Flower Definition & Symbolism 

Anemone: fragility, forsaken love & anticipation. Also known as the windflower.

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I don't know whether it's from the couch-spring that dug into my spine the entire night or the muggy humidity that's dribbled into the city, but this morning is shit. Maybe both are to blame.

Hunching over one of my dozens of houseplants on my balcony, I pour collected rainwater over the dry soil, the brown swathes of earth soaking up the liquid like a brand-new kitchen sponge. It's strange they're so dry; I only watered them yesterday. Or was it the day before? I don't know. Ugh. I've never been good at keeping on top of waterings; it was never my job to do so.

Soon, liquid seeps out of the base of the pot, filling up and pooling in a ceramic dish. I've watered this enough. I move onto the next one; a sad looking pilea, it's satellite dish leaves drooping sadly against the cloudy morning sun. This thing hates me. Too much sunlight, and the leaves crisp up like deep-fried chicken skin. Too little, and it melts it's leaves into grey-mud goops and sprouts the tiniest of shoots in their place. Shaking my head, I kneel beside the plant and tilt the watering can's head near the base of the plant stem.

That's four plants now that aren't happy with their accommodations. Viola gave them to me, hoping that I'd be able to save them. What started out with a few dying leaves has now progressed into pot-shaped wastelands, bone-dry sand mixed with hollow sticks. Maybe I didn't water them enough. No, that's impossible--of those four, I attentively cared for them. Maybe they were just--

Ah, fuck. The pot has overfilled with water, and is now dripping onto my open-front sandals. My socks suck in the liquid, my toes squelching against the fabric and the sole. Ugh, for fuck's sake.

Setting the watering can down, I hobble toward a nearby bench, the liquid dribbling deeper as my feet press down onto the balcony floor. Unclipping the buckles, I remove my shoe, sighing to myself at the state of my foot. A bead of water drips down and splashes on the concrete, and I contemplate ditching my sock over the balcony. Maybe if it hits someone, I'll feel better.

Before I can peel it off, I hear Roxanne's heavy panting and brace myself. She comes bounding out into the balcony from the loungeroom doorway, kicking up a wet cloud of dirt onto my lap as her legs skid across the paving. My eye twitches. The Beagle cross German-Shepherd stares at me with her tongue hanging out from the side of her face.

I peel off the sock. and it's like I'm pulling a band aid off a very old crusty wound. Gross. Great--now I'll have to wear my other backup sock to work later. It's basically a fishnet; there are so many holes in it.

Before the other one can get soaked in another watering mishap, I take it off and turn around in my seat, tossing the two shoes and socks near the doorway to dry. As I go to stand, Roxanne moves between my legs and rests her head on my thigh, big golden eyes begging me for a pat. I relent, and gently scratch the spot behind her only working ear. She rolls her head into my palm, and I almost forget the dust cloud she had covered me with.

"I'll take you for a walk after work, girl. Just need to water my plants."

Carefully getting up, Roxanne moves back and settles in a corner of the balcony, watching me move from plant to plant with the remaining rainwater in the can. I reach my favourite red Dahlia shrub and empty the last of the water into the soil. I refrain from stroking and talking to the leaves; Roxanne might think I'm weird.

Feeling an urge, I sit down on my stool and place the can down, pulling out my cigarette pouch from my trouser pocket and roll it out in front of me. It's part of my routine; a smoke after I water the outside plants. It lets me re-centre myself before I go in and water the rest and get ready for work. Producing a paper, I get a pinch of tobacco out, sealing the ciggie with some saliva. Roxanne comes and sits next to me as I stick it in my mouth and light the tip of it, taking a long drag, watching the smoke dissipate into the air.

For the slightest moment, I imagine Emmett swatting the cigarette out of my mouth. He would never approve of this; but he's not here anymore, so what the hell?

I take another drag, forcing out the thoughts of him and focusing on the grey curls of smoke twisting in the air around me. There must be a storm brewing--hopefully it doesn't rain on the way home today. If it does, maybe I'll go wait it out at Viola's nursery. I dunno. I'm out of TV shows to watch, and the longer I sit on the couch, the worse sleep I'll get afterward. Ugh. I'll think about it. That's a future Samnang problem.

After a few minutes of quiet, I take my last drag from the cigarette and stuff the filter into a nearby ashtray. Roxanne senses my movement and gets up, waiting by the door for me to follow her. I don't keep her waiting for long; I slide the loungeroom door open, bringing the can of water in with me as Roxanne sprints to the bedroom, pushing the door out of her way.

I pass a miniature palm tree in the centre of the room; hopefully the humidity of my apartment is doing it some favours. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I tilt and pour water into the soil, shoving a nearby washing basket out of the way just as a few stray beads of water roll down the neck of the can and drip onto the leather couch. I sigh. Should I wipe it? No, it'll evaporate. It'll be fine. Maybe I should have left the clothes where they were; it's not like I know if those are clean or not. Whatever. It'll be fine.

Palm tree satisfied, I move towards the Devil's Ivy creeping up against the wall of the apartment, keeping my head down and focused on the pot. I need to take the nearby photo frames on the wall down at some point. I can't help but let my eyes stray towards one particular photo of Emmett; my heart throbs under my ribcage as my eyes follow his smile from corner to corner.

I'll get rid of the photos tomorrow. Maybe on the weekend. It's on my to do list.

Water halfway gone, I narrowly avoid stepping on a stray Christmas baubel, inching around the Christmas tree that still sits in the corner of my apartment to mark the next day on my calendar. March 19th; it's been nearly five months. I look at the tree, and shrug.

I nudge one of the unopened Christmas presents under the tree with my toe, and I blink, letting any thoughts of taking the tree down die as I speed away with my watering can.

I'm about to water a plant in the kitchen when Roxanne creeps out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open. I sigh to myself as she settles in front of the balcony door, curling into a tight circle and immediately falling asleep. I wish I were a dog; they have it so easy.

Ugh. I need to remember to install the doggy door. I don't want to look inside the bedroom; best to close it.

I extend my arm behind me, not bothering to look as I set the can down on the kitchen island. I take a step, but I hear something tip, as well as an irritating splash of water. I turn on my heel and watch liquid streak across the countertop, falling off the edge and sinking into my carpeted floor. I rush back, quickly grabbing a towel from the washing basket next to the palm tree.

I flick the towel over the countertop like a silk tablecloth, dark patches spreading over the fabric as the liquid gets absorbed. Patting down the edges, I go to remove the towel, but a sickening scent of wet dog and eucalyptus leaves linger in the air. I pick up the towel and sniff it, and it hits me that this is the one I used to wash Roxanne a few days ago.

I haven't done washing in that long?! Oh God. Gross.

Gagging, I throw the soaked cloth back into the basket. A few water droplets remain on the counter; my feet take me to the paper towel roll near the fridge. This'll do.

When everything is dry and back to normal, I sit on a barstool, propping my head up on my hands and elbows, sighing. I glance at the clock--twenty minutes till my shift starts. It takes me ten to get there by car; I should get ready soon. Ugh.What's the rush? The manager at Croles doesn't care if I'm late; she doesn't even show up half the time anyway for her shifts. I'll be fine.

I grab the soaked paper towels and throw them in the bin. I'm about to pick my can up when I see something glimmer near my keys.

Oh shit. Did this get wet?

Frantic, I pick up the VHS tape and cover it with another square of paper towel. One corner of it soaks immediately with water, and my heart nearly stops in my chest. No. This really cannot get wet. What the hell was it doing in the kitchen?

The tape now dry, I walk into the living room and prop it up against my TV stand. The words To Samnang are smudged beyond recognition now, but From Emmett still clearly paint the bottom half of the tape's label. My breath quickens as I glance at Emmett's nearby VHS player. Not today. I have too much on my list. I'll watch it later. Not now, not yet. My eyes begin to well, so I stand up and walk over to the bedroom door, slamming it shut before sinking to the ground. A choked sob comes out as I bring my knees to my chest, wrapping them close with my shaky arms. I sink my head down, tear-covered eyes looking down into my lap.

Maybe I should call in sick for work.

I look up. In the time it took me to shut the door and sit, Roxanne must have gotten up and walked over to me. Head tilted, she looks at me with wide eyes before placing a paw on my foot. I start to chuckle as I pat her, making her tail thump hard on the carpet over and over again.

"Thank you, girl. I love you. Go back to rest."

Knees wobbling, I stand up, wiping away the last of my tears. Walking back into the kitchen, I pour the last of the water into the final plant. Weakly smiling to myself, I toss the can into the kitchen sink and walk towards the laundry, digging through the dryer. It's time for work.

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A/N: Howdy! How did y'all find this chapter?

Sam is a very emotionally complex character, and I hope I've begun to portray that well. Next chapter, we'll be exploring his work life, then we'll get to meet the deuteragonist of the story; Sam's best friend, Viola. Are you excited?

Impatient on waiting for the next chapter to release? Chapter 2 is available to read on my Patreon, silver tier and higher. If you want to read the next part in advance, consider subscribing!

At the end of every part, I'll be posting a 'Question of the Chapter' so I can see know your thoughts & get to know all of my readers.

QOTC: Do you have a pet dog? Have they ever helped you out of an emotional moment?

Until next time,
Jacob Sinne x