Housemate

Written for NYC Midnight #MicroFictionChallenge250, November 2019
Also available in audio on the podcast Story Time with Darcie: Episode 1.

by Darcie T. Kelly

When it takes residence on my kitchen table, I ignore Plant, as instructed. I pretend it hasn’t invaded my space. Doesn’t demand my care, my attention. But its presence taunts me, and now I’m trapped in a staring contest. With a god-damned plant. Without eyes!

I’m accustomed to depending on no one, and, in turn, appreciate that no one depends on me. It works well. This mutual ambivalence between me and the world. I stick to my corner and the world sticks to its.

And now, here’s Plant.

In my space.

Staring.

The pressure of its expectation builds until … “What do you want from me?” I bellow, because volume matters to a plant without ears. Plant’s serenity is unchanged by my outburst. I pace, skirting boxes, breathing deeply, throwing an occasional glance at Plant.

When she’d brought Plant, I’d challenged Corry. “A living thing? In here?” Fear wrapped in a joke. She believed the façade. When she left me alone with it, I hyperventilated.

 “Just ignore it,” Corry advised. “If you decide to be friends, give it some water.”

The memory soothes me. Her voice a tonic. Damn! I’m dedicated to her!

 “Plant,” I start, “I guess we’re stuck with each other.” I’m dribbling water on Plant when Corry returns. I rush to help with the final load.

“Welcome home,” I enthuse, lifting her, spinning her, feet whacking boxes with each rotation.

“Are you ready for this?” she asks.

I glance at Plant. “Yeah,” I answer. “We got this.”