This entry is called, “The Day I Bought a Plant” for one reason only: I need this plant.
Let me start in the beginning. You know how some people have green thumbs? Or even brownish-greenish-yellowish thumbs? Well, my thumb would be black. Since I have been living with my boyfriend for three years, many people visited me — most likely because I wanted to show off the new apartment — and more often than not, they gave me a plant. And unless I handed my plants off to my good friend, Caitlin (who has a gold thumb), they wilted away.
I can’t even keep an air plant alive, never mind those that have needs.
So, for this summer, or until school starts, I have one goal, and one goal only: keep a plant alive.
On the last day of school, Caitlin and I walked to Mahoney’s. The first thing we did was walk the entire perimeter and area of the garden to see which plant showed potential: flowers of marigolds and lilies, vegetables of tomatoes, red peppers, and peas, and towering trees that looked like something from a magazine. However, all of these needed full sunlight, outdoor air, and multiple trips to the watering fountain.
But then, a small bush, no bigger than five inches tall, caught my eyes. Before I could say, “I do,” we needed to make sure this particular plant wouldn’t murder my cat, Peaches (Can you imagine? I bring a plant home only for Peaches to die? I mean, I love my cat, don’t get me wrong, but she loves two things: greenery and plastic.).
We were in the clear!
After we picked out a pot and a dish, we rang my plant up and trudged through the rocks. My mind kept whirling with possibilities, and with that, a name. Should it be a boy name, like Chris, Henry, or Edgar? Or an unisex name like Jamie or Ryan? Then, I found a name: Lyla. I taught two girls with that name, and both were nurturing, thoughtful, and extremely patient, possibly more patient than I ever was.
Caitlin taught me when I should water her, how many days until I cleans the dish and pot, and how talking to Lyla is beneficial because we breathe out carbon dioxide, and she breathes it in.
In approximately ten weeks, I will (WILL) keep Lyla alive, and hopefully, according to Google, this plant can live up to a decade.
This is Lyla.
...and Peaches.
If you don't like the name, "Lyla," comment below with suggestions!
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