SEEING GREEN

Oliver had a marijuana farm down in Granada. He cared for the plants as if they were his own… loving them, nurturing them, feeding them. On the rare occasions that he left, often to see his family, he left the farm in the hands of his close friend Onya. She took the keys and the job transferred. On the plane he would watch out the window, and the clouds would turn into grass in his eyes. He wished he could be there all the time. Alas… it could not be. At home he was despondent, dead to the world. The Norwegian woods were ash compared to the verdant green of Granada weed. He wished his family would die in an accident so that he didn’t have to go there anymore, so he didn’t have to speak Norwegian, and pretend that a Kaffepause was fun. He wished that nothing else existed, that he didn’t have to work, to breathe, to go to weddings, to funerals, that he could just give and give and breathe out.

Then one day, he received a call…

He was listening to SZA through the H&M speakers. He wore a red raincoat, like an omen of the incoming doom. Water dripped down his zipper and onto his NIKE trainers. Soon there would be water coming out of his eyes.

Oliver I’m sorry…

Tell me

Oliver it’s just that…

TELL ME

There was a storm. The biggest storm that Granada has seen since the fifties. Rain came pouring down like wine. I’m sorry, Oliver…

NO

The ground fell in, all the ground. It collapsed. A whole neighbourhood. It was dreadful. And nothing survived. Not houses, not people, not… the farm. It kept falling down and down and down. I think it’s still falling.

And there he saw it. A vision of green green grass splayed out like dead mossy doves, running towards the earth’s crust without him. And this he could not permit. No. He believed in good days. He took a step out of the mall, and the air nourished him. The rain heavy. His mind empty. Yes, he believed in Good Days. When it came down to it, he believed in Good Days.

“Where are you going?” called his Father, with H&M bag in hand.

“I’m going to the airport.”

“But you just got here.”

“I don’t give a FUCK what you think. I’m doing what I love. Can’t you see that??? I hope you get hit by a bus.”

He ran into the street like the lead of a romantic movie, and grabbed a bus. He watched his fathers sad and troubled face as he left, looking like the rabbit dad from Arthur. It would be the last time they locked eyes.

The bus arrived at the airport and Oliver went running down the floor that he knew so well. He saw green in everything. In the hair of tourists. In the lights. In grey. At this point the staff knew him so well they didn’t even ask for his boarding pass. He held his passport like a medieval sword or the magna carta, noble and proud. He was on the plane. It went straight to Granada, and as it lowered he saw the damaged ground, the damaged faces, the damaged trees.

THIS he said, looking at the camera THIS IS WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO THE PLANET. YOU FUCKED IT ALL UP. I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU.

Then he jumped out of the plane, his parachute unravelling like his hopes and dreams. They flew around him, his hopes and dreams. They pecked it him like little cockroaches. They made a sound that can only be described like KRSH NOM NOM KRSHH AAARK. He saw it there. His life without climate change. Married to his weed farm. Wearing a dress, to toss aside gender roles. His weed farm in a suit – chunky, like he liked it. He was completely asexual but he could still appreciate a good figure. And what better figure than many many stems nuzzled in the ground, feasting from the warmth of an earth that loves it. That kisses it. That reads it bed time stories. That sings it lullabies like Good Days by SZA. Because half of us really are chasing fountains of youth and it's in the present. It’s in the present.

And so Oliver made a choice. He kicked off his nikes and they fell into Onya’s hands, down below.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? She shouted.

I’m going to go where I’m meant to be.

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I’M RIGHT HERE

No. You left them alone. I can only trust in what cannot speak.

I’M YOUR FRIEND. DON’T LEAVE ME HERE.

You see Onya, this world was not meant to be lived in without my plants. How can we have rainbows in a world without green? How can I trust in fate when it doesn’t go my way? How can I trust in a memory when I thought you had my back?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

And so Oliver sank into the deep deep hole that the rain had caused and flew down down down down until he saw it.. a hint of verde. There they were… crying for him. Calling for him. Their photosynthesised tears went up, not down, and reached him, raining on him. The weed was like his new clouds and behind him was the ground. He was going up by going down, up up up to a heaven on earth, in earth. Yes, his hand reached out. He was going to… Yes, he was going to reach the leafy greens of salvation. Gone were the days of mediocre drug deals, gone was the fear of the rabbit dad from Arthur, gone were the indigo summers with Onya. Yes, all you really need is green. He grabbed and held on tight, and the earth's molten core exploded around him.

In another life, he was a palm tree.