How a Potted Plant Saved My Life

One

May 18th 1:12 PM

I stared blankly at the potted succulent sitting on the windowsill by my bed. Its not even a living object and yet it's presence is pissing me off.

Why did he even give it to me? Of all people? Why me.

And you know what the worst part about this is? My OCD wont let me off myself because of this damn plant. It keeps reminding me that if I die, there will be no one there to take care of it and it will wither up and die too. God knows my mother is too high most of the time to even see straight, she would never take care of a plant.

Which leaves me here, having to take care of a plant i didn't even ask for, when all I really want to do is drown myself. Real world problems.

Grumbling incoherent words under my breath, I hop off my bed, making my way through the empty house—which doesn't surprise me since my mother is almost never here anyways— heading towards the kitchen to make myself lunch.

The only thing I really know how to make are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and Roman noodles, but it seems to be my lucky day because we happen to be out of both. Knowing that I can't let myself go hungry even longer than I already have, I grab a few $20's from the stash of cash I keep hidden away from my mother.

I almost curse myself for momentarily thinking that i should go check on the plant thats in my room. Its a plant Abigail. An inanimate object. Not a child or any other living creature for that matter. I roll my eyes to myself before exiting my house, slamming the door behind me.

The walk to the town's supermarket was a relatively short walk. Maybe only five minutes at most. But it felt like much longer thanks to the lack of food I've had in my stomach for the past 42 hours.

    Shopping was the easy part. I knew my way around the supermarket better than I knew my way around my own thoughts and feelings. With a druggie mom and all, I learned to grow up quickly and do things on my own. Thats why by the age of ten, I was going to the store once every two weeks to get the small amount of food I could pay for that would barely keep me from starving to death.

    It wasn't a lot, with only $60 to work with each time, I had to shop in small quantities. The father, which I had never met, still pays for child support each month, since its required by law, but unfortunately, my mom takes a good chunk of the money to spend on the things she sniffs up her nose, that make her neglect her own flesh and blood.

    I huffed under my breath at the thoughts, as I start walking towards the check out line. I try not to think of the situation to much usually, because it gets me so riled up. I place the small amount of food I have on the checkout line, keeping my head down so that people don't see the dark circles under my eyes, exposing us to how much sleep I've been getting lately.

Spoiler alert: It's not a lot.

"Your total is gonna be $42.78" the cashier says in a bored tone

Wait. Hold on. I know that—

    My head snaps up, and I stare in shock at the boy in front of me— the same guy from last night. In the light i can get a much clearer view of him. He has pale skin. Not as light as mine, but not dark enough to be considered 'tan'. But that wasn't what I noticed about him first, no. I noticed the small scar resting above his left eyebrow.

"Its you again! You're the boy from last night! Plant dude" I exclaim, causing his head to shoot up, his caramel colored eyes locking with my own. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open slightly as his eyes roam my face for a brief second before he shakes his head, gaining his composure.

"Plant boy?" He asks teasingly, with a small grin on his face.

"Yes! Plant boy. The one who gave me the stupid plant. I need to re—"

"For the record, its Jackson" he smiles, pointing towards his name tag, "and you mean Fredrick?"

"What?"

"You mean Fredrick right? The plant i gave you?"

    I blink, staring at the weird dude in front of me with an incredulous look on my face. What is this man on? He's a druggie like my mother. I'm convinced. Just much less mentally abusive, and a lot more obsessed with things you have to take care of— such as damn plants.

"You named your plant?" I ask, hoping my voice conveys just how weird i think that he is. I shook my head, giving him the three $20 bills i had, before receiving the change.

"No I named your plant" he responds, packing my items up into a plastic bag.

"Why the hell would you name something that has absolutely no value whatsoever. Its not even alive for Christ's sake!"

"I named your plant for you because you don't seem like the type of person to name your plants—"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sorry if your lack of choice on his name offends you."

    And with that he placed the plastic bag in my hands with a small victorious smile plastered on his face, before moving to help the next customer in line, completely ignoring me standing there, openly gaping at him.