Flowering Roots

Renkai Luo

Maryjane looked into the normally-dim-to-save-battery computer screen, currently a bright ghostly rectangle of light that clashed jarringly with the yellow lamp on her desk. Waiting had grown past an expectation, already forming into something resembling a habit. As the seconds trickled by, she absentmindedly stared at the laptop that would have been replaced twice over had the university cared, as the creaky little thing somehow took a whole night to recharge but still died within the hour. Her desk was not much better, but the corner of the apartment with the best connection could only fit so much. For such things, the only flicker of agency lay in how she arranged what she had. Her appearance was a different story. Though her clothes may have been bargain bin purchases, she had free reign over everything but the price: they were freshly washed, free of wrinkles, and expertly paired. It was all she could do, and she did all of it. The same was true with her makeup, which she had mastered when she and Indy moved out for college, subtle and magnificent just like the one housewife they used to see every market morning that Indy so admired. Marie worked hard so that everything she could control was perfect for these brief moments.

They only had one call a week, as any other time one of them was busy with something. Something, such a simple word, held so much weight now, so many layers, like a thick sludge that froze them in place and barely allowed them to breathe. Maryjane balanced work with her studies, while Indy balanced work with her two children. How was it that they had ended up on two different roads, their paths growing farther and farther apart? True, it had taken some effort to convince Indy, but they had left town holding hands on that lonely bus, falling asleep together as the rolling fields turned into flat lawns and then into weeds in the sidewalk.

Somewhere, some time since then, things went wrong. Every time Maryjane wanted to blame it on Indy’s husband, she remembered how much Indy had dreamed of falling in love as a girl, how she longingly looked at the housewife every market day. Every time she wanted to blame it on the folks back home with all of their endless letters clamoring that they settle down and have kids, she remembered that Indy had always wished to be a mother too. Even when Maryjane felt like there was only herself to blame, all the extra practice and late night studying and no-I-can’t-talk-today-maybe-next-week that pushed the two of them apart, she remembered that she was the only one who had ever really been interested in moving beyond that little town. Indy–Indigo was just like her name, content to thrive in the countryside amidst the ever-growing fields of purple flowers, alive without grand ambitions. That last thought was what really troubled Maryjane. Maybe this would have happened sooner or later with Indy, no matter what she did or where she went. The only thing that was in her control was how she prepared between these calls.