Copyright 1997(c)

                        THE SITTING GARDEN
                         by Katrina Prado
 

         I thought Mrs. Lamb was gonna ruin my life.  It was summer
vacation.  I was lookin' forward to sittin' by the marshes behind
Washington Park, smokin' doobies with Eddy Miller.  I was a sophomore and
he was a senior and he was the cutest guy I ever saw.

         Anyway, I come home one day and tell Ma that Phoebe and Tiffany
were gonna be takin' swim lessons at Franklin Pool.  Sounded kinda fun to
me.  But I shoulda known Ma would go and do somethin' crazy.  Next thing I
knew, she called some stupid church group.  They got somethin' called
Youth In Action and I'm supposed to go to somebody named Mrs. Lamb's house
every day for four hours for "enrichin' activities".  Ma works at the
Zippy Burger on Central.  She's the manager.  Seems like she's always
there.  Never knew Daddy.  Ma says he's a good for nothin' son of a bitch.
He left her alone and pregnant in this dumpy town; shipped off on the U.S.S.
somethin' or other and she ain't never heard from him since.

         Anyways, like I was sayin', first day of summer vacation and
there I am, ridin' over to Mrs. Lamb's house to meet her and see what sort
of "enrichin' activities" I'm supposed to be doin'.  She's this old lady,
I mean ancient.  She wore black old lady shoes and whatever she got on her
legs made 'em look fake or somethin'.  Her hands were old lookin' and
wrinkly.  "Morning honey," she says just like she's my grandma or
somethin'.  Takes me into her backyard and my eyes bug out.  She's got
plants and flowers and shit growin' everywhere.  Looks like the goddamn
Fourth of July.  'Cept near this one fence, there's just this big square a
dirt with a bench in the middle.  "We're going to build a sitting garden,"
she says.  She got this shed, or somethin' and it's full a plants she says
is gonna be part a this "sittin' garden".  "First," she says, "we prepare
the soil." She hands me gloves and a shovel and points me towards this
wheelbarrow.  It was full of shit!  Mrs. Lamb called it 'cow manure', but
it was shit.  I worked my ass off that first day, cursin' Ma and Mrs. Lamb
the whole time.

         Every day I showed up, diggin' and plantin' and weedin'.  I musta
planted a hundred plants and flowers in that old dirt patch.  Felt like a
slave or somethin' thinkin' that old lady's probably laughin' her ass off,
watchin' me do my "enrichin' activities".  I'd get so grimy, felt like I
had more dirt than spit in my mouth.  "Now, let's plant this jasmine next
to the trellis behind the bench," she said.  That's how her whole back
yard was.  One loopy leafed plant windin' around another.  Things growin'
up fences, you couldn't tell where one thing stopped and another started.

         Mrs. Lamb had vegetables and apricot trees too.  Some days I'd
climb trees and pick fruit.  Them apricots, the ones with a touch of red
on 'em like they been kissed by the sun, they was the best tastin' things
I ever ate.  "Next week," she told me, "we'll secure the bougainvillea to
the house." She needed my help on accounta the arthritis in her hands, I
didn't know the names of hardly anything so I just stood there lookin' at
my dirty shoes.  My eye caught the ivy so I asked about it.  "The ivy's
doing fine." She looked at me and smiled and brushed the hair outta my
eyes with her hand.

         Fridays were different.  Mrs. Lamb made lemonade and chocolate
chip cookies and we'd sit on the back porch.  She'd talk about the past,
At first, I tuned her out, thinkin' about what Eddy Miller was doin'.  But
sometimes I listened.  I found out that Mrs. Lamb used to have two
children, a boy and a girl.  But the little boy got hit by a car and
killed when he was five.  I also found out that her husband died of cancer
ten years ago.  And I learned that no matter what happened in Mrs. Lamb's
life, she just kept livin' through it all.

         One day I woke up and said to myself, I ain't goin' to that damn
woman's house.  I'm gonna hang out at Washington Park.  But I knew the
real reason was 'cause I wanted to see Eddy Miller.  Once I got to the
park, I couldn't stop myself.  Went straight to the marshes and sure enough
there he was with his friends.  Billy, Claude and Fat Sam.  I rode by,
pretendin' not to be interested.  I heard Eddy call my name.  I looked
over at him in his leather vest.  His hair so black it looked like it had
blue streaks runnin' through it.  "Want to smoke some grass?" The other
guys laughed.  I laughed too, 'cept I didn't know what for.  I parked my
bike and walked over like I was the coolest girl in town.  I'd never
smoked pot before, but I seen Ma and her boyfriends do it all the time.
They'd suck in and then stop fast like they got a pain in their side and
then sit there.  Then they'd let out the smoke real slow and sometimes Ma
would start gigglin' so hard she'd start cryin' like she couldn't stop.
Then her boyfriend would get mad, sometimes he'd leave.  Ma would just sit
there, cryin' like a baby.

         I wasn't gonna cry.  Eddy lit the 'oint, took a long drag, then
handed it to me.  My first hit I had to fight like hell to keep from
coughin' it all out.  Felt like I was a big black chimney inside.  Claude
and Fat Sam looked at me and smiled.  I felt dizzy, like my brain was
gonna spill outta my head and I woulda sold my soul for somethin' to
drink.  A few minutes later, Eddy's all over me, tryin' to stick his
tongue in my mouth, his hand like a vacuum cleaner, tryin' to gobble me
up.  Normally, I mighta tried somethin' like that, but Mrs. Lamb's face
kept poppin' in my head.  Her in that garden tryin' to pull them weeds
with them wrinkly old hands a hers.  I couldn't take it.  I got away from
Eddy, hopped on my bike and rode around till dark.  Next day, I told Mrs.
Lamb I'd been sick, which was kinda true 'cause I'd thrown up in the
parking lot of Safeway after I'd left Eddy Miller.

         That Friday Mrs. Lamb asked if she could French braid my hair.  I
told her no one ever done nothin' to my hair before.  Most days I'd forget
to even brush it.  Took a long time on account a my hair had so many knots
and rats.  When I saw what she'd done, I couldn't hardy even recognize
myself There were pink and yellow ribbons in the braid.  "Why,don't you
look just like a pretty little flower,"she said.  I really liked that
braid.  "Come on, let's have our lemonade and cookies in our sitting
garden."

         That weekend I realized there was only one more week till school.
I wondered what Mrs. Lamb would have me doin'.  All them vegetables was
gone.  Apricots too.  Monday mornin' I'm headin' there, not thinkin' 'bout
a thing when I see strange cars in front of Mrs. Lamb's house.  I knock on
the door instead of just goin' round to the backyard 'cause the hairs on
the back of my neck felt kinda prickly.  A sad lookin' woman answered the
door, her eyes all red lookin'.  "Yes?" She says real low.  I didn't know
what to say.  "I'm here from Youth in Action." Her sad eyes scared me.  I
said, "I work at enrichin' activities with Mrs. Lamb." The lady's eyes
filled with tears, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Lamb died Saturday night." She closed
the door in my face like I'm nobody.  I stood there starin' at that door
for I don't know how long.

         I told myself I was free.  No more dirt, or sweatin', or cow
manure.  I told myself I could spend all week with Eddy Miller, but that
didn't work either.  All I could think of was how pretty that sittin'
garden turned out and how I wasn't never gonna see it again.  That week I
looked at all the flowers in Washington Park and on accounta Mrs. Lamb I
figured out why they bloom.

                              END