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[b]A GROWING PROBLEM – PART I[/b]

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

Vince looks up from his tray. It’s sloppy joe night at North Dining Hall, with an emphasis on “sloppy.” I think he’s glad for the distraction from his meal. Look, we shouldn’t complain. The LHU meal plan is a steal for the amount of food you can get at the dining halls, but they often sacrifice quality for quantity. While it’s nice to have options, most of us would prefer four or five really [i]good[/i] meals over a dozen mediocre ones.

Vince Daniels is one of my oldest friends. We go back to elementary school, to the old days of trading Pokemon cards on the playground at recess. Vince and I were never quite as close as, say, Jim and I were, but a lot of that had to do with Vince’s busy lifestyle. His father is a big shot attorney who always expected the best out of his son. As a result, Vince spent most of high school bouncing from one extracurricular activity to the next. Student government meetings, soccer practice, National Honors Society, and then back home for a long night of studying. Needless to say, I barely saw Vince in those four years. Since moving on to college, though, Vince has taken it a lot easier, and we’ve made time to see each other more often now.

“Think what is weird?” Vince repeats. “That you and Mary haven’t said, ‘I love you,’ yet?”

I poke absentmindedly at the green beans on my plate as I give a little shrug. “Well, yeah,” I admit.

“I mean, Sean, it’s not something to be taken lightly,” he reminds me. “It’s the kind of thing that you can’t take back when you say it, so you have to be sure you’re ready.”

At this, I sit up a bit. “That’s the thing, though. I think I [i]am[/i] ready. But then, when the moment comes, it’s almost like something is… holding me back.”

Vince takes a bite of his sandwich, and half of it slides out of the bun and lands on his plate with a wet ‘plop.’ He frowns at his half-empty bun and sets it aside, deciding to tackle his bowl of macaroni and cheese instead. He asks me, “Do you think this has to do with Brooke?”

Truth is, that’s the [i]only[/i] reason I can come up with. It took me a while to get over my breakup with Brooke, but I genuinely thought I [i]had[/i] gotten over it. It’s not like I don’t still think about her from time to time, and we do send the occasional friendly text, but I’m not fixated on her like I was at the start of the fall semester.

Picking up on my silence, Vince says, “Look, no one’s blaming you for taking your time with this. You just got out of a long-term relationship, what, half a year ago? That kind of thing takes time to heal.” He reaches across the table and pats me on the arm. “You’re the master of beating yourself up over things, but I think you can let this one go.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I concede with a half-smile.

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Francis Marshall was born with a green thumb. In the years after his father’s untimely death, he helped his mother, Anna, maintain a small garden in their front yard. In the spring, Francis would spend hours kneeling beside that patch of dirt, watching the flowers bloom. He knew each of them by name. As Anna fell prey to illness, she had less strength to spend gardening, so Francis shouldered the load for both of them. He would pick her the brightest and biggest flowers from the garden, which she kept in a vase next to her bed.

As the years passed, Anna’s health waned while Francis’ passion for gardening grew. Francis was often ostracized by his peers and mocked for being a “momma’s boy.” The endless taunting and torment hurt, but Francis knew he could always find tranquility in his garden. Eventually, Francis was accepted to LHU’s biological sciences program, an important first step towards his ultimate goal of becoming a world renowned botanist. He was reluctant to make the move to the big city and leave his ailing mother behind, but Anna insisted that he shouldn’t give up his dream for her sake. With a heavy heart, Francis packed his bags and made the forty minute trip from home to downtown Lost Haven.

Francis’ aptitude, work ethic, and passion quickly drew the attention of his biochemistry professor, Dr. Lawler. Francis was invited to join Dr. Lawler in a research project funded by Gene.Co in conjunction with the LHU biological sciences department. Gene.Co had long been developing a revolutionary fertilizer which would increase plant growth and vitality tenfold. The applications were virtually limitless. Such a fertilizer would increase the length of the harvesting season, more than double the size of an average crop, and even allow for farming on otherwise infertile soil. It was fascinating work, and Francis was thrilled to be a part of it.

“Well, I’m heading out for the day,” Dr. Lawler announces with a sense of finality. He removes his white coat, putting on a light jacket and draping his lab coat over his arm. Lawler is a middle-aged man, although the lightness of his blonde hair helps to hide the gray which is creeping across his temples. He wears a pair of glasses with thick, black frames.

Francis sits on a stool at the other end of the small greenhouse attached to the biological sciences building. He wears a set of brown overalls over a white, short-sleeve shirt. His medium-length, brown hair falls just below his eyebrows while completely covering his ears. He leans over a table, examining a clump of soil through a magnifying glass.

Dr. Lawler walks over to his pupil. “Are you staying?” he asks while sneaking a peek over Francis’ shoulder.

Finally aware that he is being spoken to, Francis looks up from the task at hand. He glances over his shoulder and sees Dr. Lawler standing there. “For a little longer,” Francis replies. “I just want to do a quick pH test of the soil first.”

Lawler nods. “You know, someone your age shouldn’t spend [i]all[/i] their time working. You should get out of this place more. You’ve earned the break,” the professor assures his student with a gentle pat on the shoulder. As he’s walking away, Lawler adds, “Besides, shouldn’t you be out there with your friends, painting the town red?”

“Green was always my color,” Francis answers back.

After Dr. Lawler leaves, Francis gets up from his stool and makes his way over to the long, rectangular planters that run the length of the greenhouse. He brushes the dirt from handling the soil off his fingers. The planters are lined with row after row of vegetation and flowers. Francis checks on each one as though they were his children. Finally, he comes across a large, orange flower bud. It looks just about ready to bloom.

As Francis leans in close, the bud pops open, and a spray of yellow spores comes bursting out. The spores get in Francis’ eyes and mouth, and he feels a burning sensation. Coughing, Francis stumbles backwards. He backpedals into the planter behind him before losing his balance. Francis struggles for air as he feels the spores coating the inside of his mouth and throat. In his last few moments of consciousness, Francis feels his panic give way to darkness…