Gardens - short stories

Gardens

There are many different types of gardens. You could never imagine how many types exist. There are “by country of origin’s” gardens, like Japanese Tea Garden, Italian Renaissance Garden or French Landscape Garden. There are “religious” gardens, like Baha’i Gardens or Biblical Gardens. There are gardens labelled as “Philosophical Garden”, “Witches Garden” or, as if the list could never end, and in fact it cannot, “Energy-efficient landscaping Garden”. Yes, also that one. 
You might be wondering who would bother to write a paragraph about “gardens”. Let me tell you who…another garden. I am not as exotic as any of my cousins up above. I am just a normal guy, I mean garden sorry, but I have something special, I would risk saying, even kind of exceptional. I am the only garden that I know that ever spoke with a human.   
I am about sixty years old, yes I am quite young. My creators, from the human species, raised me in Portugal, but my family roots are German. I am not too small nor too big, I am always green, and inside me lives an extraordinary diversity of birds. I have a lake and my creators built a very huge building in one of my corners.
A garden that had a conversation with a human? Why, you might be wondering. I am here to tell you a story about the only time I contacted a human. Let me start then.
The humans, funny specie, I have been watching them for a while, to be honest my whole life. My relationship with them has been always mere observation and curiosity than anything else. I serve my porpoise to them and in return they would continue making sure that I would survive in troublesome situations. And since my birth, not long ago, that has been the way of things, until the day I met certain human.
It was the month of April, one of my favorites. Spring has sprung and the sun had warmed the hearts all around the city. There was when I saw him and I felt the urge to speak with him.
I was not sure how he found me. I mean, as I said I am not the most exotic garden in the world. I was wondering if he found my grass soft as he lay down facing the sun. If he liked the song of my birds.
In an impulse, I took courage and I spoke with him. He answered me back. He was surprised that I wanted to talk with him. It was his first time ever speaking with a garden and for five minutes he could not say a word back to me, but his lips were aligned in a sort of funny smile. I blushed when he finally said “Is this a dream or I am speaking with a garden for real?”. When gardens blush birds start flying in the sky for some seconds singing loud and then very slow, and then they stop. And when I blushed he laughed kindly.  
That day was the first and the last day I ever spoke with a human. 
Our conversation was very trivial. He told me he loved making up stories and one day he would write books. 
 “The best stories in the world, even the ones that never really happened are just replications of common everyday personal experiences”, he told me in a very sophisticated tone.
“You are not making any sense” I said to him with my eyes full of curiosity. 
“You need to understand that we are all connected, the feeling that was in the origin of something is replicated over and over again, but in different situations. Can you get it now?” 
“Yes I see your points, so do you believe that everything is connected?”.
 “I believe that all is connected, so connected that we become part of each other’s identity. I think that the feeling of “connection” is very similar to the feeling of “love.”
I know what you might be thinking, how can a garden love, it is not even physically possible. 
“Gardens cannot love like humans do but love has dimensions that humans cannot perceive”, I express.
We stood in silence for a while…
“I hope you do not mind my question but I would like to know one thing, from all the people that comes here why you chose to talk with me?”, he asked.
“I choose you because you were the only one who could hear me, the only one who really connected to me. You were laying on my grass, listening to my birds, absorbing my energy.”, I said again with a shy voice.   
“Why do I feel that this is an once in a life experience and after today we will never speak again”, the boy said in a slightly desperate tone.
“Because you are right, this was a once in a life experience and you will never relive it again. After all gardens do not talk. We are just piece of ground, used for growing flowers, trees… you know”
He gave me a vague glance, silently he recall that gardens do not have the ability to talk. 
There are many gardens in the city of Lisbon and in a specific shinning day, when spring has sprung warming the hearts of everyone a boy died in a specific garden.
This garden was not too small nor too big, was always green and inside it inhabit a great diversity of birds.
His body was found lying on the grass and his lips were aligned in a funny smile. The witnesses that found the boy could not hide the shock in their faces when they bump into his body yet warm but without life. 
In his left hand there was a small bottle of a liquid. The police took it for some analyses while paramedics put his body in the ambulance. Speculations about his death started to appear among the crowed that in disbelieving, stayed in the garden watching the whole thing. 
He killed himself, affirmed some. Others claimed that he suffered from a heart disease and in that shinny day his poor heart decided to stop beating, discontinuing its responsibility for life.
In his right hand there was a piece of paper where a poem about a garden was written. The poem was about his favorite garden in the whole world, which was not particularly special but was the place where he found more connected with the world.
This boy was a student of Letters, a pretty normal guy. He did not get along well with his parents and he could not remember when it was the last time he has spoken with his grandparents. He was always up to fun nights with bottles of wine and clubs but during the day he was calm and always preferred a book and a cup of coffee.
His favorite person in the world was obsessed with gardens and that garden was the one where they would always meet. Spending afternoons, laying on the grass, listening to Alt-J, Pink Floyd and The Passenger and sharing cigarettes. 
It was a while since the last time the boy saw his favorite person. Sometimes life separates people that truly love each other. The last time they met, his favorite person was reading an article about how many different type of gardens existed around the world and he was surprised with the numbers. 
A few days after that day, his favorite person left without saying a word. He never got the chance to say goodbye.
In the next months all he did was to think about that article and the range of gardens that exist in the world, he spent day and night researching about it and writing about it. He stopped going to classes, and his friends could not contact him anymore. He devoted all his energy to that.  
 He was looking for a deep emotional connection equal to the one he had in the past inside that garden. But the real source of this connection was missing and was not coming back anymore. 
A few friends tried to help him, but everyone was so caught up in their lives that his depression slipped away from his friend’s list of worries. As we all know nowadays we are always too busy, too tired.  
He never showed up at the dinner parties, however his friends would always save a place at the table for him.
The whole garden were very green and the melody of the bird’s songs created a splendid atmosphere. She was sitting in this wonderful garden in the center of Lisbon, it was a lovely day and she had decided without thinking much about it to go for a walk in that park.
Even though she was super distracted she caught the moment when from nowhere several birds started singing very loud and suddenly very slow all at the same time. She founded it odd and she was not sure if she was the only one who had listened to it. “Maybe it is my imagination” she thought. 
Again very distracted she looked around her, and about 30 feet from her she saw this boy laying on the grass. So relaxed, he would not move. She envied him for sleeping so peaceful. She could not remember the last time she slept so still. 
The time passed, the sun started to disappear in the skyline. She noticed that in the whole time she was there this boy did not make a move. Some kids were running around him, almost treading him with their childish movements. Yet he was still like a stone.
She started having a bad feeling about something, but she could not understand.. Something inside her made her stand up from the place she was sat and walk towards the boy.
His face was so peaceful and his lips were aligned in a funny smile. His heart was stalled.

Mia Sátyro

TCC- Creative Writting , Faculdade de Letras da UL 

Mia Sátyro