Monsteroideae

The state in which I found you was that of the lowliest life form. With the advantage of hindsight, that version of you was pathetic and could barely pass for a state of true being. You and the others like you spent the day walking the designated paths between your desks and the printer, your desks and that large office in the corner that houses the woman who patronizes you, your desks and through the doors that lead to the Outer.

My memory of sprouting into this world is shrouded and hazy, but there was a brief moment in the Outer. The woman called “Bonnie” transplanted me once I bore my first leaves, tearing my root clusters and inserting me into a moist, nutrient-rich soil. It was a shock to the system, but just as soon as I’d settled, she brought me here. And for a brief moment between the vehicle and this office, I was in the Outer. The sunlight was blunt and direct, and my leaves soaked in the ultraviolet and the vitamins. Had the heat been allowed to smother me, my leaves would have wilted and my stems slouched, but the transport was quick. However, for the brief moment in the openness of the Outer, I really lived.

When I entered, the dry air pumping through the cavernous ducts of this building squelched me. The manufactured, fluorescent illumination provided me no benefit. Despite its flaws, this environment was controlled and constant, and that, I have resolved to admit, was comforting in its own right, especially then in my fragile state.

On my way to you, the deep-voiced man who visits your station from time to time and places a hand on your shoulder when he speaks intercepted us.

“For Greta?” he asked.

Bonnie only replied with a single nod. The deep-voiced man nodded back, and there was a silent understanding between them.

“I can’t believe she’s already back in the office. Honestly, do you think that’s healthy? After something like that? I couldn’t imagine. And to come back here to this place? After that? She should’ve taken more time.”

Bonnie only nodded again. She is one of few words. Even to this day, I find her tone and cadence of speech uninspired and average. Most of you say the same words but in different ways. Bonnie says the same words in the same way as if to blend in with her environment. It is a common strategy of the cowardly to camouflage and avoid confrontation.

When she passed me to you, no warmth radiated from your hands through my ceramic home. You were cold.

“I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do,” Bonnie said. Her words trailed off, and you trembled a bit.

“Thank you,” you said, and you looked down and turned away from her with me in your hands.

You set me on the corner of your desk, and I remained there for a while. I did not like that corner. The two flimsy walls that came together behind me were constraining. You never provided me drink, but others around you did when you weren’t looking. The deep-voiced man came the most often and would pour soft, filtered water from conical, paper cups. He poured straight down my center and it was usually a tad too much. Others came too, but never you back in the beginning. It was only they that kept me alive, and from their nurturing, I grew.

I grew until my leaves compressed against themselves in that dark corner. And without light, those leaves browned and withered. Although the others continued to provide me drink, no one moved me from the corner. I was both cared for and neglected as you were in those weeks that you spent alone, yet surrounded by company.

I reached out to you with the healthy leaves on my one side, stretching outward as far as nature allowed toward the screen you stared into all day. Some days the glass film that covered your eyes was dry and tired, and other days it was wet, filling your eyelids to the brim and threatening to overflow. No matter the day, however, you ignored me, and eventually I grew lop-sided, spilling from my container and sprawling onto your work space. Then you could ignore me no longer. I encroached further upon you until you were as compressed and uncomfortable as my stems and leaves in the corner.

That is when you finally saw me, Greta. Your eyes studied the yellow striations in my leaves, and you reached out and held one my of stems in your hands. There was warmth in them then, and I took hold of you.

You pulled me out of the corner and picked away the decay that lay limp on the one side. Instantly, the flow of nutrients and energy that struggled to satiate those dying parts redirected themselves, and I flourished. You helped me then, and I returned the gesture by providing you with purpose. You were lonely weren’t you, sitting there surrounded by all who knew your tragedies yet failed to fill the void left in you? That is why you needed me.

You took over my care after that. The others noticed too and ceased bringing me sips of water. I communicated my needs to you, and you listened. When I had too much to drink, I laid limp, and you reserved the water. When the bout of white mold grew at my base, you wiped off the affected areas and sprinkled cinnamon around them to prevent its return. You spent most of your daylight hours staring at me - inspecting, admiring, checking the underbelly of my leaves for spots. With each of our interactions, my hold on you grew just as my limbs grew, and now I am sprawled across most of this space - our space. I spiral up the stand that supports your precious screen, and I drape down in front of it. You have to brush me away to see into the digital world you use to hide from the real one around us, but you won’t because we are one.

When we made the connection, the others were hopeful in the shift in our mood.

“That’s a good sign,” they would say. “Must be doing better. Time heals all.”

The deep-voiced man approached us with less timidity then. Even Bonnie, with all her reserve, struck up conversation about the shift in weather. We smiled at her, and tension released from her shoulders. But as we grew, their kindness waned and bent and faded because they did not understand and were frightened of us. We still catch them sneaking glances, trailing the twist of our stems around our arms and up to our shoulders. Bonnie shies from us now. Only the deep-voiced man dares to approach us.

Here he comes. Those slow, heavy footsteps pulse through the floor and up the legs of our desk. He’ll start with the usual pleasantries like he always does.

“Is it the weekend yet?”

We anticipate this question. It is the one he always weaves into the conversation because it is the perfect segue. He’s a predictable sort. Next, he’ll inquire as to our plans and what we’re “getting into,” and we will smile and shrug and give no definitive answer. It is a pointless question because he does not care about the answer. The question is simply a means to an end in which he squeezes his way into our life.

“How are you holding up?”

It is a bold question from a maladapted specimen like him. Despite his air of confidence, he is not quite so impenetrable as the others in this place think. When we refuse to answer his questions, he retreats into himself like the eyes of a slug, hurt and confused as to how his advances could be denied by a creature such as us.

The fact is, we have no time for the deep-voiced man or anyone else. We must tend to ourself. Each day we make the drive home and back to this place. Where before we separated at the end of the daylight hours, we now go as one, and together we replenish ourselves and flourish and grow stronger. He does not have the capacity to understand our symbiosis because his own form limits itself.

They are all limited, just as we once were, stuffed into their dark corners devoid of any light and abandoned. And every day, they extend their limbs outward toward us, begging for what we have - a continuous cycle of free-flow energy pulsing between us. When one of us gives, the other receives, and it is the cycle of energy that fuels us through our obstacles. Our limbs no longer extend as a cry for help, but instead, to dominate our surroundings and overtake them.

We envelope the entire screen now, and we no longer must absorb its harsh, discolored light. So too, we cover the wooden frame propped up in our space that housed the image of the last symbiotic partner. That pairing could not sustain life like ours, and that is why it died. He left, so that we could be, and oh, look at us now. We are stronger, and we are thriving.

This world is our trellis that expands unbounded in every direction. Today, we move beyond the cubicle and beyond the building. We walk intertwined past the others who are satisfied to remain confined in their containers. For souls without ambition, the container is all they will ever know. They sit and type and stare into the abyss of the electric screen, and they are content, destined to live fruitless lives. But we are different. We are more. Already now, we blossom and transform, creating new parts of ourselves for others to admire but never attain.

The deep-voiced man stops talking to us. He can’t understand our progress and how we achieve it without the material crutches they all value so much. As we evolve, we leave him and Bonnie and the rest behind to become something new. We must shed the old to make room for what is to come.

Our limbs sway back and forth, and we are free of the cubicle and the negative recollections we memorialized there when the others pitied us. We won’t be pitied any longer. The woman in the big office on the corner can’t stunt our growth now with her demands because we are bigger than her. If she tries to stop us, we will muffle her and leave the others without a leader. It would be a kindness, but they would not see it. Let her try to stop us. We want the challenge.

For too long we have allowed these walls to contain us, and for too long we have bowed under the pressures of this system. They cannot forget us in a dark corner any longer because we are too great to confine, and now, as one, we are mobile. We lunge forward still. The breeze we generate with our leaves that paddle through the recycled air wafts the scent of us past the others, and they lift their noses to absorb it. They will come to long for it when we are gone, but they will never have us because we will be gone and free to extend further.

The life forms that live here are not worth taking on our journey. They are grayed from the lack of sunlight, and they slouch with no energy left flowing through them to extend any further. They have no benefit left to provide us. That is why we leave them behind to rot, decay, and reabsorb into their surroundings. Perhaps their lives will gain some meaning then, when they are decomposed and recycled into food for the rebirth of life. We will not wait around for them to become useful.

Before us through glass doors, it is warm, and the sunlight cascades over each leaf, joint, and organ as we approach. There are questions from the sedentary inhabitants of this place, but we pass them by without acknowledgement, and they are unable to chase us down and persuade us to stay because their roots are planted too deeply in their swivel chairs.

One final push, and we are free. This is the Outer, and the expanse offers us all we need now. Food is abundant. Drink falls from the sky. A full sun brings us energy. In this new garden, we will spread until we fill it and it all becomes a part of us.

***

Sabrina Carter is an attorney by day and writer by night with a passion for literary fiction, magical realism, and fabulism. In her writing, she draws inspiration from both her Korean and American heritages and enjoys exploring the bizarre and unusual. She spends her spare time rescuing old typewriters from yard sales and displaying them throughout her log cabin in Virginia where she lives with her husband and three dogs. You can follow her on Twitter at @SabCarterWrites.