Out of the Coffee Pot and Into the World
Nickolas Strobo

    The last of the clothes have just been packed into the back of the car. Any furniture that hasn’t been set up in the apartment is in the moving trailer you rented. The only things left to move to the car are your plants.

    “It’ll be better off in the real soil,” you think without a doubt as you stand in front of the last plant you have to transfer. You lift the vintage coffee percolator from your bookshelf, the last thing you need to pack. You planted the bulb in the broken percolator about two months ago, and there was nothing to show for it. Lilies took time like any plant. The fact that you kept it in direct sunlight was a mistake. Since then you’ve tried your hardest not to neglect the care for it.

    Your eyes fall on a photo of yourself at the age of eight pinned on a corkboard. You were going to leave her here with the old books, collections, stuffed animals, things you weren’t associated with anymore. Her smile bright, cheeks smeared with dirt as she kneels over her strawberry patch. Her grubby hands full with the first harvest of twisted, small strawberries. You gave her one last silent farewell before taking your plant out to the car. Your friend shuts the trunk, looking over to you and asking if that’s the last of it. You nod and situate the vintage coffee pot in the back seat. After saying goodbye to your parents, you and your friend begin the drive to your new apartment. You don’t wait to make it out of the driveway to smile. Your passenger looks over to you, asking what’s got you so happy.