Eventually the time came to head out the sliding glass doors at the back of the room to the patio to plant our miniature hanging gardens. It was slightly cooler outside, if only for a breeze blowing the hot air around. There was music playing somewhere in the gardens, probably a wedding reception. Somewhere there were people laughing and talking with friends just out of sight, but a lifetime away from me standing there alone. I was afraid to talk to other people in the class, not sure how many had heard what I had done. Plus I still hadn't washed my hands. I felt unclean.
There were dozens of varieties of plants, all of them spread out on top of plastic folding tables. They had been baking in the heat while we sat in the stifling classroom. They looked as wilted and depressed as I felt.
We shuffled out to stand around in the sun waiting for our turn. I could feel the sweat begin to form on my upper lip as I waited. I was by myself. No one talked to me and I didn't talk to them. Words like "disease" were running through my mind.
Why out of all the people in class did I have to sit by her? I would have been better off taking a table by myself. Table for one, as usual. I should have just gone straight home to my empty house and sit under the cooler. Alone. My drive to the arboretum two hours before, had been nothing more than a greasy hope-filled dream.
The root balls of the plants were all dried out and desiccated and light as air when I lifted them out of their warm black plastic containers and starting plunking them into the special fluffy potting mix in my mini garden. It was a sad looking bunch. I saw other students artfully arranging their plants adding this one removing that one. I didn't care anymore. My hanging garden would just be a constant reminder of my failure as a human being.
YOU ARE READING
The Arboretum
Não FicçãoA true story of the insane thing that happened to me when I stepped out of my comfort zone and signed up for an adult ed class at a local arboretum.
