I’ll See You In My Dreams - Part One [FICTOID]

From a little seed a city grew.

She planted the seed in a flowerpot on the roof of the tenement where she rented a flat.

The flat served as her residence, not her place of work.  For work she would go down tp a café in the tourist section and await a phone call from her pimp.

Technically what she did was not prostitution since she never took money from her clients; they would be billed by their hotel for “room service” and after the hotel took their sizeable chunk and her pimp took his sizeable chunk what was left would trickle down to her hands, enough to provide a meager one-room flat with a bathroom she needed to share (one of the perks of being a sex worker was that her clients were told to allow her to shower either before or after the session, so she would shower before the first client of then day then afterwards with all the rest, giving her a chance to feel at least physically clean at the end of her work day).

She got the seed from an old vendor in the marketplace.  Despite dressing conservatively when she went shopping, everyone knew her as a sex worker and regarded her with disdain or disgust or -- even worse -- pity.

Hate she could take, but not pity, never pity.

But the old vendor seemed different.

He set up his wares on an old towel at the edge of the marketplace, an area where unlicensed vendors would hope to attract a few coin before being chased off by the authorities.

“Buy a seed, miss,” he said, not making it sound like a question or a request, certainly not like a command, more like a clue, a hint, a promise of things to come.

She looked at the old vendor and he looked at her and for the first time in years she felt someone looked at her with kindness, not judgment.

It’s as if he doesn’t know what I do for a living///, she thought.  ///Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

Out of curiosity, she looked at the exotic seeds on display, no two looking alike.  “What are these?” she asked.

“Dreams,” said the vendor.

“You mean like poppies?”

“Opium is not dreams,” said the vendor.  “It is a pain killer, something that allows you to pretend you’re not hurt. 

“No, these seeds will grow into something you want, something you desire deep in your heart of hearts.”

Amused, she looked at the seeds more closely.  “How much?” she asked.

“For you, a single dinar.”

She looked surprised, almost asking the vendor how he expected to make a living selling seeds at such low prices then realized he was not in the marketplace to make money.

Make a profit, yes, but not money.

“All right,” she said, fishing out a single dinar.  “Which do you recommend?”

“You must pick.  The choice must be yours.”

She rubbed her lower lip against her teeth then said, “The blue one.”

“As you will,” said the vendor, picking up the seed and handing it to her as he took her money.

“How do I grow this?” she asked.

“The way one grows any seed,” said the vendor.  “Plant it and water it and enjoy what happens.”

So she did.  She took the seed home and using an old flowerpot abandoned by a previous tenant, planted it and placed it in a corner of the roof where it would get plenty of sunlight.

Every day, soon after waking up, she’d go on the roof and pour a cup of water into the pot.

For a week nothing happened.

Then, on the eighth day, the expected miracle:  A tiny shoot in the soil.

She enjoyed tending the plant.  It gave her something to look forward to doing as soon as she woke up instead of preparing herself to be fondled and groped and penetrated and abused by Fat European and American tourists.

The plant grew slowly but steadily, rising a few centimeters every day.  Sometimes when she worked into the wee morning hours she would come home just as the sun rose.

On those days she would check the plant before going to her tiny room to sleep.

One such morning she felt startled to see a large bulbous growth atop the plant, looking like an artichoke but definitely not an artichoke.  She squatted to examine it more closely, reaching out to touch it with her finger.

As she did, she felt herself instantly transported to a different time, a different place.

She found herself in a city, a city of olden times, but not the crowded, hot, stinking cities of history but the glorious, clean, pristine cities of fable and legend.

She could wal through the streets of this wondrous city, enjoying the sights, receiving nourishment from fountains that flowed with wine, parks that teemed with fruit bearing trees and bushes.

No people inhabited the city; rather, no humans.

The inhabitants were plant people, tall and elegant, swaying gently as they passed her on the streets.

If they ever saw her (for they had no eyes) they never judged her (for they had no eyes).

They simply accepted her.

She spent days exploring the city, but in objective time only the barest moment passed.

=to be continued=

© Buzz Dixon