2021-04-16 - Only Blue: Don’t Quit Your Day Job #1

August has been watching this interaction from his office, eyes narrowed. Thoma's a fair hand with the customers, usually, but not today, or at least not with this guy. Well, who can blame her; he's definitely found a target for his ire. That week of fog didn't improve anyone's mood, either.

He comes out of his office, hands in his pockets, heads that way. As is his habit on a day when he'll be up in trees, he's dressed casually: Led Zeppelin concert tee under a red, black, and white flannel, worn denim jeans, heavy hiking boots. He tips his chin up at Thoma, settles one hip on the counter. "What kind of blue were you looking for?" he asks, eyebrows going up. "The kind of blue-green, or straight up blue? The later are a little more expensive, kind of exotic--hybrids, so they don't propagate reliably. Probably need to order those. But the natural blue-green kind we have plenty of."

Muscles sizes up whom he assumes runs the place. The redheaded animal lover has backed away slowly from the tempest at her register. The redness to the man's complexion changes to that of a pallor. Just when the businessman thinks thinks the patron may have calmed, the has taken an aggressive tone again. "NO GREEN!" He howls, frustration in his hazel eyes. The man mutters something under his breath about a delivery taking too long before turning his full stature to the more causal rock connoisseur.

The man's cart is a hodgepodge of plants needing shade and those needing light. Some are seasonal, others perennial. The only common thread of the inventory is the first letter of Mr. Roy G's surname. Shades of blue splatter immediate vision. This was not the sort of range one may want for a wedding...what was this guy doing. Home grown landscaping disasters made up a portion of August's business, DIY gone wrong. The supply shop gave a fair few just enough ivy to hang themselves with. Yet, the man's aggression is somewhat intimidating...

"No green," August agrees easily. "Well, let's see if we have any of the Echeveria left." He half turns, catch's Ully's eye from where the later has been watching from the outside collection. Ully nods, blond curls bobbing, vanishes out to the succulent collection. "Now, I do also have some Lithops that are blue. Really they come in a lot of colors, so if you want just blue, or blue and red, or whatever, we can manage that."

Almost on cue, Thoma hands August a small pot from a tall rack by the door; in it is an ovular plant divided down the middle, dusky, pale blue with darker blue freckling. "Also called pebble plants. They make a small flower when they're ready to bloom."

Despite his stature, the heated man shrinks. Quietly, somberly, he asks, "When will they bloom?" This was a plead with nature or a plea with God, neither of which August fit. He was only Jesus. Catching his breath, a large scarred hand smacks to the metal of the conveyor, leaving a minor dent. Was he strung out? Do people buy only blue plants when strung out? At best this was weirder than the bearded man had dealt with in weeks.

Sure he had explained to a bunch of kids cacti wouldn't grow here. An old lady from the outskirts of town had insisted the website said ninety-nine cent per pound orchids. But some solider on a rampage, this was newer. He may even recognize the guy as a local to that end. More than anything, this seemed beyond gardening and well into possibly unsafe. "ONLY BLUE!" He yells again.

"Usually in fall or early--" August is cut off by the sound of the man's hand striking the belt. He blinks, slow and careful, expression one of a man reassessing a large number of things. Ully, who was about to come in with an lovely blue Echeveria secunda in a little clay pot, has stopped outside, eyes wide. August flicks a glance at him, which the young man reads correctly: do not come in.

Setting the lithops aside, August echoes, "Only blue." He's quiet a spell, then, "Listen. You need some help? Something going on? Because man you sound like you've had a day, and don't I know that feeling."

A flickering of realization comes to his hazel eyes which trail to the conveyor apologetically. "NO, EVERYTHING IS FINE." This time there is hurt within the spoken words. Wait, was that Kenny Wilkins? Didn't his wife leave he got home from deployment last month? There was something more to that story, something important missing.

People often focus on the things they cannot control when life starts to spin out. Be it a painted wall, a haircut, a security camera. Kenny only wanted blue, but why? Why here? Why plants? He obviously had not qualms with the staff directly, just a meandering anger. He was ready to lash out at anyone. August was right. Kenny had almost gotten himself under control but what he battled was too much. "Fall is too late." He whimpers.

It's not precisely known that August is a vet; really, only one indication has happened since he came to Gray Harbor, that being the Chief of Police's funeral. Aside from that, for all anyone knows he wandered out of the woods like this.

But to anyone who does know--which is all of his employees--it's not a surprise that Kenny's reaction only eases his posture. This is familiar territory. Hell, August has been the guy lashing out in seemingly random directions. "Fine, that's good," he says. Considering the notion that fall's too late, he says, "I've got plenty of others that are blue and bloom sooner." He straightens up from the counter. "Want to come look at 'em? They're in the garden out front. You can see if any of them appeal."

The man is taken aback by the genuine help of someone here. "I can't afford to pay your landscaping service..." he trails off. The sentence serves two purposes. The first that if August expected extra money or clientele, it was not from Kenny. The second, that the large man knew nil about what he was doing. He needed August to be his light in the darkness here. The concept of gaining enjoyment out of the plant was foreign, a coat two sizes too small.

Hazel eyes lock on to the salt an pepper man. "I just want him to see the blue." GI Joe offers pathetically. Does this come any closer to meaning something? Not really. Was August solving the issue at hand? Absolutely. The man heads outdoors and watches August, begging him to follow with the gaze.

August waves aside the need to pay for landscaping services. "I know people who can handle that pro bono." There's an unspoken subtext here: for vets like us. "And there's the HOPE center, I bet we can easily find someone from there to help with it; they always need things to focus on." With a glance at Thoma (a silent request for business to proceed as usual), he leads the way around to the front, where a simple garden shows off a few types of Spring blooming plants.

He moves towards some clusters of grape Hyacinth; these are midway between blue and purple, edging closer to purple. "These might be too purple. But they're inexpensive and they'll keep coming back each year." He moves to some bluebells with pinkish crowns. These are properly blue, with tall clusters of flowers. "Bluebells, the real deal. You'll never run out of 'em, either."

Finally, he stops by some shorter flowers; these are a truly lovely shade of blue, and smaller than the bluebells. "Scilla. Bulbs, so you'll get them back each year."

It's a calm little spot out front of the shop, with (currently not blooming) hydrangea and Rhodedendron forming a wall of privacy under the partial-shade of Japanese maples getting ready to leaf out.

Kenny's gaze drops down to caress the scilla with his eyes. "Oliver, my kid? They think his color blindness will move from R/G to full in the next year. His uhh, his mom gardened. He wants to see a full color garden before he loses that..." Brown eyes steeped in green follow to his fellow vet. Know or unknown, he felt better, at peace. "Kelly left us man. I'm shit for art and a parent."

Hands hover from one bloom to the next. Oliver needed to see the garden sooner rather than later. Someone needed to give Kenny a break. "I am not looking for charity...I put him on this earth..."

The nearest doctor to give the kind of diagnosis talked about here was going to be two counties over for a specialist. Kenny had likely been up all day. His boy? Only about six by August's standards. "Only blue....it's all he sees..."

August listens to all of that with a solemn expression, nods. "That shit sucks, no two ways about it. But getting him a garden he can see? That's something where I can point you in the right direction. We've got lots blooming right now, a few more will start at the end of spring. Plenty of," he taps a hydrangea leaf, setting the branch to bobbing, "blue hydrangea, hollyhock in early summer."

He shrugs aside the notion of charity. "It's not charity when people need to do something to he help themselves. It's just coincidence it helps you too. And let me tell you, there are some people who get a lot out of just," he runs a hand over a maple branch, inspects a leaf, "doing work. Having work to do, a goal." He pauses there, eyebrows up. "Like if you volunteer for your kid's school, right? That's not charity to the school. It's taking part in your kid's education." Yes, August is splitting some fine hairs here. Important ones to split, maybe, for someone who wants to avoid 'hand outs', who feels they're a failure for not making due on their own.

Kenny nods. Mr.Muscles, brought to his sorrows. The man wouldn't argue here...No, couldn't. "Thanks man, Kelly..." His shorn head tilts upwards. "I blamed her for it...she left. He needs me and I don't know how to be that. This garden? This thing he can see? It's my first step to making it right...It's my first step on my own..."

A tear leaks from the built man's face. It seemed there would be a far greater amount of school activism in his future.

A hand extends in August's direction, the man meeting his eyes. "I'm Kenny. Thank you." Such a simple statement. Such a powerful background. People often say 'stop and smell the roses'. What if that stopped? What if the roses lost their color?

August makes a low sound, an acknowledgment of Kenny's situation, follows it with a nod. "First step's the fucking hard one, I'm not gonna lie. It takes a lot to get that plateau under you. But look--you're doing it for your kid, that's a huge thing on its own. It's good for both of you. Keeps it clear that you're in this together." He could say so much more here, but they're not in a group therapy session. They're just out front in the example garden, the one made to entice purchases.

Accepting Kenny's hand, August says, "Roen. August Roen." He pulls out a business card from one pocket, a pen from the other. "Look, I'm gonna put a number on this card. If you need to talk to people about this shit, this is a good place to call." He writes in the HOPE center's number--which is probably just Ignacio's cell at the moment, sorry Ignacio--then adds a couple of other notes. "They might even have some programs that could help with your boy."

He offers over the card. "So, how about we pick a few things out, and I'll write up a plan on how you plant 'em. Don't worry, we won't pick the delicate stuff that wilts the second the weather sneezes."

Kenny nods and accepts the card. Poor Iggy indeed. "Thanks man. They just act like it's so easy to take care of someone. Ya'know?They leave you broken and here to care for someone else."

On may not be able to see August's scars or imperfections. One may not even be able to deduce he was formerly apart of the military. One man understood another's sorrow though. One understood another's weakness. "I'll come back tomorrow." Kenny says looking forlorn. "I'll come back and listen."

Without another word, the patron heads to the parking lot. It was hard to remember that hearts could still bleed beyond those touched with veil powers. It was hard to remember the faces of this town.

Sauntering away, August would notice Kenny's hands in his pockets. Looking at his own denim cloaked hands he would wonder, who else was hurting?

"Yeah, no one really thinks about how hard it is, especially on your own. Especially not after," August doesn't get specific, just ends that with a half-shrug. There's no need, as a fellow vet, to get into the details. They both know full well what happens over there, what it does to someone. August was lucky, he had a family that insisted on healing him. Kenny, not so much.

Which is why August has to offer to help, charity or not. That's a discussion for tomorrow, though, or some other day. "Tomorrow," he agrees. "Take care, Kenny. Call that number if you need anything, they can make sure you get it."

He watches Kenny go, heads back inside to check out the dent in the counter. Probably fix it with Glimmer, which he shouldn't do, but whatever. They can come and get it.

And they will--but this is a problem for future August.