Greenhouse Effect

1.

Working at Potter's Greenhouse was not at all what I expected.

What I thought I saw coming were days full of monotonous plant-watering, staining all my clothes with compost water and dirt, and having to scrub black soil out from under my fingernails every night. I thought it was going to be yet another job that I would have to drag myself to, one that would just be the means to getting a measly paycheck to cover my gas expenses and whatever else I could find to spend money on.

Yes, I have to water plants; yes, my clothes may be ruined; and yes, I have chronic black fingernails. But what I didn't see coming was how insignificant all of those things would be. There's no need to drag myself here. Instead I find myself rushing to get out of whatever has me held up beforehand, and skipping all the way here. It truly feels like some sort of scam that Potter pays me to come in and help.

There's one thing I'm sure about Potter and his greenhouse and it's that there's something out of the ordinary going on here.

If you'd asked me if I believed in magic before I started working here, I would have given you a resounding no. A 'no' that slapped your wrists for even asking such a stupid question.

But now, I don't know. I'm not sure 'magic' is the best word to describe it, but something I can't explain definitely has its fingers laced through the works of this place like strings on a marionette.

Or maybe it's Potter who's holding the strings.

On the outside, Potter looks like your average, friendly neighborhood grandpa: fluffy white eyebrows, a bald spot the size of a tea saucer, and well-worn jeans secured around his scrawny frame by a thick leather belt.

But this man has quickly become one of the most influential people in my life and it's not just because he has a way with a trowel.

It's because he's always got an answer. Answers he gives with full confidence, not a speck of uncertainty tainting them. Honestly, there are some things I'm afraid to ask him and not because I'm afraid he won't know, but rather I'm afraid he will.

It may sound silly, but I think he might be some sort of oracle. In other words, he might be the telephone the universe uses to reach us inferior human beings who are in need of help.

The biggest giveaway is how he interacts with the world around us. He finds his answers in the soil, the leaves, the colors of the sky. To him, the fig plant's leaves being tilted to the left that day means that I need to put more effort into building a stronger foundation for my future or something else completely unrelated.

Everything is connected, Annie, there are no coincidences. He always tells me.

He watches me now across the small, wire wrought table that we're enjoying our afternoon tea on. Today's tea was brewed with one of his hibiscus plants and I have to say I've never really been a tea person. However, I always drink the tea Potter offers me, partly from wanting to be polite and mostly because he seems convinced that they'll help with some sort of mental or bodily alignment...

I don't know, I've stopped questioning it.

I do have to admit that today's tea is more tolerable than yesterday's ginger tea at least. Potter always tells me that the less I like the tea, the more I need it's effects, so I drained that one quickly.

It's very warm here in the greenhouse, the yellow rays from the summer sun entering easily through the glass walls and blanketing my pale skin. I'm grateful that I went with a loose fitting t-shirt and denim shorts today or else this temperature would be uncomfortable. I've definitely made that mistake before.