Money Plant.

I’d walked to and from the car for the final time, the final trip stopping by the bins, folding two small cardboard boxes that delivered fairy lights into the recycling and a half filled refuse bag into the black bin. I’d forgotten about it being a Monday. The binmen were on their way. As a I walked back up my stairs, keen to have time for a cup of tea before lectures, I stopped to gather the dead fallen leaves from my money plant. I’d noticed how the leaves had begun to rot for a while. Every time I walked past, I saw them. But this time I stopped. I gathered the dried, moss grown leaves with the end of my fingers; transferring them to the palm of my other hand. I thought about whether I would take them down to the bins or just take them upstairs and put them in a fresh bag. I had people renting out the flat. I’d had to start a second bin for myself to avoid dirtying theirs. I can’t remember what I did with the leaves in the end. This money plant was one of two plants that had survived my two year stay in the flat. The plant was a gift from an actress I’d worked with, she’d given one to each of us. I’d always looked at it and laughed in my head when things were going really badly with work – well, what use are you. I knew the plant, coming from her, didn’t mean money in the literal sense. It was the richness of life. Also, money plants were known to thrive even with the most neglectful of owners. I returned to water the plant some time later. It is one of three plants I have. It was the final plant I was watering. I had plenty of water left, but I was careful not to overwater. I stood back to admire this hand sized plant. I noticed the satisfying distance between the first leaf up the stem and the watered soil. It was standing tall and lean out the ground, it’s trousers hiked up high above it’s knees. I also noticed a lighter hue to it’s leaves then I’d seen before. My eyes lazily reached the top of the stems where to my surprise, after two years of no fresh buds, one was sprouting from each stem. Explosively for it’s scale. I imagined how the rotten leaves had fed and broken down into the soil before. My fingers had scooped them up. How I was happy I’d left them and how I was happy I’d chosen to water it this morning even though I didn’t know where where I’d disposed of the leaves. I thought of my friend who gave me the plant and wondered if she was a witch and also of the friend who gave me the pot on the same job also as a leaving present and how the pot and the plant perfectly complimented each other. I found it all complimentary. The sound of the bin truck greeted me from outdoors.