Journal Assignment

Journal ex. –part 1 pg. 62



The shovel makes a satisfying “scraaaatching” sound as I chop it repeatedly into the soil to loosen it. The baby imitates my movements with his little plastic shovel in the grass. We squat together in the front garden of the “new to us”, but very old ranch house. I breathe deeply the smell of green things and sunshine. We pick out the fat red grubs, slimy and plump and examine them as I turn over the now loose dirt and make a place in the crowded bed for the newest addition. I name the flowers for the baby as I do everyday: Columbines, Painted daisy, Purple coneflower, Bee balm. “This?” he asks pointing at a plant I had forgotten to mention. “Sweet pea. Like you!” I answer as his chubby little hands join mine in patting down the dirt around the thick, green stalk of the newcomer. The sun beats heavily on my back, making me sweat and I worry about sunscreen on the baby. We are almost done. “This?” He asks again. “Heliotrope.” I say, “It’s a sunflower baby. A mini one that will never get tall.” Gravel crunching in the driveway. We both turn to see the white truck stopping in its place in front of the garage. “Daddy!” We call out together. A handsome man in work clothes and boots comes around the side of the truck. The baby runs to him and is lifted high with kisses and giggles. The smile he directs at me makes the sun seem a cold thing. “Look!” The child points at the sunflower in the center of the bed. “Wow! That’s pretty! Did you do that buddy? Good Job!” I stand, brushing dirt from my bare knee’s and return his smile. “Not as pretty as mommy though…” I lean into his kiss. “Honey, I mean this, the yard looks great. You don’t know how I feel, when I come home and pull into the driveway after working all day and I see how pretty this all looks. It looks like…home. You’re doing a great job. I want you to know that I notice.” I bask in his praise as we walk arm in arm towards the house. I live for his smile and life is good.



***



The shovel makes a dull “thunk”ing noise as I stab the wet, muddy dirt in the back garden. The one in the corner, under the black walnut tree. There is just enough light left to see the holes. Cold wind bites my ankles, exposed from my crouching position as I hack out small holes to drop the bulbs into. Tulips. The freezing rain that has been falling all day drizzles down my hair and drips in my face. My nails are caked with black mud from clawing the earth with my hands. I hear the truck door slam in the driveway but I don’t stand up. I just keep digging and humming. A tuneless angry note that I keep repeating without trying to. I hear the squishing sound of work boots coming towards me in the grass but I pretend not to notice.
“What the hell are you doing out here? It’s raining for Christ sake!”
“I have to get these in the ground if I want them to come up this year.”
“Did you see what their doing in there? There are matchbox cars all over the place! It’s a mess!”
“They can’t help being bored. It’s too cold to play outside. I’ll make them pick up before bed.”
“You can’t even walk in there! Did you make anything for dinner? I’m starving.”
“It’s in the oven. We ate a long time ago. “
“Yeah…I’m sorry. I had an emergency.”
“You always have an emergency.” What’s her name this time? I wonder but I don’t say it out loud.
“I said I’m sorry. Ill spend time with you guys this weekend. I promise.”
Yeah right.
“Go eat. I need to finish this before it’s completely dark. We can talk later.”
But we won’t. We never do.
His smiles don’t live here anymore. He saves them for other people now.


***



The shovel lays silent on the ground, where it has been for several weeks. Pink climbing Fairy roses. That’s what this used to be. Now it is just an almost dead, knarled stump in the trunk of my car. I pace back and forth in front of this place looking for a spot to put it. The shovel waits on the cold dirt but I have yet to pick it up. To warm the smooth wood handle with my flesh and crouch, knee’s pooping, down to the ground. I tell myself I just need to make a decision on where to put it and then I will really plant it this time but it’s a lie. I have ripped the plant from its home at the ranch house and smuggled it around for weeks in the trunk of my car. This is a temporary place. How many times will I have to dig it up and move it if I dare put it in the ground? It doesn’t belong here and neither do I. Do I want to take it with me everywhere I go? Do I want to look at it everyday and be reminded? If it stays in the trunk much longer it will die. I pace. I kneel. I stand up again. I walk over and slam the trunk closed. I think it would rather be dead than be torn from its home. I think it would prefer to lay down and die, than to move around, homeless, for as long as I think this is going to last. I know I would. No one smiles anymore.


***


The shovel makes a soft sighing sound as I slip it effortlessly into this soil. I walk the empty clearing and randomly crouch to turn over patches of grass and dirt. This is good soil. Good for planting. My eye wanders the overwhelming empty green canvass before me. It is big. A lot of work needs to be done here if it is to become a proper garden. There is a perfect spot for raspberries and a hole already dug for a fire pit. I imagine sitting out here in the evening with a fire burning in July, apple tree’s and giant Sweet pea blossoms climbing the trellises I could weave with all these sticks. I hear footsteps in the grass behind me.
“I’m just looking.” I answer before he can even ask me.
“This year?” He asks anyway.
“Maybe,” I turn and look at the place where I will put an arch covered with tiny climbing fairy roses.
“If not this year, then definitely the next.”
I take his hand and we walk back towards the house, the shovel in my hand feels warm. It feels good.
“What will you plant first?” he wonders.
“Sunflowers.” And I smile the smile he says makes the sun feel cold.