Last Week's Rhododendron (excerpt)

by Nicole J. LeBoeuf

On Wednesday morning, the newspaper said "Rhododendron."

The headlines came as no surprise to Paula, who was accustomed to finding Section U sandwiched between the Living and Money sections every Wednesday morning. "U" stood for "Undesignated," and the section's name changed with the whim of the newspaper staff. Last week they'd called it "False Teeth" and had filled it with dentally-approved lists of toothpastes and floss, advertisements for salsa-flavored denture cream, and advice on carving jack-o-lantern fangs just right. The week before that, under the title "Poetry Showcase," section U had featuring the winners of last month's contest in Barbie and/or Ken inspired sonnets. (The winning entry had been an Elizabethan verse lyrically lamenting the effects of near-anatomically correct dolls on innocent minds.) The Undesignated section with its well-loved, free-floating absurdity could be found nestled in picture frames and scrapbook pages across the city. Paula had never bothered to save clippings so fanatically, but she looked forward each week to reading Section U the way one might look forward to reading one's horoscope.

The front page of this week's Undesignated section bore vivid pencil sketches of rhododendrons in full bloom and hundreds of neon hues. The second page boasted interviews with the most celebrated gardeners of Europe. And since page three featured a column entitled "FROM SHOOT TO SHRUBBERY: Raising Your Very Own Rhododendron," Paula decided she'd give it her best shot.

Predictably enough, the supermarket was well stocked with rhododendrons and garden supplies. No matter what far-out craze section U could throw at them, the store managers were always prepared. (A conspiracy was suspected, but as yet no one had managed to unearth sufficient proof for an accusation.) The supermarket was also well stocked with shoppers. Paula found it nearly impossible to navigate through the monumental crowd that flooded the aisles. Nevertheless, half an hour and many bruises later, she staggered back to her car with the object of her quest cradled lovingly in her arms. She gently set the tiny potted seedling on the floor in front of the passenger seat, and gingerly pressed the car door shut.

The drive home was an agony of worry. Every bump jarred and jostled the precious little rhododendron until Paula was sure it would tip over. She breathed a grateful sigh of relief when she finally pulled into the driveway, and wasted no time escorting her baby to the backyard.

A hassled five minutes of ransacking the garage produced spade, rake, and fertilizer, unused since the days of her father's hobby-sized vegetable garden. He'd never had any problem turning out foot-long cucumbers and round, shiny tomatoes, so Paula naturally assumed the green thumb must run in the family. It should be simple to produce the pretty pink flowers whose pictures had gleamed up at her so invitingly from the front page of the Undesignated section.

By noon she had completed her task, and the tiny rhododendron seedling stood newly planted in a quiet corner of the back yard, shaded from the harsh sunlight by her neighbor's pine tree. She'd watered the little plant, murmured to it affectionately, and even tied a pale pink ribbon around its spindly trunk. "Now, you be good," she told it sternly, and went back inside to cool off with a glass of lemonade in front of the TV...

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Excerpt from "Last Week's Rhododendron"  © 1994 Nicole J. LeBoeuf.
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