Jake

Jake had his flat all set up. Everything had a place and it fitted together pretty comfortably. His life as a single bachelor living on his own was going to be one of pure control in every aspect. Once the TV stand which has been left infuriatingly half-finished because of the sloppy stock control at Ikea was complete only the empty plant pot remained. It was a gaping pit of unfinished home decorating sitting by the windowsill. Jake for days wondered what delicate living ornament would stand in that corner. Perhaps its subtle leaves could be complemented by a couple of ornamental paper flowers with illustrated petals. The trip to the garden centre was made with haste but nothing fit the bill so the event was postponed and relocated for another day. The gaping pit grew wider and wider. You don’t live here it said. A decisive trip was arranged, if I don’t find it here, well I don’t know what I’ll do, he thought. The home plant section was less a botanical garden and more an old woman’s living room. Is this all of it? It was. There were no paper thin leaves of faint beauty or nests of exotic colours in balanced pose. In the end the most subtle and delicate plant stood atop an underwhelming display of dark green, waxy floras, a wiry shrub with monochromatic green spiky leaves, a fica, £29.99. It was too expensive and too plain but that empty pit had to be filled by something so it came back and sat in the pot. Somehow it managed to pick apart the room’s order. Its awkward shape and flat long leaves pointing out the drab shoddiness of the walls and furniture. Oh well Jake thought at least it’s finished now.