Evergreen 

Isabelle Morgan

She lifted the cigarette to her lips, took a slow drag in and felt the sting of it in her throat. 

The dirt was too dry, that was the problem. Baked in the sun and neglected by the rain for so long that it had hardened into a film over the earth, cracking in places and leaving little islands of dirt where chunks had fused together from the wetter months. The plants stood with no hope of growing, just sticks standing like gravestones, a remnant of what it had been in her younger years. 

‘Shouldn’t smoke those things. They’re no good for you,’ his voice was just as dry and tiresome as the garden. 

‘I’ll die one way or another, might as well,’ she replied to her husband as he lowered himself into the wicker chair opposite her at the garden table. It was the same familiar back and forth that they had been repeating for 16 years. 

He reached over and pulled a cigarette out of the box that she had left on the table, balancing it between his lips and lighting it. She couldn’t remember when he had taken to the things. Not that it mattered. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him what to do. 

She kicked at a bit of dirt that sat on the small patio, watching it tumble into the dead garden bed. The rose bushes there were so dry that the force was enough to snap one of the branches. She thought that they hardly deserved the title of rose bushes now, to be honest. Dry, prickly, dead things that needed more care than they were worth and returned very little back to her. She hadn’t been warned of that when she purchased them. 

‘I’m going out to the lake tomorrow with Glenn and Miranda, should be a pretty fun day. They even have a two-person paddle board that could be fun to try out,’ her husband offered. He held his cigarette between two fingers, letting it burn down without taking a drag. 

‘Hmm.’ She eyed the tall, skeletal peonies. At least she thought they were once peonies, maybe they were daffodils. 

‘Did you want to come with me?’ he asked, watching her, but she didn’t look at him. 

‘No, I don’t think so.’ She took another drag of the cigarette, tapping the ash straight into the flower bed. 

He didn’t respond, turning his gaze to the garden instead. She remembered when they had bought the house. She had been so sceptical about purchasing one with a garden, about the upkeep it would require. 

Once upon a time, he had assured her that it would be his job to maintain it, and he would make sure that it was beautiful. She had been a bit resentful when that vow had lasted less than the first 6 months of their moving into the house. For a few months, she had taken to buying gardening supplies and leaving them in obvious spots around the house. But he had never seemed to get the hint. After that, she’d just let it die out of spite. 

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, observing the tree at the back that used to be magnificent, but was now little more than brittle limbs and leaves that would crush to a fine powder with the slightest of forces. 

‘Garden’s dead,’ he said eventually. An astute observation. 

‘Mhmm.’ 

‘I was thinking it would be an idea to come up with a watering schedule for it. I’ll buy sprinklers, anything. I just need you to turn them on while I’m at work.’ 

She eyed him from the corner of her vision, not moving her head to acknowledge him, ‘Seems an awful lot of effort. Why would we do that? We’re not out here much anymore anyway.’ 

They stayed silent for a moment before he asked, ‘When did it die? Did you notice when it started?’ 

‘You didn’t?’ She finished the last drag of her cigarette and flicked it out onto the dead lawn before reaching into the box for another. 

‘Perhaps we should get rid of it then. The dead plants are just making you miserable. Why don’t we flatten it, extend the patio? We could even put a small pool in.’ 

‘Why bother?’ 

‘Yeah,’ he sighed, stubbing out the cigarette on the ash tray on the table. He was yet to take a drag from it. She hated when he did that, sat with her and barely smoked, such a waste. He stood with another sigh, sending one last look to the garden, ‘Why bother, Louise,’ he said, before heading inside without another word. 

Author: Isabelle Morgan

Artist: 

Edited by: Nyah Marsden and Lara Madeline Rand

Editors: Coco Thompson and Tia Shang