Orchid

I found the orchid two years ago in a trashcan a thousand miles away. It now proudly sits on our living room table in an antique porcelain vase. The last of its once-brilliant red-violet blooms dangles in its demise.

The flowerless orchid was perched upright on the top of a heap of garbage in a West Hollywood trashcan. Its flowers had fallen, leaving a barren vine held to a stick by a plastic dragonfly. I took it home where my partner, Mike, gently cut off its flowerless stalk and began to nurture the abused plant. Despite his attentive care, the plant looked like it may die.

We knew it was time to move when the noise pollution from leaf blowing landscapers and pile-driving, jack-hammering construction workers from nearby buildings became so consistently annoying that I found myself wearing construction ear muffs in our cramped apartment. Then Mike totaled his car on his drive to work, which began his five-hour commute via public transit. We had long-ago tired of sky-high rent, beeping trucks, the sting of mosquitoes through unscreened windows, and broiling heat from an endless and increasingly harsh sun. Mike’s near-fatality was the last straw.

The economic crash of late 2008 frightened me into interviewing for a job in a friendly and creative city. Portland was mellow and green; its clean, vibrant air often misty. I packed even though the job never finalized (thank Gd!); I knew we’d find a way. A long-weekend trip gave us hope for a teaching job for Mike, and soon we found an affordable rental. We’d move me, Spunky, Pollo the fish, and most the furniture first. Mike would join in a month when he finished his old job. The plants would remain until we brought Mike up.

When Mike returned to West Hollywood after accompanying our cat and me up to Portland, he found that the orchid had begun to bloom. He text-messaged a photo of its magnificent flowers. A true gift, the orchid helped keep him sane in a barren apartment far away from those he loved. Soon his teaching job came through.

When it came time for us to drive Mike, the remaining household goods, and the plants, we realized we had far too much to fit in the SUV we rented to drive him up. Mike suggested that since the orchid’s full cascade of flowers were so unwieldy, perhaps we should give it to his mother; it could easily be crushed in the over-packed car. We agreed not to, and managed to safely pack it. Later I realized that the orchid that was once discarded because it didn’t have any flowers was nearly lost a second time because it had.

Happy in its new home, it bloomed an unprecedented four months—during Mike’s transition to his new job, my acceptance into art school, and, unfortunately, the construction noise of a new sewer line being installed just outside our house. It will be flowerless for at least a year—orchids do not bloom that often. Only a few fleshy leaves will be supported by spindly roots, some which coil above the bark. Always beautiful to us, it will remain in its spot on the center of the table.