Kingdom of Weeds
(Published in the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin—March 31, 1996)
When I think back to my innocent days as a young homeowner, it’s always with a pang of regret. After all these years, it seems like yesterday. There we were, my family and I, ready to take our place among the responsible citizenry and earn the respect of our neighbors. We knew if we worked hard and took care of our new home, we’d be accepted.
Those days are long gone. Now we skulk in and out of our house by night, to avoid the pitiless stares of other homeowners. Our children are teased on their way to school. Lately when I go to my car in the morning, I notice a strange car parked in front—which always speeds away at my approach.
How did things go so wrong?
It’s a long story.
We never intended to become misfits. We were doing the things familiar to any young family: going to Little League games, balancing the checkbook, fighting over the TV remote. Somehow in the hustle and bustle, important things got neglected. The garage door never got repainted. The weeds in the front planter never got pulled.
Slowly, slowly, our little piece of heaven was becoming an eyesore.
Eventually, our reputation in the neighborhood was sealed: we were deadbeats. Outcasts. One step above drug dealers. A little worse than polygamists.
I know now that I must act — for my honor, my family, my community. I enter the garage, fighting my way past the boxes wedged against the door. Using my flashlight — the fluorescent lights have long since burned out — I come at last upon what I’m looking for: the garden trowel.
With my weapon in hand, I turn my face to that most-feared corner of our squalid turf, the backyard planter. I pass through the sliding doors into a jungle of strange sounds and smells. The weeds close in around me, the house is out of sight. I’m on my own. As I labor in this hostile world, I’m seized with a longing for old, familiar things: the sound of laughter, the smell of dinner on the stove, the comforting hum of central air conditioning.
Suddenly, I feel a leafy tendril wrap around my leg. The silhouettes around me begin to move, edging closer and closer. In the gloom, they seem to have teeth. I lash out with my trowel, stabbing in every direction until my strength is gone.
Collapsing on the ground, I lay panting with my face in the mud for what seems like forever. Slowly, I lift my head. Before me, framed by the eerie half-light of late afternoon, is a giant, hideous plant. Its leaves are an obscene purple, fringed with spines.
It is the Granddaddy of All Weeds.
“So, you actually thought you could win?” the weed says, leering down in contempt. “You and all the other fools. You never learn. You will spend your life fighting this hopeless war, and then you will die. And we, we will rule the earth!”
Its laughter echoes through the neighborhood. My head is spinning. I feel the darkness closing in, and then the world goes black.
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