and it takes me a triple-take to realize it's scanning me, or something near my ear—that must be it. No plant’s ever complimented my perfume—wait—there it goes again. Did you see that? [Time passes, drinks] "Sure, I remember when I thought you were a fern but you were! Who could blame me?" I tell the what’s now a magnificent purple tetrahedron, eggplant-sized cilia straining at its corners, just a hint of ferniness remains in its fingertips—enough to blush. We hug goodbye. The scent of flowers lingers around me the next day. Flying home, a decorative airport fern that really is a decorative airport fern says, "You smell nice." I don’t believe it, but it's still a happy ending.
Copyright © 2011 by Jenn Knox. Used with permission of the author.