I just saw Charlie in the hallway. Sad, sick, and near death, someone had left Charlie by the trash pile near the elevator.

He came to us sometime in the space between Thanksgiving and Christmas; my roommate brought a dried-out, wilted and very close to death palm tree (if "tree" is the correct word in this case; I'm not sure it is. Large potted palm plant?) into our room. She we should save him.

We gave him food and drink and decorated his tiny body with bits of garland for Christmas, and named his sickly but loveable frame after Charlie Brown's infamous tree. I thought my roommate was being overly ambitious (among other things) but she swore he'd flourish under her care.

Flourish he did—for a few weeks at least.

He joined his foster brother, Speakman II (the tiny sprout that lived in the shadow of, and ultimately out-lasted, an ill-fated Bonsai tree, named for our freshman hall) in a hallowed place of greenery in our living room (read: on top of a cardboard-box-turned-end-table) and grew strong, straight and many dark green leafy branches.

When we threw our Christmas party, we decorated him with candycanes (since now, he had grown strong enough to support their weight) and recieved many compliments on our fine, fine tree. I wrapped presents and put them underneath him when it came time for that. He was happy, he was loved. He was our Charlie.

But something happened between Christmas and now, and I am somewhat alarmed and embarassed to say I didn't see it coming. Oh, sure, I noticed when I got back from break he didn't look quite so sturdy, but that's to be expected of a plant who hasn't been watered for a few days(and it really was just a few days, I assume, since our break was really only two weeks long, and Michelle cut hers even shorter).

But somewhere along the line, apparently, my roommate—who once heroically saved the plant from certain doom and lovingly revived him—delivered a fatal overdose of water to the helpless guy.

He no longer stands quite upright, Nancy and I noted the other night. He'd seen greener days. But I guess things were worse than I had suspected because just now, I found him abandoned in the hallway—once again. Michelle said he's beyond hope, and being far too lazy and not very good with plants (I once had a spider plant named Phineas who lived in a tragic bipolar life consisting of drought for weeks followed by extreme over-watering; he ultimately died when my sister thought "feeding" him milk might strengthen him, but instead produced a really, really bad smell) suppose I'll have to accept this diagnosis.

I just hope that whoever left Charlie out there in the first place will see his garland-decorated body out there and pause and wonder what the fuck happened to their plant.

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Replies: 1

Posted by stef @ 01/22/2002 07:41 PM EST