Tasha Mitchell of Dexter, KY is one of the top four finalists for the 2018 WKMS SHORT short storytelling. Read and listen to her story below
No One Else
The neighbors couldn’t agree on how long Crow laid dead in his yard before being discovered. Betty said two days. Eddie Jones said three days, and Rita said it was every bit of five. It was the postman who’d actually found him. Bill noticed the mail piling up, and walked around the back of the house. He discovered Crow face down and purple amongst a bed of lavender like some exotic plant.
Paula had been at her sisters in Arizona and came home to the news. Everyone had their own version to tell of how the Sherriff came, then the coroner, and finally how they carried poor Crow out on a stretcher in one of those dark, zipped up plastic bags like some expensive suit. Paula was glad she missed it. She wouldn’t have called her and Crow friends. They didn’t share secrets over coffee or even have a conversation that lasted longer than ten minutes, but it was clear that she was the closest person to him. They were neighbors. The only two houses down a dead end road. She saw him nearly every day. They would exchange pleasantries about the weather or somedays just nod and wave. The longest conversation they had was they day he showed up at her back door. Paula invited him in, and he stood by the stove looking uncomfortable. His long, silver-black hair braided down his back, his thick arms folded over his broad chest. Paula, being the good southern woman that she was, had offered him coffee, tea, water, and even some of the supper she was eating, though it was just a single serving Stouffers lasagna.
“Paula, I need a favor,” he asked in his deep, gravelly voice. “My mother passed away, and I have to head back west to make arrangements,” Crow said in a matter of fact tone. “Oh, I’m so sorry Crow,” Paula said, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how. “It’s okay. We weren’t close,” Crow said as he pulled a piece of paper and a key out of his pocket. “I was hoping you could tend to my plants while I’m gone. Should be no more than a week,” he said. “Crow,” Paula hesitated. “It’s not that I mind, but if you have anyone else that’s better with plants.” Thing was, Paula had a black thumb as her mom use to joke. She had killed every plant that she’d tried to keep. Even the Aloe Vera plant the guy at Lowes said was fool proof. She gave up after that. “No one else,” he said and placed the key on the island and unfolded the paper. “Just follow these instructions and you’ll be fine.” he handed it to Paula. “Crow, I’ll do my best,” she said and raised her glass of sweet tea to show the seriousness of her pledge. He smiled big, his teeth stained yellow, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepening.
Paula got to work the next day. She studied the paper determined to do a good job, and what a job it was. It was the hot part of a July and a drought on top of that, so the outside flower beds, potted plants, and garden needed watering daily. The inside plants, as the instructions stated, didn’t have to be watered until Wednesday. She was glad they lived on a dead end street because the neighbors would have a field day if they saw her going into his house. She’d already been asked several times if they had something going on; two loners living next to each other. Paula had gotten the sense from the paper that there were a lot of house plants, but the sight of them stopped her in her tracks. Dozens and dozens of plants filled the living room, the kitchen, both bedrooms, and even the bathroom. It reminded Paula of her uncle’s green house. She loved it in there as a child, the damp smell of earth, and the warm sun on her body.
Crow had stuck popsicle sticks in each one with the name of the plant written on them: African Violet, King Begonia, English Ivy, Goldfish and Hoya plant were some of them. The kitchen was full of herbs: Basil, Thyme, Rosemary. Paula could see that Crow pinched a little off here and there for cooking. After she was finished watering, Paula sat in the chair and felt such peace. She was that little girl again, sneaking off to the greenhouse to lay amongst the flowers.
Crow had come back that Friday and brought Paula a dream catcher. She could tell it was handmade, and authentic. “Crow, this is too much,” she tried to refuse. “No, no,” he insisted. “I know it’s a big job tending to the plants.” “Well,” Paula said, “it was truly my pleasure. Your plants are….,” She struggled to find the right word. “They are my family,” Crow said and turned to walk back towards his house. Paula watched him until he reached his porch. “Oh Crow, your key!” she remembered. “Keep it” he called back. “You may need it again.”
“Magical,” Paula thought. “That was the word I was searching for that day.” It was three a.m. and she lay awake in her bed, the dream catcher above her. “Poor Crow,” she thought. “No family or friends to notice they hadn’t heard from him in a while. He had to be discovered by the mailman.” Paula couldn’t seem to shut her mind down. “All of those plants,” she said. It had been over a week since they had been watered. She pictured them slowly wilting away; the black, moist soil turning hard and dull brown; the leaves folding in on themselves. Paula threw back the covers and sat on the side of the bed. She put on an old pair of blue jeans and grabbed the key and folded paper out of the jewelry box on her dresser. She walked out into the cool, spring night.
When Paula was finished, the sun was peaking up in the Eastern sky. She sat at her kitchen island with a cup of coffee. “How am I going to do this,” she thought as she stared at all of the plants, the popsicle sticks still sticking up out of the dirt. Paula looked down at the frayed piece of paper and raised her steaming cup up in the air. “Crow, I’ll do my best.” She smiled and took a sip.