by James Bates
camomile tea
Alicia
Jorgenson set the cup down and said, "Here you go, Blake. Here's some nice
chamomile tea for you."
Blake held up a hand in
acknowledgment, smiled his thanks, and said in a low voice, "Come and join me.
This will be done in just a minute." Then he closed his eyes and went back to
his relaxation tape, ear buds firmly in place, listening to the melodic strains
of "Trickling Forest Stream."
Alicia went to the kitchen, made
herself a cup, came back to the den and sat down. She wasn't sure what to think
about her husband, recovering now from the mild heart attack he'd suffered six
weeks earlier in the summer; a heart attack brought on by his obsession with his
garden and with ridding it of the female rabbit and her babies that had taken
over eating, it seemed, everything in sight. He'd wanted to win first place in
the garden contest after settling for second place last year. Well, this year
he'd placed third.
Alicia remembered the outcome of the
judging very well. At the time, Blake had been into his second week of recovery.
When the announcement was made, Alicia had expected him to explode and rant and
rave and go on a rampage. It would have been par for the course given his highly
strung and competitive nature. But he hadn't even gritted his teeth or swore an
oath of revenge. Instead, completely out of character, he'd shrugged his
shoulders and grinned, "We'll, at least it's something," meaning the third place
award, a simple plaque, not the shining gold trophy he'd envisioned. It was so
out of character for him that she'd had to look twice to see if the tall,
slightly overweight person she'd been married to for over forty years really
was, in fact, the same man. He was. Maybe, Alicia thought to herself, as she
went back to sipping her tea in companionable silence while Blake finished
listening to the trickling stream, maybe he really was starting to
change.
At just that
moment, Becky Johnson and Maggie Jones, two old friends who had outlived each of
their respective husbands by over twenty years, were walking past the
Jorgenson's house.
"Look at how lovely the pink
geraniums and vinca vine are doing in those hanging baskets," Becky
remarked.
"Humph. That Blake, he's such a
jerk," Maggie rejoined, "Thinks he knows everything about gardening."
"Well, his flower beds do look
awfully nice."
"He's just so full of himself. He
doesn't even bother to help out at the community garden. He's a jerk in my
book."
Becky grinned. Deep down she agreed
with Maggie's assessment of their arrogant neighbor, but she occasionally
enjoyed winding her friend up. It was easy to do, too, since Maggie had opinions
on nearly everything and everybody under the sun, Blake Jorgenson being near the
top of the list. Not that either of them were happy he'd suffered his heart
attack, not at all. Neither of them had mean spirited bone in their body. But they
both secretly agreed that Blake really was, in their opinion, a little too big
for his britches. Plus, the fact that the heart attack, which had been brought
on when he'd freaked out over what he referred to as "That Damn Rabbit," well,
you had to admit, in the right context, it was kind of funny.
That being said, Becky pointed and
grinned. There was the aforementioned rabbit, calmly nibbling contentedly on one
of Blake's orange nasturtiums. She was about to shoo it away when Maggie put her
hand on her friend's arm to stop her. Becky just grinned, "Okay. He does sort of
deserve it, doesn't he?"
The two smiled at each other and
continued walking on, arm in arm, happily enjoying the tranquility of a quiet
August morning, ambling down the street and away from both Blake's garden and
the healthy looking rabbit, who, having finished with the nasturtiums was now
moving on to some delectable looking bachlor buttons.
Inside the
Jorgenson home, Blake's tape had ended. He happened to glance outside and spied
the two elderly ladies. "Look at those two old bitties," he said to Alicia.
"God, they're so high and mighty." He took a gulp of his supposed relaxing tea,
choked on it a little and coughed.
Alicia leaned over and patted him on
the back. "Blake, calm down. You know what your doctor said."
"I know, 'You've got to try and
learn how to relax and mellow out,'" he said, in a sing-song voice, mimicking
the words of Dr. Rose, a doctor chosen by Blake as much for his last name as for
his medical acumen, "I'm trying."
Alicia took a sip of her tea, "I
know you are dear, but you really do need to try harder. Especially when it
comes to your gardening. It's supposed to be fun, you know. Relaxing. A
hobby."
Blake gazed at his wife with
affection. Of course she was right. He wasn't a dummy. He knew he that for the
sake of his health he needed to learn how to relax, but it was hard. If it
wasn't for That Damn Rabbit, he'd have won first place in the garden show this
year: A big, shining, golden trophy instead of that stupid wooden plaque.
Everyone said he deserved it. But, no, Mrs. Bunny Rabbit had chosen this summer
to not only return to the neighborhood, but to have about a million babies, all
of which she brought over to feed on his prized flowers. Damn it, life just
wasn't fair. He felt himself getting worked up all over again. Alicia was right.
He really did need to learn to calm down; to mellow out, as the doctor had
said.
He took a deep breath and slowly
exhaled, "I know, dear," he said, sighing. "I hear what you're saying." He took
another sip of his chamomile and grimaced, coughing slightly.
Alicia stood up. "Well, that's good.
Now, I've got some errands to run. I'll be stopping at the grocery store. Need
anything?"
How about a shotgun for That Damn
Rabbit, Blake thought to himself, but, instead, said, "No. I'm good." He paused
and added, smiling, half-way joking, half-way not, "How about maybe something
stronger than this tea?" He grinned and mimicked a drinking motion.
"Blake," Alicia admonished him, "You
know what the doctor said."
"I know. No booze. No red meat. No
nothing fun. I get it. Tea and saltines." He sighed again, starting to feel just
ever so slightly sorry for himself.
"It's not that bad. All of us just
want you to get better, you know." She bent to give him a kiss on the forehead,
"I'll see you in a little while." She patted him on the arm, "Good bye,
dear."
Blake waved goodbye and returned to
his iPod and his relaxation music. He scrolled down the playlist until he found,
"Soft Springtime Rain," and set it playing. He sat back and closed his eyes,
dreaming of better days; better days when that rabbit was finally gone. They
couldn't come soon enough as far as he was concerned. It was frustrating. All
the time he put into his garden, gone to waste. Third place. What a
disappointment. Alicia didn't care about the award, she just liked to garden.
Maybe he should be more like her. Food for thought. On the other hand, maybe he
really should get a gun and blow the rabbit to Kingdom Come. He thought about it
for minute, picturing a gut dripping, intestine spilling, disgusting bloody
scene. No. He could never harm any animal, even the rabbit, much as he despised
the infernal beast. Maybe he really should learn how to relax. Yes, that would
be the best thing to do. He sighed once again, leaned back in his chair and
drifted off to sleep, the sound of soft summer rain pitter-pattering in his
ears.
Blake didn't see, and it was
probably a good thing, too, but out in the garden the female rabbit that Maggie
and Becky had seen was still there, only now her four babies had joined her.
They moved as a group, happily feeding on newly sprouted bachelor buttons and
whatever other delectable treat they could find. The choices were endless. After
a few minutes, before they became too full, the big female gathered her young
ones to her and led them away. She had learned over time to never completely eat
all the food in a given location. She always left some for another day, and
that's what she did now.
She began making her way to a field
across the street and the next block over, down by the railroad tracks. The red
clover there was sweet and tasty, a nice change from the flowers in the man's
garden. In fact, maybe she'd just leave the flower garden alone for the rest of
the season. There was whole summer's supply of clover fresh for the taking in
the field. She could always come back. Anytime. If not this summer, for sure
next year. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the
idea.
As she hopped along she kept her
eyes peeled, senses alert: there were cats in the neighborhood, and a family of
fox in the area; there were cars to watch out for, and even young boys with bows
and arrows on the loose. She was an ever vigilant mother, and she did all she
could to feed and protect her little family.
As she cautiously crossed the final
street and made her way into the clover, she finalized her decision. She
wouldn't return to the man's garden. Instead, she'd graze in the clover field
for the rest of the season. But next year? Next year she'd be back, and maybe
with a new batch of babies. Why not? It made perfect sense. She liked almost all
the flowers in the man's garden. The food was both good for her when she was
nursing and nutritious for the young ones as they got older, a welcome change
from red clover. Besides, in a way she felt she owed it to the man to leave his
garden alone, especially since he had so thoughtfully planted all those
delectable flowers this year. It was almost like he had done it especially for
her.
So she wouldn't return to the man's
garden. This year. For she was patient rabbit. She could wait. But next year?
Yes, mostly definitely, next year she'd be back. There was no doubt in her mind
about that. None at all.
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