#73

Yesterday wasn't the greatest of days. John and I both acted up a little and ended by sulking the evening away in silence, staring miserably at one another's reflection in the blank TV screen. At midnight when I lifted John out his chair and dumped him on the bed I noticed he had a huge yellow bruise on his leg where I had purposely crashed him into the door frame. Laying there with his legs all sloppy and useless he seemed so undeserving of that. So today I thought I'd make good and took John out for a surprise.

“OK, you can open your eyes now!”

Tentatively, John removed his hands from his eyes as if not sure whether he'd uncover to a flurry of baseball bats or a brand new car. When nothing hit him, he opened up fully to find himself sitting in the middle of the Garden centre. “Duh Duh!!!” I chimed, flinging my arms open as if offering him the world “Take your pick... my coming home gift.” I noticed Johns body physically slump. For one moment I thought he would slide off his chair like a raw piece of liver. He looked completely disappointed and just sat there staring forward at a shovel stuck out a bag of compost. “The plants are over here. They've got some real beauties.” I said turning him around. Once his initial abjection had passed John got into the spirit of things and it wasn't too long before he had spotted a lovely pink Flamingo flower. The only slight problem is flamingo flowers are house plants and ideally I had wanted John to choose something we could re-pot and put in one of the window boxes. A plant we could water and nurture together. I had even thought of designating one of the front boxes to John and letting him pot the whole thing out, we could have even put our names on the fronts of them. Still, there's not one plant in the flat so it was probably a wonderful decision on John's behalf, especially as the doctor did say he may suffer chest/breathing problems from sitting in the chair.
“No I'm sure,” said John, blowing a lungful of smoke under the light blanket that covered his legs “I want the Flamingo flower.” I looked at him aghast, then whipped the cigarette out his hand and scrunched it out. “You'll get us barred!” I hissed. John just laughed and with his Flamingo plant propped up on his lap, wheeled his way towards the check-out.

The cashier rung up £19.99. I paid, took my receipt and popped the penny change in the Asthma Garden charity box. Feeling like a man who had made amends, I swung John around and started pushing for home.