The Botanist

He needs the cherry tree to blossom. Right now, it is bare. It’s early March and his grandkids visit in a week. He’s standing on the sidewalk wearing a dull yellow sweater, tan slacks, and sneakers that haven’t been white for six years. In his hand is Suze’s hair dryer; its black cord is plugged into an orange extension cord that is plugged into a green extension cord that runs from the back of the garage out to the curb. He is working on the far side of the tree now. He moves the hair dryer from left to right and from his tip-toes to the lowest branches at shoulder level.

“Suze, could you get the ladder? I’m not gettin’ the top.”

This might take longer than he thought. He’s thinking about bringing out the space heater and running it overnight. Where did he see it last? It’s probably next to the broken microwave on the shelf above the water heater. Or maybe under the guest bed. If he runs it the whole night long the electric bill will be nuts. Still, he promised Sophia the cherry tree would be blooming. The look in her eyes when she’s smiling is worth a hundred utility bills.

This dachshund waddles up to the orange extension cord, sniffs it, and then over to the open earth around the tree. A young woman is talking into her phone as she walks with the pooch. She keeps moving but the dog stops and vigorously smells one of the roots. She’s almost to the corner when the dog lifts his leg. He glares at the dog. Seeing that she’s looking something up on her phone now, he takes the hair dryer and directs it right in the dog’s ass. The dachshund wiggles his tail and runs off towards the woman.

Suze steps out of the garage carrying the kitchen step stool. “Is that my hair dryer?”