Greenhouse Gore

CHAPTER ONE: KEEP YOUR SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET

My vein plant wilted again.

Fittonia albivenis.

The red veined leaves drooped over the sides of the terracotta pot feebly, announcing their mortal thirst and my apparent lousiness at caretaking. The weight of the leaves had bent the stems so much over time that it looked like this week's resurrection was going to be an ordeal to straighten out. I'd have to call on Jesus for the millionth time for a miracle. But I'd seen this before. I'd learned immediately following its potting that the vein plant was greedy in its cravings for water and that it considered my lack of punctuality the utmost infringement to its livelihood. For a plant that typically lived only for a couple of years, this behavior seemed excessive to me. In a few hours, after the roots licked up the water bleeding through the soil, it would reach for the skylight again, unfurling its intricately designed leaves in glory as if it had not been throwing a temper tantrum just moments before.

What a vain plant. Especially for one that had the projected lifespan of a hamster.

"This isn't your swan song, madame," I said, lifting the watering can from its spot by the wooden table. Old water sloshed at the bottom, and I dumped it on the ground with several good shakes before slipping out through the back door of my greenhouse and hauling to the pump for a refill.

The humid October afternoon found itself as a line of sweat beads trickling down the slope of my neck. Any day now it seemed we would encounter cooler and cloudier days, but for now, after the watering can filled up, I resorted to dropping my head under the lip of the pump and drenching my throat with water. It wouldn't do my plants any good if their caretaker died of heat stroke.

"Here comes the airplane," I cooed, tipping the watering can's spout into the pot. "You know I would never let you die, you baby. Not until you've reached old age anyway."

With the drama queen watered, I moved on to inspect the status of my other plants. The devil's ivy that'd been a nightmare to hang up from the ceiling was growing faster than I'd expected. It had only been a year since I almost lost my life balancing on that rickety ladder, perfecting my double knots on the rope to ensure there wouldn't be a day when the ropes gave way and the pot plummeted down to crack my skull open. Then there would be two dead bodies in this greenhouse. For now, my head only met the smooth green leaves dangling down from the vines as the devil's ivy greeted me with hellos whenever I strolled through them. Like Moses parting the Red Sea. Minus the Egyptians.

All my cacti were doing well. They were lined up like pocket-sized ceramic dolls on the window ledge where the sunlight was at its best. I had to rotate them often, so they didn't become slanted like the first ones I'd kept. The bunny ear cactus was my favorite because it grew in the shape of a stegosaurus whenever I turned it sideways. After I inspected the cacti's health, I ran my pointer finger across them, gently so they wouldn't really hurt me or draw blood but with enough pressure to feel the pricks aching to pull my skin apart.

Over the summer, I decided to try my hand at herb gardening. It took me longer than expected, but I was able to sand down and paint over the old table that was in the center of the greenhouse where I arranged eight square boxes, filled to the brim with soil and nutrients. I spent the better part of June consuming as many popsicles as I could with the Sids so I could use the sticks for the herbs. The first popsicle stick of the summer, still tinted with the red strawberry flavored dye, was engraved with the word "basil-tov" in my straggled handwriting. The final popsicle stick, taken from a Sid to close out the month of July, read "no big dill."

"Tatum, I think the greenhouse is almost complete," I said, standing triumphantly in the heart of the greenhouse in admiration of my fine handiwork from the past five years. Almost every inch of the greenhouse was in bloom if you disregarded a few stubborn plants that I couldn't quite figure out.