by Krystal Greene

Created on: May 15, 2009   Last Updated: October 26, 2009

Somewhere in Northern Florida on a street lined with pimped-out police interceptors and dilapidated basketball hoops was a planting pot situated among weeds under a rotten willow. A simple plastic pot filled with dirt from the foreclosed home next door and some potting soil. At that time I was a sophomore at State and I was overwhelmed with the desire to nurture something. To save me from another fury four-legged money pit, my boyfriend bought me a plant.

His strategy for picking it out must have been to get the most sorry looking plant at the pound. One that had been neglected and abused, not fed for weeks, and rarely had the chance to see the outside world. It had one pinkish-brown bloom that could only be supported by a Slurpee straw and a bread tie. I did everything but swaddle and burp my Hydrangea. It was the last week of March and I had invested about two weeks of pruning love into my plant. Before I left for my evening class I took my half-empty water bottle and poured it on when I had a surprise. A bud! It was just a little bud. It gave a smile like the jack-o-lantern grin of an infant. I called my boyfriend outside to gaze upon this wonderful being we had created. His eyebrows gave away the fact that he could not care less, but he gave me a kiss and congratulated me on my success anyway.

A few weeks later there were three crimson blooms that looked like pink popcorn overflowing into a clay-colored pot. I clipped two and put them in a vase my mother gave to me. I could not have dreamed of a more perfect flower. So on the counter it sat while more buds popped up and blooms were replaced. If I could have somehow posted my success on the refrigerator I would have. I took a plant that was pruned by the hand of death and turned it into a pretty pink bundle of joy.

The weather was more than delightful and I decided to do some studying outside and have my Hydrangea as my muse. It was toward the end of the semester and we had started to pack to move back home for the Summer. My boyfriend was expecting a friend to come over and help him move our washer and dryer downstairs. I felt him coming before I saw him. I saw ripples in my water and the hydrangea leaves vibrating. Then I heard the THUMP BOOM POW of his bass speakers echoing down the street. He turned into our driveway a little fast and all of a sudden things turned to slow motion. One tire clipped the curb and made him lose control. He slowed down, but once he straightened out he had already run over my beautiful hydrangea. One bloom was pinned under his tire while another had been severed in the action.

He got out of his car hoping he did not hit a child or something of value. "Man, thank God it was just your plant." I laughed trying to hold back my tears. "Yeah, I'm glad you didn't hurt anybody! Try slowing down next time!" I was crushed. While the washer and dryer came down the stairs I picked up what was left of my beautiful hydrangea. Not one piece could be salvaged. I laid it in pieces under the rotten willow among the weeds and dirt.

Learn more about this author, Krystal Greene.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.