Green Thumbby James C.G. Shirk |
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| part 2 of 5 |
It was past eight o’clock on another bright, sunny morning before Molly got her mother to agree to go outside. She said she was too tired to work in the garden again but finally agreed in order to stop Molly’s incessant nagging.
An early frost covered the grass with a carpet of frozen crystals, and their footsteps were plainly visible as they trekked toward the garden. Unable to contain herself, Molly bounded away and ran ahead. When she got there, she spotted the leafy tops of the carrots, standing straight and tall, stretching luxuriously into the beautiful morning sunshine.
She squealed.
“What’s this?” her mother said a bit nervously as she stepped up behind Molly.
“It’s okay, Mommy. You’ll see.”
Before Carla could stop her, Molly scampered into the garden, bent, and grabbed one of the stalks. It pulled up easily from the rich, black dirt. The carrot was bright orange, fully six inches long, and a good two inches across the top.
Molly wheeled around, her cherubic face radiant with joy, and held the huge carrot high in the air for her mother to see. “Look Mommy, look! They’re the best ever, just like I said.”
Her mother’s countenance reflected a different emotion. “Put it down.”
“But, Mommy....”
“Now!”
Molly dropped the carrot on the ground next to her feet, her hand shaking. Now she was in trouble; she should have known better.
Carla grabbed Molly’s hand, pulled her out of the garden, then bent and held her daughter’s trembling body. “Mommy’s sorry, I’m not mad at you, honey. It’s just that those carrots can’t be.... Well, they can’t be right.”
“Can too,” Molly responded hopefully. “I fixed ‘em”.
Carla looked into her daughter’s teary eyes. “What do you mean you fixed them, honey?”
“I just did.”
“How could you fix them?” her mother asked, as she looked first toward the shed and then back at Molly. “Did you get in the shed and play with mommy’s fertilizer? I told you never to touch chemicals, didn’t I?” Her mother’s voice sounded upset. “Didn’t I?” she demanded again.
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that what you did?”
Molly looked at her, tears welling up in her eyes. She couldn’t tell her what she did, she just couldn’t. So, she said nothing, and her mother got furious. Grabbing her hand, she led Molly back into the house and told her to stay inside for the rest of the day.
When Molly’s father got home that night, her mother told him about the incident with the fertilizer, and he sent Molly to her room, while he went to the garden to see for himself. Molly peeked at him through her bedroom window as he made his way to the carrot patch, bent, and examined them. A minute later, he turned and came back inside.
Ever so carefully, she cracked opened her bedroom door, so she could hear them talking.
“That’s unbelievable,” her father’s deep voice drifted down the short hallway from the kitchen. “Those are the biggest carrots I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
Her mother’s voice had gone up a notch, and Molly knew that was never a good sign. It usually happened just before they started yelling at each other.
“What else do you want me to say?” her father shot back.
Molly could almost see the surprised expression on his face, the same one he wore every time her mother was about to get mad at him.
“Jason, for God’s sakes, yesterday those carrots were nothing but runts, so how the dickens did they change their condition overnight? I told you: she must have put my chemicals on them.”
Her daddy didn’t answer right away — that meant he was getting upset.
“Why are you blaming her? I don’t know squat about growing carrots, but I sure as hell know that if Molly actually put fertilizer on them yesterday, they wouldn’t look like this today. Face it. You must have been wrong about them!”
“Well... she must have done it sometime, and she certainly doesn’t deny it. Maybe the carrots I happened to pick yesterday were the only bad ones. I don’t know... I was tired... didn’t pay that much attention... I—”
Her mother stumbled for an explanation, something that made sense to her.
“I mean, I only pulled up three or four of them, so maybe I just got unlucky.” Her mother’s voice paused for a second, like she was thinking, and then she started again. “But, one thing for sure, the ones out there right now couldn’t have gotten that big without help, and who knows what she put on them. She could have easily mixed in some pesticides — they’re probably toxic now, and you’re acting like you don’t believe me.”
Molly knew what was coming next. Her father usually gave up fighting with her by this time.
“That’s ridiculous! But, if you think they’re toxic, I’ll just plow them under; however, you’re the one that’s going to tell her why this time. I’m tired of dealing with your nonsense.”
“Jason, don’t you dare—”
Molly heard the kitchen door slam, and she eased her bedroom door shut. Her parents were going to kill her carrots because they were toxic (whatever that meant) — just like they killed the dogwood — and, for what? Just for growing big like she asked them to.
She crossed the bedroom and crawled onto her bed, cuddling up to Andy, the stuffed, over-sized panda bear, which always waited patiently there for her. She felt so miserable, and she couldn’t help but wonder... If they keep getting rid of my plants they don’t like, maybe if they find out what I did, they’ll get rid of me too.
Sleep didn’t come easy after that, but before she finally drifted off, she vowed that she’d never give them a reason to fight over her again. She also decided that if they didn’t like her making plants grow, then as long as she lived, she’d never ask them to again... ever.
Molly kept her word.
* * *
Molly Hinderman splashed through the spring rain puddles as she rushed across the campus quad, mad at herself for being late. If she missed her final test in Plant EcoPhysiology, she’d be in trouble with Professor Lewis again... and she sure didn’t need that. He already thought she was, in his words, “Living on a different planet.”
She arrived, dripping wet, just minutes before the exam was scheduled to start and settled into her usual third row, second seat in the musty, crowded lecture hall. Some students milled next to their seats, chatting with others in an attempt to work off the nervous energy they felt. Molly preferred to keep to herself, because talking to anyone before an exam always took her mind away from the task. Concentration in class wasn’t her strong point.
As she brushed the rain from her jeans and waited for the professor to start the test, she felt her heart quicken. Being in the lecture hall, taking her final university senior exam, was a dream come true — especially after all that had happened.
Life had been difficult since her father walked out when she was eleven years old. The day he left, he told her it wasn’t about her, but how could it not be? He never asked her to come with him. After that, her mom had become more and more eccentric (the doctors said her delusional behavior was due to bipolar depression).
The only bright spot during those years was the time Molly spent in the family garden. As promised, she never used her “gift” to influence the plants, but she did study every gardening magazine and plant book she could lay her hands on in the local library, and she got very good at understanding what it took to make them grow. It seemed her excess energy melted away whenever she was there, and she was never happier; but at times, because of what was happening to her mother, her own burgeoning exuberance bothered her.
Carla Hinderman had committed suicide shortly after Molly graduated from high school. Molly found a job working for the District Agriculture Office and saved her money over the next three years. When she turned twenty-one, she sold the small house and used the money to put herself through college.
So now, here she was, alone in the world and almost to the finish line with her education. And, while life had treated her ungenerously, she maintained a sense of wonderment and anticipation of what it held for her... and her for it.
When the professor stepped to the microphone, the mutterings stopped, and seats were taken.
“Not so many years ago,” he began. “This examination was held in a small, non-descript classroom. But now, given the dramatic surge in need for botanical scientists, not to mention the accordant rise in pay scales (the students in the lecture hall murmured appreciatively), we have the best and brightest of you overflowing our classrooms. For that, we are all grateful.”
Several students smiled at each other.
“Today, your text examination, which accounts for 60% of your final grade, entails answering a simple question. ‘How will you use your education to help achieve world-wide biological stability?’ Your answer will be graded on your use of the knowledge imparted to you over the last four years and your understanding of the global issues we face today. The balance of your grade will be determined by the outcome of your field or lab work.”
He unfolded his arms and pushed back a few errant strands of red hair that had fallen over the edge of his thick glasses. “The examination will commence in five minutes. Good Luck.”
Molly shifted nervously in her seat. Professor Lewis was famous for his unorthodox tests. He was not only the youngest professor on staff but also one of the most revered. His botanical knowledge and research prowess was legendary among his peers worldwide, and it was that — the opportunity to learn from a master — that prompted Molly to attend college in the first place.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, Molly finished writing, gathered her knapsack, and took her blue book to the front desk, where Professor Lewis sat and passed judgment on those already turned in. He stopped scratching with his red pen and looked over the top of his glasses at her. His emerald eyes narrowed.
“Molly, you need at least a “B” on this to pass the class work. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know. I studied really hard,” Molly said, thinking about the two pots of coffee she consumed, while pouring over her class and lecture notes, until she crashed at 3 a.m. — and then, almost overslept.
He nodded. “You work harder at the books than most, I believe that. Retaining text information is more difficult for some than others.” He smiled. “But, your field work... that’s another story. Meet me at the farm at 2 o’clock. I want to review your experiment with you.”
“Uh... sure. No problem,” Molly answered. In truth, she thought there was a problem. It was unusual for Professor Lewis to meet one-on-one with any student; he usually left that for his lab assistants, so she didn’t know whether to be grateful for his interest or concerned about it.
* * *
To be continued...
Copyright © 2009 by James C.G. Shirk
