Carl Dahlgren drove his Porsche up the tree-lined drive, marveling at his two acres of lush green lawn. The flower beds were in full bloom – a virtual rainbow of reds and yellows, violets, blues and creamy-whites. He always had a green thumb, even as a child. On his twelfth birthday, he had wished for and received gardening equipment in lieu of a twelve-speed bike. At thirteen, his roses had won first prize in the national 4-H fair.
He suddenly slammed on his brakes, his eyes squinting into the distance. Was that a weed he saw – way over there next to his azaleas? Jumping out of the car, he slowly approached the spot, eyes narrowing, lips set in a grim line. He stopped short of the multi-leafed aberration, circling it slowly like a lion stalking its prey. Round and round he went, muttering under his breath, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. This was impossible, totally unacceptable! Only yesterday, he had smothered his lawn with a specially-formulated weed killer - success guaranteed or “your money happily refunded.”
“Adrian!”
Moments later, the front door swung open and his wife rushed onto the porch.
“Look at this, Adrian! Come over here and just look at this!”
Frowning, his wife hurried over and directed her attention to where he was pointing. “It’s only a weed, Carl. My God – the way you screamed my name, I thought you were having a heart attack.”
“Damn near it. Just look at that monstrosity, screwing up my entire lawn! It’s like — It’s like a zit on the very tip of Julia Robert’s nose!”
“Oh, for heavens-sake, Carl.” Adrian dropped to her knees, dug her fingers around the weed and yanked it up by its roots. “See how simple it is.” She extended her arm toward Carl, growling, as though the weed were a rabid animal about to bite him.
Wide-eyed, Carl leapt back. “Get that away from me! How could God have plagued the world with such infernal things?”
“If you haven’t noticed – he also gave us Aids, crib-death syndrome, serial killers and Muslim terrorists. And as far as your plant life is concerned – poison ivy and dandelions and skunk cabbage.”
“I’m going to spray this entire lawn, after supper. This time, I’ll really give it a bath.”
“This is a new house and an even newer lawn. Give things a chance.” Adrian rolled her eyes, letting out a weary hiss of breath. “It’s only one, itsy-bitsy, solitary weed and an unhealthy one at that. Park the Porsche and come in to eat. We’re having your favorite – prime rib, baked potatoes and asparagus.”
“One weed will breed others. It’s like a bad family moving into a good neighborhood.”
That evening, Carl sprayed the entire lawn with an extra-strength dosage of the weed killer, totally saturating the spot where he had found the lone culprit. Adrian watched from her rocking chair on the front porch, wondering what had ever given her husband such a phobia with weeds.
*** * ***
The next day, as he was coming home from work, Carl gasped, very nearly losing control of the Porsche. His lawn - his whole beautiful lawn – was totally infested with weeds and every facsimile! Big and small and everything in between! It was a goddamn frigging jungle! He leapt from the Porsche, staggering like a drunk, his rubbery legs nearly buckling out from under him. He was going to file a complaint with the weed-killer company, demanding his money back. And then – maybe even a multi-million dollar lawsuit!
“A – A- Adrian! Adriaaaannn!”
His wife rushed onto the porch, stumbling over the welcome mat in her haste. “Carl, what in the world is it? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Look at this lawn, woman – just look at it!”
Adrian stared, her eyes growing as big as saucers.
“How could you ever have let this happen? What the hell were you doing – watching those nitwit soap operas all day?”
“And what do you suppose I could have done, Carl? Maybe I should have patrolled the lawn, whacking the little suckers as soon as they showed their heads?” Adrian paced, barking a laugh. “No wait – maybe I should have called in Delta Force.”
“This is no time to get smart-alecky with me, Adrian!”
“It’s just one of those problems of life we’re going to have to deal with. Maybe we have inferior soil.”
Weeds kept popping up even as they spoke – much like the heads of cobras darting from the underbrush.
“Come on in to eat and we can discuss our options. Maybe we can hire a professional lawn service.”
“Are you insane? No bumbling strangers are going to touch my lawn! Go on in. I can’t eat until I tackle this mess.”
Three hours later, Adrian parted the curtains and watched as Carl fought the multiplying infestation with his weed whacker. He looked foolish – having donned a pair of her latex dishwashing gloves, as well as the rubber waders he used for trout fishing. Good Lord – you would have thought that the weeds were carrying some lethal virus. He crazily went about his work, chopping weeds down as quickly as they sprouted, his lips moving in a stream of muted curses. When it grew dark, he continued under the outside spotlights – back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. She began to fret over his sanity. When she went to bed at two in the morning, he was still hard at work.
*** * ***
Carl started out for home late the next afternoon, his Porsche riding low under a trunk loaded with a new type of weed killer. When he rounded the last bend of his drive, he screamed in horror, the Porsche plowing down a whole row of his prized rose bushes. His house, his entire house – from the cellar clear to its roof – was totally, one-hundred percent green! The weeds in the front yard had spread like a fungus, and joined by creepers and ivy and all sorts of other horrendous plant life, had infested the porch and every inch of the two-storied house’s brick fa&ccdil;ade! He could only stare – struggling to breathe, his mouth working like a fish out of water. Finally, regaining his senses, he snatched up his cell phone and placed a call to his wife.
“Hello.”
“Adrian, are — are — are you all right?”
“Well, of course I am, Carl. Why wouldn’t I be? Where are you calling from?”
“I’m — I’m right out front.”
“Why are you calling from out front? Supper’s ready – you’re late.”
“Are you absolutely crazy? I’m not going into that jungle!”
“What jungle? Oh, you mean these little plants?”
“Little my ass! They’re — they’re all over the place! It’s the Twilight Zone, Adrian! It’s — It’s worse than that Amityville house!”
“Honestly, Carl – why must you always make such a big fuss over things? Maybe you should go to a shrink and get some valium or something.”
“You’re the one that needs a frigging shrink! Get out of that house, quick! Move it, Adrian, now!”
“Please, calm down.”
“The house is a virtual rainforest and you want me to calm down?” Carl leapt out of the Porsche and began to pace, “I’m — I’m coming in there and getting you out, if I have to sling you over my shoulder!”
“Over my dead body.”
“I just might oblige you!”
Carl took a deep breath – trying to settle his nerves – and started out for the house, walking gingerly over weeds as though they were a bed of hot coals. Sweat burned his eyes, his heart felt like a clenched fist. Never in his wildest dreams, could he ever imagine anything like this happening. Reaching the front porch, he hesitated for a few worrisome moments, before tearing away a thick growth of creepers and ivy. Swinging open the front door, he took one wobbly step after another, heading cautiously toward the kitchen.
The lights were all on and it felt as though the thermostat had been jacked up to a hundred. Creepers and vines, ivy and moss and all sorts of strange-looking lichens totally covered the walls and there were weeds and dandelions by the hundreds sprouting from the floor! How – in the name of Jehovah – could they be growing and flourishing from goddamn wood? The moist air smelled of chlorophyll and decaying undergrowth, as if he was winding his way through some steaming jungle. The floor felt soft under his feet and looked down to see a carpet of moss, very much resembling broccoli florets.
“Adrian! Adrian, where are you?’
Her voice replied from the direction of the kitchen. “I’m in here, Carl, and don’t even think of slinging me over your shoulder.”
“One way or the other, I’m getting you out of here!”
A vine fell, dangling over his shoulder and he yelped in panic, tossing it off.
Adrian appeared in the kitchen doorway, grinning from ear-to-ear, a piece of crystal stemware in her hand. “Well, Carl, how do you like my little Garden of Eden? I bet you could find a snake if you looked hard enough.”
“Are you crazy, Adrian? Have you gone totally out of your gourd? Look at these goddamn plants! Mutants, every last one of them!”
The plant life began to stir, seemingly taking exception to his criticism. The heat was unbearable, his shirt having taken on the feeling of soggy tissue paper.
“What the hell do you have the heat up to?”
“Ninety, ninety-five. My little garden needs heat and moisture in order to thrive.”
Adrian held up her crystal glass. “I’ve opened that bottle of dandelion wine that your father made for us. Quite befitting, wouldn’t you say?” She took a sip, smacking her lips with relish. “Would you care for some, Carl?”
“Jesus H.!” he shouted, reaching for her. “And you think I need a shrink! Come on! I’m getting you the hell out of here!”
“You most certainly are not,” she responded, yanking her arm free of his grasp.
Cursing, he lunged for her again, but she squealed with delight, scampering out of reach and pausing for a few moments to stroke the fronds of a giant fern.
“I will not leave these premises without you! And the first call I’ll make is to the Department of Environmental Protection!”
“You will not!’
“I will so!”
As he prepared to make another rush for her, a creeper shot out, wrapping its leafy tentacles around him and yanking him back hard against the wall. Before he could realize or react to what was happening, another creeper reached down, coiled itself tightly around his neck and lifted him off the floor as if he was nothing more than an oversized rag doll. Tighter and tighter it squeezed, causing his eyes to bug, his lungs struggling for precious air.
Adrian watched, unconcerned, taking another sip of wine. “Now see, Carl – you got my babies all upset. You really need that psychiatrist you know.” She giggled. “Or should I say ‘botanist’?”
“Auggghhh! He – he –helpth!”
Carl tried to claw the creeper from around his neck, but it was much too strong. After a good minute of wriggling and twisting and kicking, he finally drew still, his face a sickly shade of blue. He hung there – swaying gently – like a cattle thief at the end of a hangman’s rope.
