The e-mail said “Come if you want. Mama’s dying. Dave.” Though Tanya had no talent for parting ways, she checked the internet for cheap flights. Three clicks told her she’d find nothing under six hundred dollars on short notice at Easter. Her brother, Dave, knew she was broke, that the university had let her go. He’d hatch a credible lie. She’d be stranded or “Tanya’s on crutches and can’t fly. And besides, Mama,” he’d say with his plangent laugh, “you’re gonna bug us for a long time yet.”
Tanya took the phone off the hook and her tea into the “orangery,” her ironic dig at the rusting, tacked-on sunroom. She sat cross-legged on the wobbly, rattan couch and knocked off an e-mail — “Sorry, Dave. Just can’t.” — and stabbed SEND.
“Off the hook,” she said and curled into a ball, trying to unthink the Mama in her head. But her mother’s hiss was nothing if not perennial.
“Perversion,” Tanya whispered in her mother’s voice, referring to the string of women who’d shared Tanya’s twenties. Sharon and Ingrid had been the sweetest — if not the most complicated — relationship she’d had. “But Claire.” Tanya smiled. “She was a perv.”
“Reprobate,” Tanya whispered, narrowing her eyes into Mama’s scowl — a well-trained mien — and lifting them to the orange tree, the weirdest of all her mother’s inappropriate presents. She had to know an orange tree from Miami wouldn’t thrive in Seattle.
“For your new sunroom. That tree’ll have the loveliest fragrance in spring.” Mama’s voice lingered in the air from ten years ago — and three thousand miles away. “Lovely. You’ll see.”
“If it lives that long,” Tanya had said. “I’m a relationship killer, you know.”
“I know.” Then silence.
“Well, thank you for the tree, dead in the offing.” Tanya had laughed, but Mama had never shared Tanya’s irreverent sense of humor — or her snotty PhD vocabulary.
After a year, when the tree showed no intention of dying, Tanya made a pact with it: “I water you once a week, and you don’t betray me by dying.” For ten years, both kept their bargains. And, yes, the otherwise companionless apartment smelled like love for a few weeks each spring.
“Friday.” Tanya uncurled. “Watering day.”
The dirt drank, thirstier than usual. Tanya wrapped her thumb and pointer around the little trunk — a growth test, a ritual. A hug? As she released, the tree trembled the tiniest bit, and a miniature orange fell to the floor. It rolled under the junk-shop wardrobe in the corner before Tanya, on all fours, could stop it.
Reaching into the three-inch space of dust under the wardrobe, Tanya’s hand wooled up like a fat, gray mitten. The orange peeked out of a crevice in the floor: a tiny sun setting in the dust of a solitary life she’d dragged as far away from her mother as possible without a passport. Tanya stretched toward it, but it was no use. She tried to push the wardrobe out of the way, but she’d never manage it alone.
She gave up, raising her dust-swaddled hand to her face to wipe tears away. She shuddered and sneezed. The room filled with dust.
“Filth,” she rasped in the voice that refused to be unthought as she lunged at the tree. She kicked it and was shocked to see three oranges fall. She grabbed its lank trunk and shook it until rage numbed her arms. When she was done, all its oranges lay on the floor, and her mother was dead. She knew it; she didn’t even have to call.
She bought the damn ticket: seven hundred and fifty dollars — a fortune to pay for a funeral blur. The burial came back in bits on the return flight: piped-in “Amazing Grace,” a woman calling her Tamra, a box of useless tissues. Dave had managed everything, expecting nothing of her except a black dress and silence. She was back home in four days as if nothing had happened. Finally, she thought, her mother’s voice was silenced.
When she opened her apartment door, the fragrance of orange blossoms hit her like her mama’s bitching. The grim tree had kept its bargain after all, so she would keep hers. “Friday,” she said and grabbed the watering can. Then she gathered the oranges — she even managed to raise the setting sun — and taped all ten of them back on.
Christopher Allen, a native Tennessean, lives in Germany and writes creative non-fiction, humor and Southern literature. His work has appeared in Barack H. Obama: Vision to Victory, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times, Tough People and Gathering: Writers of Williamson County, as well as in the ezines Ruthless Peoples Magazine,Flash Fire 500, Metazen, The Short Humour Site, and Flashshot.
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57 Responses to “THE ORANGERY • by Christopher Allen”
Comments
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March 31st, 2010 at 12:18 am
I just really, really loved this. Exceptional. And memorable.
March 31st, 2010 at 1:33 am
I admit, I’m not normally a fan of symbolism in most stories, but here I think you’ve struck a good balance between the concrete and the fanciful.
Then again, recent events in my life made this story strike home a little more powerfully than it might have six months or so ago… These little events *do* happen, and I think you’ve written well about the little coincidences that make us think of greater things in our lives.
March 31st, 2010 at 3:12 am
Excellent story, well-done, well-worth another read.
March 31st, 2010 at 4:47 am
Excellent.
March 31st, 2010 at 5:15 am
A fabulously beautiful story of loss and futility. Loved it!
March 31st, 2010 at 5:18 am
As with all your work, heartfelt, intelligent and a prose style that seems to walk off the page at times.
March 31st, 2010 at 5:39 am
Fabulous. A bittersweet vignette bubbling over with heart, with the “sweet” skimming to the lead towards the end, and leaving the “bitter” just under the surface.
March 31st, 2010 at 5:45 am
What a “sucker punch” of a line at the end! I loved that. Very well written and old-timey Southern (covertly dark). Reminds me of some of the short stories I read in college!
March 31st, 2010 at 5:50 am
Perfection. I smell the orange blossoms…
March 31st, 2010 at 5:59 am
I too, found this piece exceptional.
March 31st, 2010 at 6:15 am
Not a misplaced or ill-chosen word. Rife with exquisite symbolism that one could peel back for days. Exceptional work that will linger with me like the fragrant orange blossom bloom.
March 31st, 2010 at 6:28 am
A beautifully written piece. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
March 31st, 2010 at 6:31 am
Poignant. Visual. Beautiful.
March 31st, 2010 at 6:41 am
Strong story. Great form. I like it.
March 31st, 2010 at 7:12 am
Is it tougher to be a parent or a child? It’s almost like asking about the chicken and the egg! I love the way you have captured the complexity of a parent/child bond. It’s quite beautiful. Thanks for sharing.
March 31st, 2010 at 8:13 am
Loved the story…great literary style!
March 31st, 2010 at 8:33 am
This was a nice one. I expected the orange tree to die when the mother did, so that was a pleasant surprise.
I’m glad she went to see her mother, even though her mothe disaprooved of her sexuality, Tanya would only regret not going to the funeral.
March 31st, 2010 at 8:50 am
I love the story as you love to write. Thank for sharing with me. Chris.
March 31st, 2010 at 8:53 am
I love this story as same as you love to write it. Thanks for sharing, Chris.
March 31st, 2010 at 9:33 am
As always, a pleasure to read.
March 31st, 2010 at 9:44 am
I thoroughly enjoyed this! Well done.
March 31st, 2010 at 10:35 am
Enjoyed this one.
March 31st, 2010 at 10:47 am
And he’s got a marvellous tush…
March 31st, 2010 at 11:05 am
I hope this one gets anthologized.
March 31st, 2010 at 11:28 am
Wonderful. Symbolism I wish I could write! Felt Tanya’s unconscious longing for a relationship with her mother that could not be realized. Well done how the tree continued to live, the one part of the “relationship” that survived.
March 31st, 2010 at 11:43 am
love it. I hadn’t read anything by you in a while. Perfect timing.
March 31st, 2010 at 11:53 am
I gave it a five. A wonderful story, beautifully done.
March 31st, 2010 at 11:55 am
Loved this story! Very touching with an incredible writing style all its own. So much story in each perfectly chosen word.
March 31st, 2010 at 12:23 pm
Beautifully written and bitter-sweet. Don’t we all have those moments that we are convinced that we have been possessed by our mothers?
There will never be another relatonship like that between a mother and child.
March 31st, 2010 at 12:57 pm
The images are fantastic, especially the tape at the end. But I have to ask–was it cello tape or duct tape?
March 31st, 2010 at 2:42 pm
Mothers often impose things on their children. We all feel that way at times. As parents we must learn to let our children grow and go. It’s only then that the child can become an adult. Anyone who has lived for awhile has wanted to tape something back on.
March 31st, 2010 at 2:47 pm
Good job.
March 31st, 2010 at 3:57 pm
Absolutely amazing.. Quite spellbinding! I opened some neroli essential oil right after reading this beautiful story!
March 31st, 2010 at 4:01 pm
Hi Chris!
I love “Orangery”! It’s a fantastic story, written well (what else could we expect from you!). The imagery is so good; can see the setting, and smell the tree. The mother… I get the relationship, I relate with it.
“The orange peeked out of a crevice in the floor: a tiny sun setting in the dust of a solitary life she’d dragged as far away from her mother as possible without a passport.”
Beautiful and poignant phrasing throughout! Well, well done!
~Bex
March 31st, 2010 at 4:29 pm
I have nothing to add, but wanted you to know that I loved this.
March 31st, 2010 at 6:53 pm
Powerful and sad yet ends in triumph.
March 31st, 2010 at 7:31 pm
Oh yeah, a 5 for sure. Stories this good are as rare as orange trees in Seattle.
–John
March 31st, 2010 at 7:40 pm
Wow Chris, you’ve done it again!! As usual, your use of imagery puts the reader right in the middle of the story. The orange blossoms haven’t quite bloomed here in Florida yet but I was sure that they had after reading your story. Great job. Keep writing please…!!
March 31st, 2010 at 7:42 pm
This story is moving, funny, sad and marvelous.
April 1st, 2010 at 2:23 am
The story tells us about “unthinkable” feelings we can’t catch.
Five oranges for the author.
April 1st, 2010 at 5:31 am
Yep. This is a keeper. Congrats on a great one.
April 1st, 2010 at 5:42 am
I agree that the symbolism was very well done, a captivating story with an excellent twist. It delivers strong emotion without veering into sentimentality.
April 1st, 2010 at 6:58 am
beautifully done story.
April 1st, 2010 at 9:33 am
Very, very well done piece. I liked that you did not skimp on detail and yet still gave us a full story. I also am not usually a big fan of symbolism, and honestly didn’t think too much about how the orange tree might represent Tanya or her mother or their relationship, but looked at her relationship with her mother, the tree, and even her brother as three distinct parts of the story.
April 1st, 2010 at 12:54 pm
Well done.
April 1st, 2010 at 1:06 pm
[...] work project for a long-overdue spin around EDF. After reading a few of the recent offerings (The Orangery was quite good!), I hopped over, as usual, to the top stories page. And, what did I see? A Castle [...]
April 2nd, 2010 at 1:57 am
Bizarre and tender at the same time. I gave it full marks. Good work Chris, keep it up!
April 2nd, 2010 at 4:22 pm
What a charming, beautiful story. A perfect example of how flash fiction can be poetic, only better because the reader gets to understand what the writer is saying.
April 3rd, 2010 at 12:43 pm
Great story, Chris. Loved the rhythm of the language and the pacing of the story. Really well written beginning to end.
April 6th, 2010 at 1:41 pm
A sweet and touching story. More wallop word for word than the average yarn. Read it three times and would vote for it three times if I could.
April 6th, 2010 at 5:53 pm
Delicately woven snapshot that speaks a thousand words, so to speak. Thank you for taking the time to show us the linty search under the “junk-shop wardrobe” and for creating a character that will remain with me.
April 7th, 2010 at 11:41 am
‘a tiny sun setting in the dust of a solitary life ‘
My favourite line. Beautiful imagery.
April 8th, 2010 at 1:18 am
Gorgeous. Esp. the gray mitten (I have a pair).
April 8th, 2010 at 2:47 pm
Beautiful. You have such a knack for descriptive writing- choosing JUST the right word.
April 12th, 2010 at 10:50 am
Hi,
To everyone here who took the time to comment, thank you.
May 9th, 2010 at 12:53 am
Beautiful! Again! “The Orangery” touched enough chords in my heart to be a masterpiece and much more than “everyday fiction”. Thank you.
May 11th, 2010 at 1:53 am
A moving story.