My Sweet Vera

My wife had returned home late one night. She held in her hands a pot, and in it, an elegant ocean blue aloe vera. Its petals, if you can even call them that, were lined with razors like the knife I had cut my dinner roll with. In all honesty, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, surmounting my wife for first place. Its glow was otherworldly, my own face radiating in its reflection. Where had it been all my life? I was like a child on Christmas morning, searching for that one box that rattled how I wanted it to rattle. Do you even understand what I felt that night?

I snatched it from my wife and held it up to the moon, its glisten capturing me in a mesmerising sort of way. She warned me that I’d drop it, as if I wasn’t gentle enough, but I didn’t listen. What does she know? I know what I’m doing.

Quickly after, I rushed inside and placed it in our bedroom. She had made space for it on the porch like it was some regular succulent. And to think of the offense that brought to the plant. How could she have done something so insensitive? She could've stayed on the porch for all I cared. I wanted to treat the plant like the regal being it was. Yes, I saw it as a divine gift from the very hands of Aphrodite. It was her greatest and most beautiful child, and I would treasure it as if it were my own.

Every morning, whether it was four o’clock or nine, I would sit at the end of my bed staring at the plant’s bulbous centre. I’d notice subtle changes that only a loving eye could see. A blade turned ten degrees, a sprouting flower revealing itself in the subtlest way. I saw everything, and when I say everything, I mean every little tweak like how a caring husband notices a mole on his wife's back or a slight twitch in her left big toe when she gets excited. It became the star my world revolved around. Fantasising a life together was all I wanted to and could only think about.

With what seemed like pent up agitation, my wife interrupted my floral navel-gazing. She asked me why I was acting weird, and I told her if she had an issue with the plant then she should keep it to herself. I had never seen such disgust on someone’s face in my life. I needed another look at the plant just to cleanse my eyes of my wife's sudden onset contempt.

This arguing continued over several months and it wasn’t long before I found the divorce papers in my mailbox. She wanted half my money, my house and the dogs. When I finished reading, I sighed with relief. She didn’t want the plant. If she had asked for that too, I would have resisted, but she didn’t, so I signed the papers that same day.

Moving out was somewhat of a mess. My now-ex-wife wouldn’t look me in the eye as I carried stuff out to the car. That didn’t matter, she wasn’t coming with me, and even if she was, the passenger seat was already reserved for Vera—yes, the plant has a name. It was the least I could do given everything she’s done for me. I would’ve preferred an extra room just so Vera didn’t feel at all trapped, but ever since the divorce, money has been quite tight for us. My parents told me I was crazy for loving a plant more than my wife. But am I really that insane if my wife never gave me the care and comfort I get from Vera?

Now I’m broke, middle-aged and unemployed, living in a studio apartment with my beautiful Vera and all the time I could want. Some may pity me as if I’ve lost what could’ve truly made me happy, but I have chosen this life, my own unique gust of happiness. What more could a man want? I love you, Vera.