Moonflower and Phlox

true story, names, places, and nouns have been changed to protect those involved.

Moonflower and Phlox

 

                Near the center of the forest there sits an open glade that the sun rarely touches, but at night the moonlight graces it in full. In this glade there grows a patch of moonflowers amid a plot of phlox (whose roots grow deeply there).

                “Phlox?” Moonflower called.

                “Yes, Moonflower?” Phlox replied.

                “How have you been?” she asked. “We’ve grown so close and, yet, it’s been quite a long season of silence between us.”

                Phlox just looked at her for a moment, because she almost never asked him something without there being an unspoken reason, so, he ventured to see why she feigned the interest this time. “You care to know?” Phlox asked.

                “I do.” She assured.

                “Well, it’s a long story, it seems.” he started. “Let’s see…last autumn, over there, by the line of trees I grew through a thorny patch. It was-“

                “Rough, I’m sure.” Moonflower interrupted with disinterest in her voice.

                Here we go, he thought, same old Moonflower.  Phlox just inwardly laughed and played along with her game, “and how have you been?” he asked, so that she may speak of herself (her only reason for speaking up in the first place, he knew). But, before she could answer, he looked down and spied something new. “It appears you have a weed!”

                Moonflower looked down as well, giggled in short and smiled, saying “My little soul mate.” she said while nudging the prickly weed.

                “I beg your pardon?” Phlox asked, plainly confused.

                The weed that grew there bristled and inched up in a seemingly quick spurt of growth, as though to say “watch it buddy!” But, it was mute; all weeds were mute, never saying a thing, they just show up, use, take over, and grow at the expense of others, and they never move on, not even when they’ve used up everything they can. This weed, although short, was very stout and its roots had grown so intertwined with Moonflowers that she had come to honestly believe that she and the weed were one in the same. At least, that’s what Phlox had taken from the conversation as the two of them talked on.

                “What do you think of him?” she finally asked while moving a leaf aside to illuminate her little mate in the moonlight, yet, it did not look up and bloom to the moonlight, it just sat there, unappreciative.

                “I think it’s a weed.” Phlox curtly answered.

                “Well!” Moonflower scoffed, “he certainly doesn’t like you either!”

                “And, why is that?” he asked.

                “He hates it when you shower me with the morning dew.”

                “Yeah!” Phlox laughed out loud. “Don’t read too much into that, it just kinda happens in the morning” he said and then reminded, “I really wouldn’t look too deep into that.” In truth, Phlox’s attention had been elsewhere for the past season and he paid no mind to what his leaves did here and there, and everywhere else they grew, and they did grow everywhere. “Funny you should say such a thing though.” he alluded.

                “Phlox, what ever do you mean?” she asked, truly clueless.

                “You’re looking a bit gaunt,” he pointed out and then looked down at the fat little plant amid her roots. “This guy, however, seems pretty well fed. Could it be that he’s stealing the extra water that rolls off my leaves in the morning, the water that once helped you to grow so lush and beautiful?”

                Moonflower had not put a single thought to it while wrapped up in her own bliss.

                “You say he doesn’t like it…” Phlox continued. “Well, he certainly seems to enjoy the benefit you have of me hanging around.”

                “Is this true?!” she asked the weed. ”Have you been stealing from me?!”

                But, of course, the weed stood in silence with its leaves slightly rising up in an immutable gesture as though to say, “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

                Moonflower did not say a word and sulked for only a moment before wrapping a leaf around the weed, “It’s okay, my love. I get plenty of water anyway.” Though, she clearly did not.

                These days, it was always the same for Phlox when he spoke with Moonflower, meaningless and shallow. She no longer cared for a thing Phlox had to say and things would always be about her, and he began to see it would never again be the way it was. “Well, it’s been a fun visit,” he said at length. “I’m growing over there, just passed the thorns, so if you need me, that’s where my attention will be.” He talked with his voice trailing off into the distant patch across the thorns.

                “Phlox?” Moonflower called as his voice drifted off. “Phlox?!” But, her calls went unanswered and she was left alone with her silent, little weed.

                Phlox spent his days sleeping, and he whittled away the small hours of the night by working his way along the edge of the thorn patch that butted up against the burgeoning forest. Through the regalia of sleeping flowers he made his way, taking time to stop and admire their beauty, though moving on in regret that he was not the flower that could grow next to any of them, for theirs was a world that bloomed only in the daylight and he was a flower that flourished only at night.

                “Phlox?!”

                He heard his name being called from far off in the distance, clear across the thorn patch; it was Moonflower.

                “Phlox?! Answer me!” she yelled. “I can hear you shuffling along over there!”

                But, he remained silent, leaving her with her weed and paying mind only to what he wished to accomplish. If she is truly happy, then she doesn’t need me, he reasoned. Phlox would be the last to admit it, but truth be told, he had grown weary of wandering around the glade. All this time, where his roots were sewn, he had been looking for something and now it had become painfully clear that what he had been searching for simply did not exist here. He sat there between the thorns and the forest, his face upturned toward the moon, deep in thought and in reflection of the moons effulgent glow. The decision had come before him: grow back the way he came (through the troublesome thorn patch he had already painstakingly grown passed), stay here (separated, but still close enough to wince when he heard his name called out), or move on into the forest (out into the unknown). And slowly, a small leafy tendril branched outward toward the sleeping trees and away from the glade.

                He had seen the trees from the glade many times in the past, and he could tell even then that they were tall, and when he sat at the forests edge the trees were taller still, yet, now as he wound his way about their rooted feet the trees seemed impossibly tall. Crickets chirped softly to ease the nights heavy silence, and fireflies flickered to glint in the watchful eyes of critters that stalked along in the dreary dark. Phlox, a delicate kind of flower found quite a shock when one of those critters brutishly shoved its snout straight into his bell with a cold clammy nose. The creature accosted him: giving him a lick and then a chomp on his petals, continuing until Phlox was no more than a crumpled, wilted mess of vines.

                The day came and went and as the moon arose over the glade, Phlox awoke to find himself sitting between the thorn patch and the forests edge, and he sighed. “All that work and I’m right back where I started.”

                “Phlox?!” Moonflower called out, her voice hoarse and gravely. “Is that you?!”

                He sighed even deeper this time, “Yes,” he begrudgingly answered.

                “What are you doing?” she asked with the same feigned interest. “I’ve been calling you for days!”

                “I was on an adventure.” He decidedly answered.

                “Are you back now?” she scoffed, that same scoff she always gave.

                He took a long, longing look back at the forest, and then he gave a soured look over the thorn patch. I don’t need her, he thought. But, I don’t want to die alone like that again. With resign in his heart he made his way back through the prickly shrubs and back into the glade.

                “I’m back.” He said, stopping short of sarcasm upon seeing Moonflower, a mere shadow of her former self.

                “What were you doing?” she asked.

                “I was on-“

                “You were on an adventure.” She spat back. “You said that! What were you really doing?” she asked doubtfully.

                “I was on an adventure.” He plainly answered, his heart breaking all over again to see her this way.

                “I don’t like it when you’re vague with me.” She said while turning her bell slightly higher. “I don’t like it at all!”

                Phlox looked to Moonflower then down to her silent little weed (which was not so little anymore). Then, something inside of him snapped, the last piece of his heart sank away. “What care have you of my affairs anymore?” he wondered aloud. “You have everything you want and need.” he motioned to her ‘soul mate’. “What need have you of me?!”

                “Are you talking about him?” Moonflower looked to the weed and smacked it with a leaf. “Don’t mind him, he’s of no concern anymore.”

                Phlox eyed her strangely. “Then, why not be rid of him?” he asked.

                “I don’t know.” She answered wistfully.

                I figured as much, he thought. “Well, when you figure it out, you know where I’ll be.” He finally said turning back to the thorn patch.

                “Where are you off to now?” Moonflower asked in confusion.

                Phlox just moved on without an answer, he truly knew now that there was nothing in the glades worth staying for anymore. The longing he felt for the forest returned and his fear of being alone melted away in the realization that he was already alone, he had been for a long time, and that spurred him on through, and passed the thorns. Through and passed the forests edge. Through and on into the lonely, unknown dark.