I got this short story published her at Johns Hopkins. It should be in a magazine before the spring is over...Go me, right?
Here it is. Its a revised version of one of my old joints.
My Tomatoes
The new building was so large it blocked the sun, dooming my tomatoes.
I’ve been raising tomatoes every year for the past 5 years. My tomatoes are housed in a pot, which looks like a wooden barrel cut in half. I raise approximately 4 tomatoes plants per season, plus or minus 1. This number fluctuates in direct correlation with weather patterns and my dedication. In order to raise a healthy tomato plant I need to refill the patch with new soil every year. I also put crushed eggshells in the soil when I get the chance. The soil integrates the calcium or other nutrients as the shells decompose. When the breeze comes through the open balcony door it makes the whole room smell fresh and alive with tomatoes.
I am a Technician Consultant for Comcast, and before now we had been working out of a two-story building. Now Comcast has bought the shopping center our building was in, destroyed the other shops, and built a 38-story skyscraper. I believe it does technically scrape the sky because the windows on the 35th, 36th, 37th, and 38th floor are covered in condensation. I’ve never been up there, but that’s what I’ve heard.
I live in a small apartment complex called The Village Lofts. It’s across the street from what used to be the shopping center. There used to be this little Korean market where I would buy apples, and milk, and the seeds for my tomatoes. I don’t think any of the employees there spoke English but the old woman at the cash register always smiled at me.
The Korean Market has been replaced by our new building. Before the new building I would have to ride my bike to work, and I would have to wake up at 6 in the morning to get in by 8. Now I don’t have to leave my house until 7:40 to make it in on time. Although it is convenient and I get 2 extra hours of sleep, my apartment balcony only receives sunlight from approximately 6 A.M. to 9 A.M. After that my balcony sits in the shade of the new 38-story Comcast skyscraper.
Because of the lack of sunlight, my five-year stretch of working the earth in the spring to receive tomatoes would come to an end. I searched the Internet for ways to sustain tomatoes indoors. I found pictures of complicated systems of sun lamps and sprinkler systems. I found an abandoned television projection light and I left work early, which I have never done before. I stared at my tomatoes shadowed by a monster, and set up my artificial sun. My tomatoes had to be relegated into my bedroom closet. I hung the lamp from the tie rack in my closet, running an extension chord threw my dress shirts and ties.
The tomatoes were kept company by my five white dress shirts, my red tie and my blue tie, my black dress shoes and my old New Balance sneakers. My father’s old baseball cap and the teddy bear I slept with as a child. The tomatoes would miss the wind, they would miss the rain, and they would miss the gradual loss of light, especially in comparison to the abrupt change from me flicking the lamp on and off.
I watched my tomatoes fade over the weeks. I had followed all of the directions I could find. I put a fan into my room, periodically simulating gusts of wind. I drowned them one night to simulate a storm. My tomatoes knew they were in my closet, they knew something was not right. My tomatoes had lost the will to live. Plants aren’t really plants when they are stuffed into a closet. The building had killed the Korean Market and they were trying to kill my tomatoes. I had to do something.
My tomatoes would survive.
The next day at work I checked in and went directly to installation. I used the Comcast computer from my cubicle to rush order Potassium Permanganate, Aluminium, Nitric acid, a few metal pipes and a leather jacket like Neo wore from the Matrix.
I went to work the next day in my new leather jacket, checked in, and took the elevator to the 30th floor. I was trying to get to the 38th, but there is a separate elevator to get there. I explained to the receptionist that I had a meeting with Mr. Waz and regardless of what meetings he had I was going to the 38th floor. I asked her if she knew who I was. She said no. I gave the woman the middle finger as I ran for the elevator…the wait for the elevator was uncomfortable.
As I hit the button numbered “38” I heard the receptionist call security. I didn’t care. I walked calmly towards what the Mr. Waz’s office and push the double doors open. The office was empty besides the leather furniture. The view was incredible; I had never been up this high. It was like the sun was shining directly into the room. I took a deep breath and pressed the button on the detonating, anticipating a ten second wait. The sun would shine bright on my apartment once again. I stepped closer to the windows, stepped closer to the sun, and bumped into something by my feet. A ceramic pot of tomatoes.
