Green Valentine, page 11
Hiro and I packed all the spare seedlings from the kitchen garden into cardboard boxes and hid them outside the school, near the bins. Then, under cover of darkness, we collected them and returned to the vacant lot.
We crawled under the fence and filled garbage bags with most of the moveable rubbish – the broken glass, the styrofoam, the empty beer cans. Then we tilled the dirt using hand trowels we’d borrowed from school, and Hiro sprinkled fertiliser around the apple tree. We planted cucumbers and beans around the perimeter of the vacant lot, so they’d climb up the chain-link fence. We poked potting mix into the broken front of the TV and planted a geranium there. We filled an old tennis shoe and planted basil. Anything that could be a container – a styrofoam esky, a disposable coffee cup, a mouldy old suitcase – became a home for new growth.
It was amazing. My heart was beating a million miles an hour – despite what Hiro had said, I was pretty sure what we were doing was illegal. Somebody owned this land, and we were trespassing.
But I didn’t care.
Because what we were doing felt so right. We were making a tiny, ugly piece of the world beautiful. Bringing life back to Valentine. When these little plants grew and spread, this vacant lot would be a lush green oasis. People would notice. People would care.
The greyish clouds above us broke apart briefly to show thin fingers of golden light unravelling across the sky. It was morning already. My back ached and my eyes felt like they’d been propped open with matchsticks. The rumble of traffic started to sound from the freeway, but behind it, somewhere, I heard the singing of a single bird. We didn’t get many birds in Valentine, and this one felt like the herald of something truly incredible. We stood back, and surveyed our efforts. The tiny seedlings looked helpless, little pops of green surrounded by drab greys and browns. How could they possibly survive?
The grey clouds grew heavier and thicker, but the occasional ray of orange still peeked through, washing our garden in a light so vivid and bright that I felt like we were on a movie set. The sky rumbled overhead, and I looked at Hiro. His cheeks were glowing with exertion and his eyes shone. He grinned at me, and slung an arm around my shoulder as we admired our new garden.
‘I feel like a superhero,’ I told him.
‘You’re a guerrilla gardener,’ he said.
I made a face. ‘I don’t like that term. It sounds violent.’
Hiro nodded. ‘Guerrilla means little war in Spanish. We’re declaring war on the ugliness of Valentine.’
‘Mm. I still don’t like it. We’re not being violent. We’re creating new life, not destroying it. Inviting the wilderness back into the concrete jungle.’
‘Invading the concrete jungle with wilderness.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Why do boys have to be so violent?’
‘You’re the one who said you felt like a superhero. Superheroes are violent.’
‘Not all of them.’
Hiro tipped his head to the side and looked at me sceptically. I thought hard.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So superheroes are mostly violent. But we don’t have to be. I want a different name for what we do.’
‘Like what?’
‘Beautifying?’
Hiro made a gagging sound.
‘Beflowering?’
He gave me a flat look.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘That one was a bit much. What about bewildering?’
Hiro thought about it, then nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay that. Bewildering.’
The sky rumbled again, and I felt a drop of rain on my face. And another. Then, fat, wet drops started to tap down onto the bare earth. I turned to Hiro and we grinned at each other, and kissed while the sun rose, and rain fell around us, and the air filled with the rich scent of wet earth.
It was just like in the movies.
On the third night, Hiro arrived pushing a shopping trolley, with two take-away coffees balanced on the baby-seat.
‘Shopping Trolley Guy!’ I said, grinning. ‘This is just like old times.’
‘Except no lobster suit.’ Hiro handed me a coffee. ‘It may be wax paper,’ he said apologetically. ‘But it’s recycled, and better than styrofoam.’
I didn’t care, as long as it held something hot and caffeinated. ‘So why did you steal a shopping trolley?’
‘I didn’t steal it,’ said Hiro, looking indignant. ‘I found it. Abandoned and lonely down a side-street. Now we’re going to give it a new lease on life.’
‘How?’
‘Potatoes.’
‘Potatoes?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll get some from Nonna. We’re going to grow potatoes.’
‘In a shopping trolley?’
‘It’ll be awesome. Trust me.’
We planted the potatoes the next night. Hiro came bearing a paper bag of potatoes, and a big bag of potting mix.
‘See these dints in the potato skin? They’re called eyes. They’re the bits that will sprout when we plant them.’
Hiro lay a large piece of scrap cardboard across the bottom of the shopping trolley so the dirt wouldn’t fall out. Then we cut up the potatoes so that each piece had two or three eyes on it, then planted them in potting mix.
‘Once they sprout and start to grow, we’ll top up the trolley with more potting mix,’ Hiro explained. ‘And maybe some mulch around the sides to keep everything contained. The higher they grow, the more dirt we put in, until the trolley’s full.’
‘And they’ll grow potatoes?’
Hiro nodded. ‘By the end of summer, this trolley will be bursting with spuds. Like nature’s own supermarket.’
As spring slipped into summer, the weather went crazy – skyrocketing temperatures punctuated with regular drenching storms. The weather bureau were predicting the hottest December on record.* Both the kitchen garden and our secret guerrilla garden responded enthusiastically – springing to life seemingly overnight, all reaching tendrils and fresh green growth.
I told Mum that I was going out for late-night jogging. I showed her an article that said that exercise just before bed could help with bloodflow to the brain, increasing mental stamina. I invited her to come with me, knowing she’d turn me down. I promised her I was being careful, and reminded her about the self-defence course I’d taken last year. I left just before she went to bed, knowing she’d be fast asleep within minutes. Then I could stay out as late as I wanted, digging in the darkness with Hiro. I’d sneak back in around two or three in the morning, and sleep until my alarm dragged me out of bed in time for school. I spent my days sitting dead-eyed and half-asleep watching the minutes tick by until the bell released us all to steamy summer afternoons, with the promise of steamier summer nights with dirt under my nails and Hiro by my side.
‘You’re finally becoming a real teenager,’ said Mum one Saturday morning, as I stumbled downstairs in my pyjamas. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime.’
I shrugged. ‘I was up late reading.’
Mum chuckled. ‘Are you sure you’re not sneaking out to run around with boys?’
Eek. ‘Very funny, Mum.’
‘Astrid, is there something you’re not telling us?’ A frown creased the smooth perfection of Paige’s brow.
I felt a stab of guilt. ‘No, of course not. What would make you say that?’
‘You’ve been super-weird lately. Blowing us off all the time. We haven’t hung out other than at school in weeks.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ I said. ‘School … you know.’
Dev shook his head. ‘That’s just it, we don’t know. You barely speak anymore. It’s like you’re not even here.’
I forced a laugh. ‘Of course I’m here.’ I thumped my Chemistry textbook on the desk in front of me.
Paige and Dev exchanged a look. ‘Ye-es, but we’re not sure why you’re here.’
I looked around the lab. It was weird that nobody else had turned up yet. ‘We have Chemistry last period, right?’
‘Right.’
I stared at them both. What was going on?
Dev put a hand on my arm. ‘Astrid, we already had Chemistry. Don’t you remember? An hour ago. We did redox equations. There was a quiz.’
I blinked. ‘How did I do?’
‘You got everything right, as usual. You really don’t remember? And then the bell rang, and we all went out to our lockers, and you put your books away, then got them out again and came back in here and sat down.’
I closed my books. I genuinely didn’t remember any of it. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember much at all from the day. What did I have for lunch? And what had my other classes been like? All I could remember was stumbling home at three am after an epic gardening/makeout session with Hiro.
Paige was talking to me. ‘You must be coming down with something,’ she said. ‘You need ginseng and some sinus-clearing yoga poses.’
‘I think I probably just need some sleep,’ I said, standing up. ‘At least it’s Saturday tomorrow.’
I went back into the corridor, Paige and Dev trailing behind me.
‘Um, Astrid?’
‘Yes?’
‘Tomorrow is Wednesday.’
One night, after a day of rain and sunshine had left the garden damp and steaming, we planted the three sisters combination – corn, beans and pumpkin. Hiro explained that it was an old Native American companion-planting technique.
‘The corn provides a support for the beans to climb up,’ he said, as we made mounds of soil. ‘The beans add nitrogen to the soil, and the squash covers the ground, suppressing weeds.’
‘So clever,’ I said. ‘I love the way they all work together so well.’
Hiro grinned at me. ‘Like us.’
Every night, we learnt a little more about each other. We talked about our childhoods, our dreams, our fears. Hiro told me about the long summer afternoons he’d spent at his grandmother’s house, and I told him about the climate change musical that I’d forced Dev and Paige to participate in for the Grade Three talent contest. The nights seemed to race by, and I greedily drank in every moment. During the day I was a zombie, unable to function on any rational level. I lived for nightfall, when I could slip out of the house, pull the disguise of darkness over me, and find Hiro waiting in our secret growing garden.
Some nights we wouldn’t garden at all, we’d just sit curled together up against the brick wall, feeling the slow unfurling of green things around us, finding new ways to learn about each other without words.
‘So tell me about your favourite superhero,’ I asked one night, as I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes.
‘It changes all the time,’ Hiro said. ‘But I think at the moment it’s Rogue. She’s one of the X-men.’
‘X-people?’ I suggested.
Hiro let out a little snort, and I snuggled in closer to him. ‘Tell me about her,’ I said. ‘Why do you like her?’
‘Well, her superpower is kind of a curse. Whenever she touches someone, she involuntarily removes and absorbs their memories, their strength and sometimes their special powers or abilities.’
‘So she can’t ever give someone a hug.’
‘No hugs. Well, not at first. At first she’s vulnerable and scared and totally alone. So she gets all bitter and angry and lashes out at people around her.’
I was beginning to see why Hiro liked her.
‘But then she gets through it. She learns that shutting her heart to love is much more of a curse than her actual mutation. She learns to love again, and she gets control over her powers. And now she’s this awesome, kickass leader and role model, and she’s sassy but still incredibly kind and loving.’
I sighed happily.
Hiro cleared his throat. ‘This is getting a little corny,’ he said. ‘So I’d better tell you about my secret love for the really weird, short-lived superheroes. Or old-school ones that just seem ridiculous now.’
‘Like who?’
‘I have a special place in my heart for Squirrel Girl.’
‘Squirrel Girl?’
Hiro nodded. ‘She can control squirrels.’
I laughed. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Totally. They’ve just started a whole new series about her. She has a pet squirrel called Monkey Joe, and together they rescued Iron Man one time.’
‘Who else?’
‘Umm, there’s also Colour Kid. He can change the colour of things, which is cool, but not very useful.’
‘I wonder if he could get the tomato sauce stain out of my white jeans.’
‘There’s also Skateman.’
‘Skateboards?’
‘Roller skates.’
‘Ouch.’
‘And my personal favourite – Leather Boy. He looks like … well, like something from a bondage dungeon. Leather codpiece, hairy chest, silver studs, red ball strapped into his mouth.’
‘Ew. Is he a bad guy?’
‘Definitely. He—’ Hiro pulled away from me so he could look me directly in the eye, and put his hand on mine, his expression serious. ‘He killed Monkey Joe.’
‘Monkey Joe! No!’
Hiro nodded. ‘It’s heartbreaking.’
I started as a car rumbled past – a taxi. Hiro and I shrank against the wall. It was so rare to see anyone around at night in Valentine. I glanced at my phone. It was three in the morning.
‘I’d better go,’ I said, reluctantly.
Hiro pulled me in to him for a goodbye kiss, which went on for quite some time.
‘Tomorrow night then, Lobstergirl?’ he murmured.
‘Tomorrow night,’ I said.
I wished this summer could last forever.
*
* And, ahem, his face and his body.
** Do people really do that? Or is it just in the movies?
* But not enough to find an abandoned factory floor appealing.
* But were any local politicians talking about climate change? Of course they weren’t. They were too busy dressing up as Santa and posing for photo opportunities with babies.
One warm night in mid-December, I met Hiro outside Valentine Station, which was less like a train station than the processing centre in some dystopian gulag. He was sitting cross-legged on the kerb reading a comic book, surrounded by shopping bags full of delicate cuttings and little plants from Maria’s garden that had self-sown from the previous year – volunteers, Hiro called them. Our plan was to rip out the straggling weeds in t he long-abandoned garden beds outside the station, and replace them with new seedlings. I loved the idea that people would be able to snag a tomato, or a handful of basil, or a stick of celery, on their way home from work. Maybe they’d realise how much better it was cooking with fresh ingredients, and get inspired to grow their own. Maybe they’d start to enjoy meals again, use them as time to talk with the rest of their families. Maybe if families ate delicious, healthy meals together, they wouldn’t sleep with dental nurses.
I paused for a moment before he saw me and took him in. Him, and everything we were doing. Over the past few nights we had expanded our bewildering efforts, spreading out from the vacant lot in a wide circle, planting marigolds in potholes, herbs in cracks in the footpath. We ripped the dried brown plants out of a roundabout and replaced them with a cloud of Queen Anne’s Lace and other bee-friendly flowers. We found bare corners of earth and coaxed new life into them. I imagined transforming the concrete jungle into a real, wild jungle. And slowly, the drab, industrial corner of Valentine would change, swelling with greenery and creeping tendrils. We’d find abandoned walkways and magic them into tantalising green corridors. A smashed-up bus stop would become a leafy, secret corner.
The driest spring on record had transformed in a matter of days into the warmest, wettest December in living memory. It had produced perfect growing conditions, and our seedlings were growing like crazy, thickening and spreading and unfurling almost in front of our eyes. We seemed to have no shortage of plants. Seedlings were springing up all over the place – in the abandoned lot and the school kitchen garden. We raided Maria’s garden on a weekly basis, and occasionally we found little punnets outside the vacant lot, crammed with bright green sprouts. It was evidence that our efforts in Valentine were not going unnoticed, or unappreciated. Every time I saw a new donation, I felt a thrill of excitement. Things were changing.
Hiro looked up and smiled, and I was momentarily surprised that he could still have such a strong effect on me. Every time our eyes met, I felt like one of our little seedlings, unfurling and stretching delicate limbs towards the sun.
I approached him, and ducked my head to see the cover of his comic. It was battered and dog-eared – a long way from the cliché of the meticulous comic book-reading nerd, preserving every issue in its own little plastic sleeve.
‘Green Arrow,’ I read. ‘Is he the one with the magic ring?’
‘That’s Green Lantern.’ Hiro pushed one of the shopping bags aside, and I sat down next to him, leaning in for a kiss.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Green Arrow is the film with Seth Rogan and Cameron Diaz.’
Hiro made a disgusted face and pushed me away. ‘That’s Green Hornet, and I’d appreciate it if you never mentioned it again in my presence. There’s also the Green Goblin, who is a Halloween-themed super villain.’
‘So what’s this guy’s deal?’
‘His real name is Oliver Queen, and he used to be a billionaire businessman, but he lost everything. He’s an archer who fights for the poor, the working class and disadvantaged people.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Like Robin Hood.’
Hiro nodded. ‘Robin Hood, but with badass arrows that can explode or turn into nets or tear gas or kryptonite.’
‘Cool.’
We gardened all over Valentine. We planted flowers outside the kindergarten, and strawberries outside the leisure centre. We trained passionfruit vines up the ugly brown brick wall of the library, and left pots of geraniums on the doorsteps of local businesses. Little by little, night by night, Valentine was coming alive.
And at the heart of it all, the guerrilla garden was exploding. The beans had wound their way up the chain-link fence and were blooming with bright, cheerful flowers. Tomatoes and capsicum plants had sprung up everywhere, along with fragrant basil, coriander and a whole carpet of creeping thyme. The potato shopping trolley was nearly full of dirt, with flat, healthy leaves sprouting from between the straw and steel and hopefully, growing baby potatoes under the surface. A neat circle of lettuces surrounded the old broken TV, which was bursting with marigolds. Best of all, the apple tree had sprung into life, green leaves and swelling buds all over it.
