Weeds

The little boy sat disconsolately on the ground.  It was a hot day.  The small rocks underneath him dug into the soft flesh of his legs and behind, through the thin material of his shorts.  He sat cross-legged with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. 

                I’ll never finish it all.  Dad’s so mean.  I wish I was at Troy’s house playing Xbox.

                He sighed and lifted his head to look over the backyard.  It was a rather large backyard, as backyards go.  A large stretch of grass spread in a circular shape from the middle of the yard and filled two-thirds of the space. Bordering the grass in all directions were little purple rocks neatly enclosed by the outer perimeters of the big stone wall.  From where the little boy was sitting, the rocks seemed to stretch on forever in endless purpleness.  And springing up everywhere amidst the purple sea were little green tufts.  Weeds.  It reminded the boy of his family’s trip to the lake the year before.  In the shallow places, skinny reeds had stuck up through the water, poking their heads out to wag to and fro with the undulating water.  That had been a fun trip.  The little boy’s head sank back down into his open palms and he sighed.

                Dumb Dad.  Why doesn’t he come out here and do it himself if he cares so much about it. 

The boy couldn’t see any good reason to waste his time pulling up weeds.  They would only grow back.  And then he would have to pull them up all over again.  It really wasn’t fair.  He could just hear his dad’s voice droning the same words over and over again.  ‘You’ll never finish if you never start.’  ‘The weeds aren’t just going to pull themselves up.’  ‘I don’t care if it takes you all day, these rocks will be weed-free before you go anywhere today.’

The little boy knew it was true; he wasn’t going anywhere until every last weed was lying in a pile on the ground, roots splayed out limply like a heap of dead squid.  He sighed again and stared at the ground.

Fine.  I’ll do it.  But it’s so unfair.  I won’t even do a good job.  Dad is so stupid.

He reached for the first one, a tiny little sprout near his right knee that was just barely cresting the top if the rocks surrounding it.  His thumb and pointer finger pinched the weed’s tiny stem and pulled it easily from the ground.  He brought the weed to his face, squinted at it, and then tossed it aside.  Slowly, the boy cleared the small area in front of him.

Scooting into the spot he had just cleared, the boy looked up again over the endless rocks and glared.  There were just so many weeds.  Again he could hear his dad’s voice in his head.  ‘If you did a little every day during the week it wouldn’t be so bad come Saturday.’  ‘A little work every day goes a long way.’

Dumb.  Dumb.  Dumb. 

The boy reached for the next section and began again to slowly pick the weeds from the ground.  He scooted and picked, scooted and picked.  After about ten minutes he looked up again to see if he was almost done, but if anything it seemed like he hadn’t started at all.  He looked at his fingers which were starting to get hard and slightly brown.  He felt a trickle of sweat make its way slowly down the side of his neck.  His back was already starting to ache a little.  He looked over at his feeble little pile of discarded weeds and groaned.  He really didn’t know how he’d ever finish.  To pick this many weeds would probably take until next Tuesday- at the soonest.  He started again.  Scoot and pick, scoot and pick.

About a half hour passed and the boy determined not to look up, hoping that would make the time go faster.  When his fingers ached in protest and his back felt ready to snap in half he finally looked up to take a break.  He gave a little scream of surprise.  Surely there hadn’t been that many weeds before.  The ground in front of him seemed so much thicker with weeds than he had thought there were.  It must be a trick of being closer up, he reasoned to himself grumpily.  Absently, he picked a weed growing next to his hand and threw it behind him towards the growing pile.  As he watched, the weeds in front of him seemed to grow slightly, a little taller and a little denser.  He blinked twice and squinted at the ground in front of him. 

What the…?

He picked another weed, quickly, his gaze fixed in front of him still.  Were his eyes playing tricks on him or did the rocks seem to disappear a little more; was there just a little more green in front of him than there was a second ago?  He stood up.

Slowly he walked to the center of the worst part of the weeds.  Here he could barely see any rocks at all.  Squatting down, he closed each hand, on either side of his body, on a clump of weeds and yanked them up, scattering dirt and rocks as he stood up. 

There was no question about it.  As he watched, the weeds in front of him grew a couple of inches and hundreds more grew in the crowded places between them.  He dropped the uprooted weeds in horror and turned around.  The small path he had made in the last forty minutes was already almost completely grown over by even bigger and uglier weeds.  It couldn’t be possible.

In a frenzy the boy set upon the jungle of weeds and began ripping them out in desperation, not paying attention to where he was weeding, just intent on ripping every last ugly green monster from its place.  When he was panting from the effort, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath and stood gasping looking around him.  For a moment it seemed he had gotten the better of them.  Limp, dead weeds lay in scattered heaps everywhere and the ground could be seen again in some spots.  The boy grimaced in triumph and wiped his hands against the material of his shorts at his sides. 

Stupid weeds. 

That was when he noticed something odd about his house.  From where he stood it looked like moss was growing on the outside of the back of the house.  He ran to get a closer look. 

Weeds.  Weeds were now growing thickly across the stucco wall.  Growing before his very eyes, moving quickly to cover every empty space.  He heard a noise and jerked his head in time to see weeds push open the sliding glass door and enter the house.

He could just hear his dad’s voice as he stared in shock at the ever-greener world around him.  ‘I told you, a few weeds a day keeps the hard work away.’  ‘There’s no way you’re going to your friend’s house today young man.’