This story is based LOOSELY on a true story (you can ask how). I almost didn’t post this, because you guys probably didn’t know my mind got this dark. I used to wonder how Stephen King could seem to be such a normal guy and write such disturbing stuff. And then I realized, maybe it’s the normal people who write it instead of DO IT. LOL. Anyway, I’m going to take a chance and hope I don’t scare anyone off. And I want to apologize to my sweet husband. No, I don’t secretly wish him ill. He’s the love of my life. Folks, this is just a STORY!
The Morning Glory
It was a morning in early fall when I first saw it. There, entangled in the rose bush beside the garage, was a morning glory. I knew I should dig it up. It could choke the life out of my rose bush, and this one was one of my favorites. But, for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The flowers were lovely, the trumpet-shaped blooms a deep blue, the vine so delicate. Surely, this little thing couldn’t hurt my rose bush. Besides, the rose bush was just about finished with its last blooming cycle.
I went back into the house, going about my usual business, the thought of flowers leaving my mind as I worked on my chores. It was a Saturday, and I was hoping to get a lot accomplished. Soon, the house was clean and neat, and I felt like taking a walk outside after all I’d accomplished.
I walked around my rose bushes, deadheading the old buds. When I came to the rose bush where I had found the morning glory earlier, I frowned. The tendrils had snuck into the garage. I had to leave the garage door open all the time since the door would no longer open and close, so there was no way to really keep anything out. I stooped down and touched the tiny flower that was forming on the end of the vine. I felt an affinity with it, some deep empathy I didn’t understand. I knew I should get rid of it, especially since it was invading my garage, but I just couldn’t.
The next day, when my husband and I got ready to leave for church, I noticed the morning glory had made its way farther into the garage and wound its way around a rake handle. He looked at it and frowned.
“Is that a morning glory?” he asked. “I need to get rid of it when we get back from church.”
“No!” I shouted, surprising us both.
“It’s invading the garage,” he said.
“But it’s pretty. Let’s just leave it, okay?”
He shook his head, but when we came back later, he didn’t bother the little vine. I went outside later that afternoon, and the plant had wrapped itself around the tines of the rake and then trailed along the wall to the mattock, wrapping itself around the handle and the business end. I smiled.
The next morning, as I was getting ready for work, my husband said, “Have you seen how far that morning glory has gotten into the garage? I’m digging it up today.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I’m going to. Stop acting weird about it.”
A strange calm came over me as I left for work. All day, I thought of the beautiful morning glory. I knew my husband wouldn’t dig it up. When he saw how glorious it was, he would have to leave it alone.
I started to pull the car into the garage that evening, but I saw something that made me slam on my brakes and jump out. There, lying in a pool of blood, was my husband. The tines of a rake were embedded in his stomach, and the mattock was lodged in his throat. I glanced at the morning glory where it had wrapped itself around the shelving unit high up on the wall. It looked like it was hiding.
“Come on down now, it’s okay,” I said.
The morning glory slid down the wall and wrapped itself around me in an affectionate hug. I said, “I’m sorry you had to see this. It was a horrible, horrible accident. I guess it’s just you and me now.”
The vine tightened around my waist and neck as the delicate flower on the end caressed my cheek. I turned my lips toward it for a kiss.