Lend Me your Lamb's Ear

D.M.H. and I spent the past three days or so at the Jersey Shore with my family, and for most of the time I was either drunk or hungover. It was wonderful. I didn't want to come back, and there were a few moments today where I could swear I felt some food poisoning coming on.

Back at home, I was just about to leave for D.M.H.'s place when I remembered I ought to water the garden. I've got a tomato plant with four small 'maters and three pepper plants with the tiniest of buds starting. The fence was as far as I got before I heard a "hey" from behind the neighbor's flower garden. Mrs. Fussnpuss said "I have a question I want to ask you" as she slowly made her way over.

"How are your plants doing up here? Not so good, huh?" She pointed to the three flowers and the Lamb's Ear that I'd planted. The Lamb's Ear's taken off, expanding to fill the space I'd given it. The flowers on the other hand aren't doing so hot. They started off well, but I think a quick thunderstorm we had a couple weeks ago had left them wet, and the sunshine that followed burned the leafs. That's my theory anyway, because one day the leafs were a healthy dark green, the next they were spotted and brown, seemingly instantaneous, and they haven't recovered since.

"Yeah, I don't know what happened to the flowers."
"What are they supposed to be?"
"I'm not sure. They were doing well but something's gotten to them."
"Yeah, they don't look to good. I see you've got some Lamb's Ear growing there."
"Yep, that's doing well."
"Well, I wanted to ask you. I used to have Lamb's Ear over there." She pointed to a planter where there's a tree planted, along with some bushes and flowers. "But it disappeared and now I see it's over there now in your yard. I was wondering if I could plant it over here."
"I found it in the yard, here." I pointed to a spot near my foot, which happened to be the exact spot I'd found it. It's an easy find, since the grass never grew over the naked dirt I left when I dug up the two spots of Lamb's Ear my Mother casually pointed out to me one, mentioning I should dig it up before it got mowed.
"I was wondering if I could have some of it back so I could plant it over here."
I kneeled down and desperatly parted the grass over the bald spot, hoping the scar, when combined with my explanation, would be proof enough. "No, I dug it up here. It was growing right he..."
"No, no, no. It was over here in my yard. Maybe it blew over or something. Anyway, could I have it to plant back over here?"

I relented. What could I do? "Sure you could. Help yourself."
She bent over, picking up a tray and a shovel, which she passed over to me. "No, could you dig it up?"

So I did. I dug up all the Lamb's Ear. I helped her load it up on her tray, and I even straightened her shovel for her. While I dug, ripping up he roots, I was pissed at having been accused of something I didn't do, knowing that nothing I said would convince her otherwise. Later, on the road, I had to laugh, anticipating the enjoyment I would get in telling my story. Now that I've written it out though, I'm not so jovial about it anymore. At the time I told myself that I was just being kind, because really, why make life any harder for her? Why add stress to her days, knowing that they're relatively close to her last. I felt as if I were doing her a favor by being so easy going. What I realize now that is the that it didn't matter who was on the other side of the fence, I would have given my Lamb's Ear up anyhow. Little old lady or not.

It doesn't matter that it was my favorite, that I was so proud I'd rescued it from the yard, that it made me think of my mother, or that I rooted it on as it spread, tripling in size, to fill the area beside my porch step with felty green. I gave it up because I still haven't learned when and how to stand up for myself in those moments when I'm caught off guard. I don't handle these situations any better than I did in the third grade. I'd still rather acquiesce than risk being the bad guy or being in the wrong. The only difference is that I don't pout as much afterwards. And, at least until my mind gets washed over with new preoccupations, I'm going to be reminded of these facts every time I step over that fertile brown crater on my way in and out of my house.