Contests

Grandmama's Garden

"Lola! Why are you still working on that garden of yours? It's nearly dinner time!" shouted my mother, her voice rebounding through the courtyard.

Placing down my shovel, I sighed. My mother, as smart as she was, couldn't seem to understand why my garden was so important to me. I stood up and shook off the dirt that had built up on my shorts and knees. Taking off my hat, I wiped the sweat from my brow. 

"Hon, I haven't all day. Your dinner is cooling and I am becoming impatient!"

 "Yes, Mother!" I yelled back, heading into the villa's cold, unwelcoming walls. 

I never liked being indoors. The way all the rooms had to stay cool for the sake of the tapestry always bugged me. I always had goosebumps trailing up my arms and legs as I shivered in the stone corridors. I hated the villa.

My mother sat at the head of the dining table, quietly eating a salad. I pull out the chair at the table's other side and sit down. I stared down at my filled plate awkwardly, not daring to look up and make accidental eye contact with my mother. Picking up my fork, I stabbed it into a piece of wilted cabbage, cringing at its lack of crunch. 

Mother, no matter how many times I insisted I could grow them myself, always buys them in town from a crusty old man who often left his produce out in the sun all day for days on end. Not only was the produce nearly rotting, but it was tasteless. 

I was beginning to feel like I was going to be sick as my mother stared lifelessly at the seat next to me. 

Grandmama's seat. 

A plate filled to the brim was sitting uneaten and cold. Feeling a familiar lump forming in my throat, I had a sudden need to flee. Not able to stand another second, I pushed back my chair and stomped away, ignoring my mother's calls of rudeness. 

Despite the dimming evening light, I went back to my garden. The crisp petals of the tulip patches greeted me back, making me flash one of my rare smiles.

Sometimes I felt like this garden was the only thing I had left of Grandmama. She had spent the last few years of her life --and the first few of mine-- making and caring for these plants. Like hell was I going to neglect them. That's why it worried me all the more when I noticed an entire bed seemed to be dying for no identifiable reason.

I went back to the now decaying plot, taking care in where I sat. The bed wasn't being attacked by insects, parasites, or fungus. It was beginning to frustrate me on how I wasn't able to control what was happening to one of the few things I cared about.

Finding my hand shovel, I began to dig up more of the dead tulip bulbs. No signs of disease, of parasites, or deficiencies.

They were just... dead.

Sighing I started to dig deeper. I dug past the bulbs, reaching over a foot into the bed's thick topsoil. That's when I found a root. No, it wasn't a root, I realized as I began to tug on it from its place in the soil. It was a thread. It was becoming too dark to identify the color, forcing me to turn in for the night.

I wanted to protect this garden. I want to be like Demeter and take care of the Earth when not held back by the memories of loved ones. But, truthfully, I'm like Persephone, taking care of the Earth when not held down by matters out of my control --being bound to the villa half the day by family I do not wish to have. 

Though reluctantly, I got up, going back to the villa. When I passed Mother in the hallway on the way to my sleeping courters, I said nothing. She was silent as well. As I closed my bedroom's wooden door behind me, I felt a wave of complete exhaustion attack me. What was I thinking working from dawn to pitch night with only two breaks for meals?