Tuesday, July 19, 2016


Now Playing: The Mountains - The Valleys

A little over a month ago, this man boarded the bus with a box full of roses--four for five dollars--and for whatever crazy coincidence, I had cash on me.

I never have cash on me. I can't even remember why I had dollar bills--I think I withdrew twenty dollars so I could buy something from the hot dog stand by the bus stop and then I kept carrying the change around for future hot-dog-stand purchases.

I know cut flowers don't last at all and I didn't--and still don't--know how to take care of them or even how to dry them properly. But I bought a small bouquet from the man because I liked the idea that I was in a place of my life where I could give away money for something that'll wither away in weeks, if not days.

I don't have a vase at my house because my parents aren't Plants for Decoration People (not even with fake plastic plants. Only fake greenery we have is our Christmas tree). So I looked up a WikiHow article, trimmed the stems at an angle, grabbed a thermos,  filled it with water, and added a spoonful of brown sugar because I'd read the flowers would appreciate that.

I set them by my pile of library books, and a day later, a tiny spider appeared by my window.

I named him Hector because he kinda looked like a Hector and decided not to disturb him because it looked like he was admiring my flowers. Few days later I saw him hanging out above my shower curtain, and while I don't think badly of spiders, they do freak me out. Reading too much about them or seeing pictures of spiders gives me chills all over and my brain starts hallucinating that there are teeny, tiny spider legs crawling over my arms and legs.

But I didn't have time to freak out or find the polite way to get Hector out of there before taking a shower, so I kinda let him hang around while I got ready for work.

When I came back home that afternoon, he was by the balcony window, on the other side of the glass. I lied down by the window and watched him for a moment, noting how it looked like he was floating above the landscape. I'm certain it was Hector--same shape, same weird pattern on his body, same size. I remember thinking it was kind of amazing such a tiny creature had crossed the entire apartment, but when I commented that to my brother, he just said, unimpressed, "He had all morning to get there."

I've seen Hector a couple of times since. Him or his doppelganger. Usually by the balcony window, separated by the glass. The flowers are dead now--I think they lasted me something like two or three weeks--but Hector comes and goes. He hasn't gone back to my room, though, and I'm thinking it's because I don't have anything beautiful there for him.

It's kind of strange. Spiders are really off-putting and I can't get close to him because the way he moves and looks freak me out a bit. I can't even take a picture of him. But I wish I had more flowers for him.

I liked the idea of being in a position where I didn't have to double think spending five dollars for four dying roses. But I like the idea of befriending a spider and buying roses for him even more.

Too bad the man in the bus only sells mangos as of late.

I wonder if the roses weren't selling very well.

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