45. NonFiction: 2. Branches and Leaves (4 parts)
Ok, do you see where this might be leading? Groovy. There was marijuana growing in big pots under grow lights in my attic—we were in the upstairs apartment so we lucked out with the extra space. My husband, who was seemingly untouchable at the time, decided to plant the stuff, to the dismay of my weak ego-ed self, and supply the neighborhood. Little trees grew everywhere you looked. Aluminum foil reflected green. There were rows of pot plants in their little pot cribs ready for the harvest. I thought my husband was the love of my life until he started bringing chicks home while I was at work, and fucking them in our bed. Patricia Witherspoon, a black, married, woman showed up in pictures taken by my Nikkormat 35mm camera, floating in the creek in Bronx Park with her nipples pushing through her tee shirt. My camera. My bed. My husband. My weak ego.
Let’s rewind. Remember I told you I received a box one day and that I thought I might have been wearing those red clogs? That’s the day the trees came.A trio of little citrus trees ordered from a catalog. One lime, one lemon, and one orange.Lime’s are nice, don’t get me wrong, and lemons are lovely, but this is the story of the surviving tree, the orange tree.
The size of my thumb, the little trees were pulled from their boxes and quickly planted in clay pots. They sat under the grow lights and adapted to Bruno’s sister Mary, who apartment-sat for 2 months one summer .
It was 1973; we left plants and 2 Siamese cats for a pilgrimage to California, weaving through 30 states in a 1969 Grand Prix, bronze, top of the line, with its back seat pulled out to make way for a tent and sleeping bags. We made it all the way to Ensenada, Mexico where we road horses on the beach at sunset, ate chicken in mole and made love until the rooster crowed. In the heart and the heat of the country we drove past miles of corn fields, and wheat fields and more wheat fields that would eventually become the nation’s Wonder Bread. Beef prices went up that summer and no one knew what to eat.FISH??CHICKEN?? The evening Nixon made his second Watergate speech, we were plowing down small Idaho roads. The sun was setting rose and blue and the thin road wound around a curve. It was too late to swerve around the rock that wasn’t; it was a box turtle. I can feel it still under the tires as the steering wheel jolted, and the car flattened the poor beast.
Then home. To plants and cats. The apartment looked smaller though brighter. Everything appeared to be ok, but there was another energy in the apartment. Flora and fauna were watered and intact, fed and fat. The orange tree was bigger, fuller, leafier. It had learned to bloom minuscule gardenias that dropped its petals and revealed tiny green balls with an orange in its center. Sometimes these dropped off and sat on the dirt. Others lingered at branch ends and junctures and grew into small green balls. Some of those fell off, others stayed to maturity and hung, going green to orange, ready to take a chance. The oranges hung for months, inedible but decorative. They might grow to 18 or 20 mms; their skins were thin, and if peeled, their bodies were tiny, segmented, juicy, but tart. They held seeds, that if planted might sprout. Usually I stuck the fruit back into the dirt and hoped for the best.
Starts here
On to part 3
Comments
(8 total) Post a Comment
wow what an adventure. it sounds like you had a good time anyway. the countryside is really very beautiful. hmmm dont know if anyone was under the influence….but such beautiful scenery up in those parts. Your little orange tree sounds quite lovely. Was it very fragrant? that song was the bomb back then (smile)
Tuesday May 22, 2007 – 08:36am (EDT) Remove Comment
what a rhapsodic story…what I love about it is the way how it turns psychedelic here and there, and then smoothly shifts back to normal…glad to find others who write “real fiction” :))) on 360…
Tuesday May 22, 2007 – 02:50pm (CEST) Remove Comment
What a time, in spite of all those women in your bed and the fact he used your camera, you seem to have had a good time. That must have been quite a trip to California. I never heard of anybody having an orange tree at home. Again we can see the apartment and the orange tree ( the marijuana pots in the attic too), tha cats, the sunset and even Patricia Witherspoon floating in the creek. Have a wonderful evening.
Tuesday May 22, 2007 – 10:24pm (BST) Remove Comment
Your “Flower Child” is fully blooming in all its naked details taking us on a delightful “Hippie” trip..Papa
Tuesday May 22, 2007 – 05:59pm (PDT) Remove Comment
I’m not liking the Patricia Witherspoon part, but loved the rest! So descriptive, and definitely groovy! Red clogs, awesome. Great music too, I haven’t heard it before. It fits perfectly. Hugs!
Tuesday May 22, 2007 – 09:54pm (EDT) Remove Comment
loved the music, and the writing, brutally honest and “citrus” colored! You have a gift with writing all right!
Wednesday May 23, 2007 – 01:00am (CDT) Remove Comment
Your descriptions are great, wonderful. Your writing: you know I love it. I wonder how you felt inside, but guess that is part of the next delivery.
Wednesday May 23, 2007 – 02:07pm (CDT) Remove Comment
Wow…Great story telling…I love it… going to read part 3 right now. 🙂
Thursday May 24, 2007 – 01:24pm (PDT) Remove Comment