Grace was gone.
Her roommate, Philena, has inherited all of her plants.
Step 1: Fertilize.
Opportunities to be avoidant: let phone calls go to voicemail.
Hi Philena, It may be awhile before we come and get all of Grace’s belongings. Um, too soon, right now. We know that you can’t afford the apartment on your own and will be needing to find a new roommate soon, but for now, we’ll help. We just can’t… I can’t. She Sobs. Sorry. Will talk again soon. Chin up.
Grace’s mom was always saying “Chin Up” as if it were really a pep talk in a simple two words. Maybe it used to be. It wasn’t right now.
The door to Grace’s room has been shut since she left to go home for the Holidays. Roommate agreement to never invade each other’s space- one that they committed to gladly. But now, Grace would never be coming back. No explanation and a short vague poem published as the obituary that read: Remember Me.
“Is it my business?” Philena wondered, unsettled and searching her memory for breaths and pauses between sentences. Maybe she missed some battle with a disease or even depression. There were no signs that she could remember. Unsettling.
The phone rings again. Voicemail.
Hi Phil. It’s John. Grace’s dad. I’m making plans to come get Grace’s belongings so you can find a new roommate, but, um. Just hoping you could take all of her plants. It’s just kind of weird, you know. Her thing with plants. I… I don’t… I just can’t. I can’t. Sorry. Call me back when you have a chance.
Shifting between overheating and chills, Philena wraps herself in layers- pajama bottoms, tank, sweater, scarf– a protective shield for keeping the world out for a while. She sits on Grace’s couch and gazes at her surroundings. Most all the furniture is Grace’s. Then there are her plants.
With every plant Grace brought home, she’d say that it’ll improve the oxygen intake in the apartment, better their moods, better their life. “In order for them to care for us, we need to care for them.”
There are so many plants.
And they all need watering.
Phil couldn’t bring herself to find Grace’s watering can, or to get up off of the couch. How bizarre. Grace was here, and then she wasn’t. Phil couldn’t bring herself to think of anything else but Grace’s presence and the plants. Philena couldn’t have done anything differently– an overwhelming feeling of remorse, regret, and wondering what the point of all this is. With Grace’s family calling every so often to talk logistics, but not really because it’s so raw still, nothing was accomplished. Thus, Phil stopped answering the phone. “I’ve got feelings, too.”
It felt like the family wasn’t even thinking about the last year and how the roommates had gotten close. Such a thing does happen when you live in close proximity to someone and go through ordeals like broken pipes, leaky windows, and a wackadoodle landlord. Grace was so good at reasoning with the old man.
And then there was the death of Grace’s grandfather. Grace had felt like everyone in her family was ready for him to kick the can for years and when it finally happened, they were nothing but glad to get back to their lives. Philena had talked Grace through her feelings and they’d ultimately landed on there’s nothing left to do about it. It’s done.
“Maybe Grace is right. Was right. Maybe I’m too pessimistic.” Phil thought, grabbing a nearby monstera plant to sit in her lap. She pet the leaves as if it were a little kitten, purring. “If I don’t water these plants, they’ll die. If I do, they might still die.”
Philena puts the monstera down on the couch and it immediately falls over, dirtying the cushion with its soil. As she bends down to gather the soil back into the pot, she notices the watering pot sitting to the side of the couch. She grabs it and goes to the kitchen to fill it with water. She dumps it out, throwing the can into the sink. The cheap plastic splits.
Philena sighs.
A moment passes, focused on breathing. She looks over at Grace’s bedroom door where a cute planter hangs. Yet, another plant to water. Approaching Grace’s room, Phil takes a deep breath then opens the door.
Step 2: Light.
She darts her eyes around to look for the watering can, still cautiously wanting to keep to her roommates’ agreement… even though… you know. But what Phil finds are…
More plants.
Not too surprised, but there’s just so many…
Dry plants, with holes and redness developing on their leaves.
Philena approaches Grace’s window and opens the curtains. Dust falls, and dances in the rays of light. Grace hasn’t been gone so long that there should be so many dust bunnies here. But there is.
On the inner ledge of the window, sits another plastic watering can. This one stylish and colorful. Really cute. Grace’s aesthetic perfectly. Though, because it’s been sitting in the sun against the window pane, it’s discolored.
Philena takes a look around the bedroom. A once lively ivy trails from the headboard into Grace’s bed. Dried bits of leaf have taken residence in its covers now.
Philena could’ve been watering these plants. Granted, she could’ve taken better care of the ones in the living room, too. She had control over that, but not this.
The phone rings.
Hi Philena. It’s Gary. Your landlord. Again. Didn’t want to leave this in a voicemail, but since you’re not answering, I’ll just leave it here: With your roommate dead, you’re gonna have to find another one ASAP– and they’ll have to submit an application, get background checked, verified, yada yada. You know the deal. Um. And sorry for your loss.
“My loss.”
Step 3: Water.
Cassie Soliday is a comedy writer and cartoonist, working in the Animation industry. They love road trips and the ocean, and especially road trips that lead to the ocean. Follow them on twitter and instagram @cassiesoliday.
Muse & Fury Lit 