The Bonsai Tree That Appeared in My Room is Growing...Strangely
Look. I’ve had my house checked for Carbon Monoxide, I’ve had a shrink check my head, nothing I do can explain what’s been happening to me. God above, I hope one of you has some idea what’s going on here. Maybe one of you can even help. Who am I kidding?
I work nights at a warehouse as a forklift operator. One day, inexplicably, I woke up for work, and found a bonsai tree sitting in the sill of my bedroom window. My parents are in their late 70s and live close by, and my mother is a touch senile. They have the keys to my house, so I simply brushed it off as her coming in and giving me a gift. An odd one certainly, but I love my mother, and at her age, occasionally you have to take what you can get. I figured I could just buy some supplies for the thing on my next day off. I got through my shift that night and came home around seven in the morning. Before falling asleep, I made sure to text my mother a quick thank you. The text read simply,
“Hey Mama, saw the plant you left for me when I woke up yesterday. I appreciate the thought you put in, and I'm gonna buy some supplies for it soon. Love ya.”
After hitting send, I made a list on my notes app of things I’d need to buy to take care of the tree, then put my phone on the nightstand next to my bed. Just as I was falling asleep, my phone buzzed, and in my haze, I picked it up. It was a reply from my mother,
“??”
I laughed a bit and shrugged it off. She’d already forgotten giving it to me, and I’d likely have some other strange bauble or knick-knack waiting for me when I woke up. Drifting off, I thought of when I was a boy, and dreamt of gardening with my mother. In the dream she showed me how to prune a plant, how to attach wire so it grows a certain way, how to graft branches. It was a pleasant dream, and when I awoke, she had left a set of beautiful shears next to the tree. I had a bit of time before I had to get ready for work that evening, so I watched a few beginner videos on tree care, and tried my hand with the scissors. I left that night with the tree looking a little barer, and perhaps a little sadder, but was eager to get better. One of my buddies at work, Jeff, caught me watching videos on my phone during break and teased me quite heavily, but I didn’t mind. I had found a new hobby to share with my mother, and he was getting divorced. Loser. Anyway, I went back home that night, and to my relief, the tree had recovered well since I’d been gone. New leaves were already budding where I’d made errant cuts a few hours prior, and I thought I even saw the start of a new branch.
Things went on like this for a week or so. I’d wake up, find my mother had left some new tool, try a few techniques, go to work, come home and fall asleep. Occasionally it seemed my mother was picking up the slack where I couldn’t, as some more expert cuts had been made on sections I wouldn’t even touch. This connection we had made me happy, so the next day off I got, I gave my mother a call.
“Hey Mama, how’ve you been”
“Oh fine. My shoulder has been bothering me lately, but I’ll manage.”
“I’ve really been enjoying playing plant tag with you recently” I chuckled a bit at my own stupid joke. “ The tree’s looking great thanks to you!”
“Uhm, I’m sorry? You mentioned that you’d gotten a tree before but I don’t remember much more than that.”
My heart sank a little. This went past old age forgetfulness and went straight to Alzheimer’s or Dementia. The idea of her completely forgetting driving over however many times she had made me feel a bit queasy. I ended the conversation as quickly and politely as I could and called my dad.
“Hey bud, what’s up.”
“Hey pops, you need to get Mom in to see a doctor.”
“Oh lord what now?”
“She left me a bonsai tree and-”
“Your mom’s weird like that, more importantly when was this?”
“That’s not what I mean, she left it for me, and has been giving me supplies to care for it, and has even been coming over and helping to prune the thing, but I just talked to her and she doesn’t remember any of this.”
My dad sighed heavily and tried to keep composure. He sounded heavy on the other end.
“We already took your mom to a doctor. I didn’t want to stress you out with it until we could tell you in person, but she’s got a pretty aggressive form of Alzheimer's. I’m sorry bud.” The news tore at me, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little relieved to finally have a diagnosis. My dad asked me again. “ Son. It’s really important you answer me here. When did this start happening?”
“Maybe a week and a half back, why?”
“Listen closely. We got the diagnosis a month ago and she hasn’t left my sight since.”
The pawn shop in town sold me a used 12 gauge pump action for one-hundred and fifty dollars, and threw in a box of buckshot for free. The locksmith that came that evening left a hundred dollars richer, and I started deadbolting my door. None of that matters, because from then on I’d wake up with dirt under my fingernails.
I’ve tried everything you can imagine. I started by trying to snap the trunk off the roots, but when I wrapped my hand around the base of the tree, something in me refused to move. I locked the thing in a closet, to try and kill it in the dark, tried leaving it at the curb with a poster next to it reading “FREE!!!”. No matter what I do, I wake up and find it back in the sun. Eventually I drove out to our small town’s only gardening store. The weedkiller was located at the back, but as I passed by the counter, the cashier waved to me.
“Good to see you!”
I waved back awkwardly, perhaps he was just overly friendly because he got so little business out here. Those thoughts were silenced when I put two things of Roundup on the counter.
“That all for you Mr. Graff?”
I paused and stared at the cashier as he got noticeably more nervous. My mouth was hung open and I shut it before replying,
“How the hell do you know my name?”
“I- you-” He was flabbergasted “You’ve come in here a few times now, I’ve even ordered some specialty stuff for you.” My face must’ve looked as pale as it felt as he said nothing more when I walked out without another word.
I’m sure I don't have to tell you that the weedkiller didn’t work. I stood over the pot for nearly half an hour with the jugs uncapped, just willing my wrists to point the spouts down and into the pot. The tree was just so beautiful. All the effort I’d put into it, and the verdancy of the leaves left me incapable of doing what I knew I should. Eventually, I just gave up and stored them in the garage, thinking maybe I’d care less about beauty when I was drunk. That night when I woke up, I found my shirt covered in mud and leaves, and the creases in my hand were brown with the outlines of dirt. When I sat up however, the tree was gone. It was dark, and lightly raining, but I showered anyway, lightning be damned. My relief at losing the tree made me feel about ten pounds lighter, and it wasn’t until I put on my work uniform that I realized I looked lighter too. Maybe that tree had given me something. The shift went by quickly that night and I came home in good spirits. The day was beautiful so I dialed my mother’s phone number and walked into my backyard for a pleasant call. As the phone rang I noticed it, and before my mother could pick up I hung up. The bonsai was there, in the middle of my yard, with larger limbs, and a bigger pot. I think I cried, but I’m not sure why. Maybe I could already tell by then, or maybe I was just trapped by its beauty once more.
I called off work with all of the PTO I had, and when that ran dry I faked sick. Eventually they sent a welfare check for me, and when the cops came and saw I was not dead, they left and my boss fired me. It's been maybe a month since. I’d spend most days out there in the yard with the weedkiller and a cooler of beers or a handle of whiskey. It wouldn’t matter how drunk I would get. My thought process was that I’d picked up some nasty women in my bar hopping days, so perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to kill the thing if I could look more than surface deep. The alcohol just made the tree prettier, and I would pass out and make sure the tree grew healthier, against my own will of course. By this time, the tree wouldn’t even let me touch it when I was conscious. I tried once to prune an errant twig, maybe in some desperate attempt to appease the thing for the transgressions I’d committed against it. The bonsai was swept with wind as I opened the shears, and its leaves laughed at me. Laughed. Sometimes I would stare at it and feel… hunger? I wasn’t eating much then, I could see what the tree was turning into. The bark of the branches warped into long fibers twisting over themselves. In the wind, the leaves would shake, and the bark would ripple. The trunk bisected towards the base of the tree, and met again in the middle. Two branches jutted from its shoulders and curved back into the trunk, over its top where a round shape grew.
The tree looked like a man. A man falling to his knees and sobbing into his hands. I sit now, and have no need to drink. The tree keeps me company after all. I think it loves me, some of the things it says
It wants me
to eat it
Like…a…bug