Where the Flowers Are Few - Part 2
Where the Flowers Are Few - Part 3
For three weeks, after breakfast, we'd saunter off to the back garden and check its progress. She was impressed. She thought I should bring the doctor to show him. I don't want to. He could come here anytime he wants. Anyways, I don't trust he'll appreciate this. It will only look therapeutic to him. Clinical.
She hasn't been here for three days. I'm having a hard time focusing. I can't get into the garden. The door is locked. I've looked through the windows and it beckons. But I can't open the damn door. I've told the doctor, but he seems to have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm losing my reasons for being awake.
I’m back in my garden, but this time there are no husbands, just green all around me. The sun shines in that happy color-crayon kind of way. The warmth of it makes my insides tingle. I feel young. I'm planting basil. I pinch off a leaf and press it to my nose. I think of fresh pesto over sun-dried tomatoes and pasta. A bird comes to perch on my shoulder. I tell it how I've missed being in this garden. He leans in, “We've missed you too.” How strange. I look all about me and see that decay has crept in. There are weeds to be pulled, tree branches to be hauled away, the bird feeder is out of seeds. I sigh, he's right. I should have taken care of this. “I'm sorry”. The words are barely audible. He just smiles. I think he forgives me.
I wake up. No restraints. Yesterday was OK. Today feels the same. She hasn't been back and I'm beginning to believe she was either a figment of my imagination, or the doctor sent her away. I'm not sure which is worse: delusions or paranoia. I turn to swing my legs down and put my slippers on. I've taken to refusing to dress. What's the point? No one sees me. I am one speck in a pool of little specks, all moaning in their own personal agonies. Why should I dress for the doctor? Screw him. Screw the clothes. Screw this blandness. I turn back into the bed and fall asleep. What more is there for me now?
Nurse Sour is here. I'm feeling a little confused.
“What happened to Nurse Monroe?”
“Nurse who?” She smiles like she's enjoying this. “Having lovely dreams are we?”
“What? I don't, uh,” I grab my head, there is a sudden sharp pain searing through my right temple. I slump back onto the bed. The room swirls then goes blank.
When I woke, I knew what I had to do. I would get up and go to that door and see my plants growing. I'd know I wasn't crazy. I dressed today. It took some time. I skipped breakfast. Who cares about that? When I reached the door, I tried it just in case. No use. I press my nose to the glass and cup my hands over my brow. I see decrepit pansies and daisies. Even the plants are depressed here. I can see where I planted the basil and oregano, the dirt has been stirred, I'm sure of it. But there are no plants here that were mine. There are wet spots forming at the bottom of my eyes. I can't stop them. Weakness makes me sick. I wipe the offenders away, stiffen my back and march back to my room. Sleep. I have a garden. It can't be ruined by anyone. I need to dream.
My mind is toying with me again. Deceiving me into thinking sleep is a relief. The fire is there again. It is so hot my skin begins to blister. I think I can hear him screaming from inside the house. I try to run in, but they hold me back. I'm fighting them, pushing pushing. I cannot get to my screaming husband. I run away in repulsion. There is a tree down the block, I stop there. I can't go any further, I vomit.
My room stinks. I think I was sick. They should clean it better. I can't recall yesterday. My wrists hurt. It reminds me of my second husband.
I think I'm done. I dig into the fern's soil. Pull out as many of those pills I can find. I think of a song I once knew, about wanting to be sedated. The pills are covered in soil. They taste like home.
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