In Bloom

Week #2
(B is for bougainvillea, boomerang and bifurcate)

Sprinkled with papery scarlet blooms, the bougainvillea formed the lintel of the garden gate. The gate itself was wood, roughened and cracked after years of harsh sun and driving rain. It screeched in complaint whenever the caretaker bothered to close it, so he didn’t often. It was his way of encouraging others – mostly the kids – to enjoy the garden. Jake’s employer, the landowner, lived in California and rarely visited. Jake was paid to keep the grounds neat, the trees pruned, and the garden lush. The day he fished the boomerang down from the sweet gum, he knew the garden had uninvited guests. From that point, he left the garden gate ajar. Nearly every day since, he noticed footprints in the moist dirt by the fountain. A jacket might get left beside one of the apple trees, their low-lying branches perfect for young climbers. Or he might find an empty water bottle stashed in the crook of the dogwood. Jake placed these objects beside the gate when he left for the day, and they were always gone by the time he returned.
One September, when Jake had been caretaker for four years, the California owner called to say he was selling the property. He was sorry, but Jake had one more week on the payroll. That’s all the notice he could give. Stunned, Jake walked the garden, circling the fountain again and again and alternating between the left and right fork of the path. He felt grafted to the place. By leaving, he would be ripping out a piece of himself – would it grow back?
On his last day, Jake pushed the gate open as wide as it could go. His jacket sleeve brushed the woody bougainvillea stock, and the thorns tore a small hole in the fabric. The threads caught by the plant rippled in the breeze.