Berries Exist
by BorrowLucid
“But, you said you loved me, like two minutes ago.”
“I do, but I just don’t feel like things are working out. I’m sorry.” He gave me intentional eye contact from the video, like he had practiced in the mirror before calling.
“Is it because I travel so much? I’m going home in a few days and staying for a couple months, maybe 10 weeks.” Zipping up my hoodie to look down for a moment, I tried to shake away any tears.
“If you can’t feel it too, then it kinda validates my feelings, doesn’t it? If we were in sync, you’d have been responding already.”
“I don’t understand that.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to go now. It’s late here.”
“What? Should I call when I land on Monday?”
“Uhm, text maybe?” His finger got big on the screen. “Good night Greg, or good morning in your time.”
“Good night.”
That’s it.
The ceiling is so smooth in this room, probably designed for low maintenance cleaning and whatever happens on a ceiling. Corners are always just a little darker. Can light change directions, or does it get lost, bouncing back and forth inside right angles? Probably the opposite.
Can’t stay here; numbing vices are too tempting. The closest Potluck isn’t too far though, maybe half a mile or so. Chilly sunny weather means sunglasses and a hoodie are totally normal.
Made a few wrong turns, which happens often when I’m traveling, but the loading dock door was wide open, with hanging plants and astro turf, like a red carpet.
“Welcome.” Another hoodie and sunglasses greeted me. Pulling out my Potluck app, attestations from Potlucks and friends, since my mom started bringing me to these shared gathering spaces as a child, validated my trustworthiness to enter. “Sweet,” she said. “Whatcha bring?”
I held up my two hands and waved them, ready for exertion.
“Damn, we could use some of that!” She hopped off her stool and waved me to follow. “Been to our Potluck before?”
“No, just in town for another couple days.” Keeping up with her pace put a skip in my step.
“Cool, let me show you around a bit. When you’re done in the garden, what were you thinking to do?” Sunglasses on her head, she looked over her shoulder and pointed to the cafe counter.
I nodded and gave her a thumbs up. “Probably just on my laptop, but I don’t want to be alone and quiet.”
“Okay, you can explore later, but the Druyan room has bean bags, a couple large tables and easels. Here, I’ll show you.” She brushed her palm along one that was held out to her as we passed by.
Switchbacking down a wooden ramp, she brought us to a door and tapped the inside frame. “You might like it in here.”
I peeked inside and nodded. The Druyan room was exactly as she described, except that there was also a DJ, probably their contribution to the Potluck. So yes, it wasn’t quiet and I wouldn’t be alone, but I also didn’t have to keep up conversations. I smiled at her and made prayer hands, thank you. She smiled too.
We walked out through what seemed to have been the front door at one point. Asphalt decomposed under planter boxes, lined up across a few dozen square yards.
“Ever work with strawberries?”
“No!” I smiled!
“No problem, we just need to cover the soil. Here, I’ll show you.”
We walked to the end of the lot, up against a concrete retaining wall, holding up more city structuring.
“These troughs have just coconut husks and water in them. It’s been soaking overnight and ready to spread around the strawberries. They’re on the other side, so you’ll fill the wheel barrels with just the husks and then bring it over to the strawberries. Just cover the soil.”
“Do I need a shovel?”
“There’s tools in the shed, but maybe have fun with your hands. Seems like that’s why you brought them.” Backing away, she started heading towards where we came from.
“Thank you!” I called after her. She waved and kept walking.
Tucking my backpack and hoodie in a dry corner, I found a waterproof apron in the shed and dove my hands into the wet husks. They were cold and heavy, lifting armfulls into a wheelbarrow. I blinked some tears out of my eyes, but it wasn’t overwhelming.
Berries exist.