was finished, and she smiled in satisfaction. 

May returned to the plant shop, carefully keeping her eyes trained only on the storefront as she turned onto the street. Donna was there, and pointed her in the direction of a shelf holding silver watering cans. May paid with a couple of crumpled bills that were supposed to have been for groceries that week. 

She checked her mailbox on the way back. She sifted through grocery and department store coupons, a few bills, an assortment of white envelopes with her address hand-written on each, but stopped on a letter from her college. It was the results of her final exams. On a visit to her mom a couple of months ago, May had admitted how, lately, she had been struggling to keep up in her classes. Her mom had brushed the hair from May’s face and smoothed a thumb over her furrowed brow. You’ve had plenty of reason to be distracted, she’d told her, but you shouldn’t worry. It’ll all work out. The letter slipped from her fingers and into the trash. 

She opened her bedroom door, and her gaze shot immediately to the plant. It was much larger than before. It was covered in leaves now, each nearly the size of her fist, and again the soil was parched. It was the perfect opportunity to use her new watering can. 

Throughout the next week, her plant was the only thing on her mind. She ate and slept and brushed her teeth in the morning, but not before she watered the pothos. Each morning, she found the soil dry, and the plant significantly larger. The roots were starting to crawl out from the base of the pot. 

She returned again to the plant shop, this time with the largest pot they had in stock perched on the checkout counter, and Donna again ringing her up. She’d probably be able to afford it on her credit card. Her gaze meandered out of the large windows and to the street. It drifted across the double yellow and up the curb, past the cracks and dandelions jutting from the pavement of the sidewalk, to the base of the wrought iron fence–

“Would you like a receipt, hon?”

She jumped, and her eyes shot back to Donna and the plant store. “No, thanks.”

But the plant continued to grow, even faster than it had been before. It crept from the pot leaf by leaf, reaching for the corners of the desk and the panes of her window. By the end of the next week, it had covered the desk completely in foliage, the trailing tendrils snaking down to sprawl out over the floor. 

I must be excellent at taking care of plants, May mused. I should’ve tried it before. But it hadn’t meant as much to her then.

She wished she could have returned the pot, and maybe get her money back, as it was quickly becoming apparent that she would need an upgrade. She sat cross-legged on her bed with her laptop, and began browsing online for a replacement. Her computer chimed, and a notification popped up from her email. It was from her college advisor. She clicked into it. 

Dear May Williams, 

In light of your unique circumstances this semester, I have received permission to have the results of your failing class retroactively withdrawn from your academic records, and give you the opportunity to retake them. Let me know if you would like me to go ahead with this. 

I hope you are doing well, and I am so sor—

She clicked out of the tab. 

She bought a planter that measured three feet in diameter. 

It arrived three days later, she had to enlist the delivery driver to help her haul it up the stairs. It barely fit through her door. She thought it might have been easier to just fill her bedroom floor with dirt.

“What the hell’re you growing, lady?” The man grumbled through his thick beard. He swiped an arm over his glistening forehead. “Ain’t these things supposed to be outside?” 

May shrugged and pointed at her plant, visible through her open bedroom door. By now the desk was by now only a suggestion outlined by the mass of leaves and stems. 

“Jesus,” he muttered, and left quickly. 

No, actually, it would not have been easier to fill her bedroom with dirt. The man had left the bags of dirt at the base of the stairs, and after ten trips, May was sure her legs would soon give out. It was another feat to transfer her massive pothos into the new pot. 

With the last of her remaining strength, May hauled her desk away from the window and to the other side of the room. She replaced it with the planter, bracing her back against it and pushing it inch by inch to the window. It took her the rest of the day to water it. Her watering can was nowhere near large enough. 

May collapsed onto her bed, dirty and sweaty. The sweat cooled on her skin, leaving her cold and sore. She didn’t have the energy to get up again to clean off. Her head lolled to gaze at her room. Dirt clumps were scattered across the carpet and piled next to the planter. She couldn’t be bothered to do anything else but sleep.

Hours later, she was awoken by a soft brush against her cheek. She peeled her eyes open, squinting in the green-hued morning light. The room was covered in leaves and vines. They snaked up the walls and across the floor, interlocking to form a lush carpet. The window was encapsulated by a stained glass puzzle of overlapping greenery. One vine in particular had snuck up the side of her bed, the tip of a leaf that hadn’t yet opened brushing her face. 

She jerked up, scooting back on her bed until her back hit the wall, and tucking her legs close. As she watched, the leaf unfurled, a palm extending before her. She leaned closer. The plant continued to reach towards her. She extended her hand, trembling, to the leaf. The tip of the leaf immediately curled around her outstretched fingers, pulling her closer. As she watched, the plant grew before her eyes, wrapping up her arm. The rest of the vines were growing, too. They climbed up the walls to the ceiling, and wriggled their way through the crack of her window. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw a vine creep up the side of her bed and lunge toward her, wrapping around her ankles and growing swiftly up her legs. The vine around her arm had reached to her shoulders, and was wrapping around her midsection, constricting tighter and tighter, squeezing all of the air out of her lungs. She gasped for breath and clawed desperately at the strands, ripping them away. 

She lurched off the bed and ran for the door. She wrenched it open, tearing the vines that were working to seal her inside. A vine looped around her ankle and yanked her to the ground. She scrambled up again and fled the apartment. 

May looked back as she turned the corner at the base of the stairs, watching in horror as the plant continued to creep steadily from the door of her apartment, following her. She fled down the street. 

She only stopped running when she got to the storefront of the plant shop. Maybe they sold pruning shears. Or a flamethrower. She yanked on the door. It didn’t budge. Sorry, the sign mocked, we’re closed!

May spun around, looking for someone, anyone, that could help her. The street was empty. The early glow of dawn painted the buildings in shades of peach and yellow, and the only sound she heard was the rumble of a nearby AC unit. That wasn’t right. It was early, but shouldn’t there be cars? The world had become a ghost town. 

She ran clenched fingers through her hair. She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it.  

Anxiously, she paced back to her apartment, stopping before the building front. Vines strangled the red brick of the building, flowing from every window. The door hung ajar. It swung open easily with a slight press of her fingers. The hallway was unrecognizable from what it had been. It was the green gullet of a monstrous beast. May walked in slowly, attention on the edges of her periphery. The outstretched leaves brushed her skin and clothes as she passed, shivering slightly with the contact, but they did not move any further. The stairs started to squish beneath her as the steps transitioned into a mossy carpet. It grew darker and darker as she neared her apartment door, and she fumbled for the door handle.

The door to a void of inky black. Tendrils of the foggy darkness eddied and swirled on the floor towards her. She sucked in a quick breath, and lunged into the darkness. 

She had the brief sensation of weightlessness, and then the gut-dropping horror of falling. A gust of wind crashed into her from the darkness, whipping her around until she landed gently onto a floor of grass. 

The darkness fell away quickly, seeping into the ground and gusting away with the wind. Strong boughs of an oak tree stretched into the sky. A weathered fence surrounded the lot, and flowers and vegetables grew in lush boxes around the perimeter. A weeping willow drooped flower-laden branches in a corner. She recognized this place. 

A flash of periwinkle blue caught her eye, and she turned. Her heart caught in her throat as she saw her mother watering one of the vegetable beds, her blue dress blowing softly in a breeze. 

She took a step forward but halted, that couldn’t be her mother, her mother was–

The woman turned to her, as if sensing her hesitation, and opened out her arms to May. She couldn’t resist. May ran into her arms. Her mother smelled like lilacs and rain, and she squeezed May back just as tightly. 

She pulled away slightly, looking into the face of her mother through the tears in her eyes. She was smiling, but May could still see sorrow in her eyes. 

“How are you here?” May’s voice broke on a sob. Her mother said nothing. 

“Why won’t you say anything?” She pleaded. Her mother’s smile turned sadder, and she shook her head and brushed the tears from May’s cheeks. 

“What am I supposed to do now?” Her mother looked up, gazing into the treetops. A bird tittered above. 

“I can’t do this without you, I don’t know how.” A breeze swept through, blowing through both of their hair. 

“Please, mom. Why did you leave me?” Her mother clasped May’s cheeks with both her hands, pressing her forehead to hers. The trees creaked softly, and the pale pink petals of a flower from the willow floated gently down around them. 

They stayed like that for a while, her mother never answering her questions with words, until May’s grip slowly loosened. Her mother took a slow step back, and raised a hand to her chest. 

My Heart, she mouthed, and then she was encompassed by a swirl of wind and petals. They whirled around her like a tornado, and when they lifted, the yard was empty. 

She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, she was in the cemetery. She hadn’t been able to come here, to look past the wrought iron gates, even when she’d been confronted with a botanical monster. But now, she smelled the lilacs in the air. 

A marble headstone stood in front of her. The sun reflected brightly off of the polished stone. It was warm underneath her hands. She closed her eyes, and remembered. She remembered her smile. The crinkles around her eyes when she laughed. The long afternoons spent outside in the sun throughout her childhood, her mom’s hands covered in dirt as May played nearby. Of the day her mom came home from her doctor's appointment. Of the feel of her mom’s hair as May ran the electric razor over her scalp. Of the bags under her eyes, still crinkled with joy, as they sat together in the hospital room. Of the last hug they’d shared, with May leaned over her bed, her mom too weak to sit up. Of the day she’d first come to this place, standing at the edge of a grave in a black sweater.

The walk to her apartment was bathed in the bright orange of the setting sun. There was no trace of the vines when she trudged up her apartment stairs, or when she entered her living room. She opened her bedroom door. 

The planter was where it had been yesterday, before the window, but the vines and leaves that had covered her room with green vibrance were brown and shriveled. The soil was cracked and dry. A gust blew in from the window, and the vines shivered and began to disintegrate until her floor was covered only in dirt and dust.