Of Flowers, Air Fresheners and Processed Juice: A Broken Love Story

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“I don’t understand why you have to labour with these flowers. I mean, why don’t we just buy air fresheners? I am sure you can get over your disdain for them and get used to them.” I said to her.

“ ‘Why don’t I just buy air fresh’…pfffft…Oh my God!” She scoffed, shaking her head as she gave this irritating laughter that made my blood boil. You know that sardonic laughter that implies you are a bit of an idiot? Yeah. That was the laughter.

“I mean, it smells nice too. Better than these flowers.” I insisted.

She looked at me with utter disbelief.

“What?” I asked.

“So, you choose to ignore the fact that I want to live my life as organically as possible? I mean, if you want to ignore such a core part of who I am, then do you even really love me –

“Come on, O.V. Of course I love you –

“Well, if you did, you would know that it’s not a matter of my getting used to or not getting used to air fresheners. I have said it many times, air fresheners are not flowers. They are chemicals made to smell like flowers. I hate how they smell. I hate the after scent they leave after the ‘best’ of the scent is gone. And oh my God, don’t get me started on those obnoxious flower imagery on the can. I love flowers. I want flowers. So no! I will not compromise on my hatred for air fresheners.” She sighed and shook her head. “They are like processed juice – something made to smell and taste like the fruit but not actually it.”

“Well is that such a bad thing?” I asked. “ 'Processed juice' as you call it, still tastes good and saves us the time to blend our own. Besides, I do think that sometimes juice from the actual fruit, even you have to admit, doesn’t taste nearly as good as ‘processed juice.’”

“ ‘Saves us the time….woi Ghai.” Once again, she scoffed with disdain, and once again, my blood boiled with anger. “Umeskia nikicomplain? Hmm? Eli, have you heard me complain about having to change these flowers?”

“Hapana, but –

“Then?” She raised her hands quizzically, giving me these wide, angry eyes. “I love the smell of actual flowers. And no, I don’t mind the labour of changing them weekly or even daily. And yes, I also enjoy the labour of blending my own juice from actual fruit.”

Then she started laughing to herself as she shook her head and sucked on her teeth in frustration.

“What?” I asked. I was at this moment trembling, because I could feel the rage from all her previous mocking laughter now begin to threaten to spill over. I hoped she wouldn’t say anything to break whatever ropes were holding me back.

“I know why you are doing this,” She said, with a snarky smile and a triumphant gaze.

“Oh really.’ I replied, folding my hands over my chest and raising my chin. “Well, pray tell, Mrembo.”

“You feel guilty for not helping,” She replied. “You feel guilty for not doing anything to help me with these flowers –

“Oh, here we go again –

“Yes. I know you, Eliaquim. Whenever you feel guilty or ashamed, you place the burden of change on the other person.” She stared at me with this glimmer of victory in her eyes that just made me even madder. “Look, you don’t need to feel guilty for not helping with the flowers. I am perfectly comfortable changing these flowers myself. I did it before you, and if we ever separated, I would still do it without you. Actually, I prefer doing it alone. It gives me time to think.”

“Si sawa basi! Sorry, I tried making your life easier.” I fired back.

She scoffed once again. My body seized, and my muscles tensed up in rage. I curled up my fingers, and my neck started hurting from all the stiffness that the anger coursing through me was causing.

“You weren’t trying to make my life easier, Eliaquim,” She replied. “You were trying to make your life easier. You were trying to get me to stop waking up early to tend to my flowers because you feel guilty for not helping – for never helping.”

“Tuseme ukweli, O.V. Aren’t you the one who never wants me to touch your flowers?”

“Because you always ruin everything!” She snapped back with so much anger that I took a step back. Thick veins of frustration ran down her temple; that's when I knew she was really mad.

“I will teach you how to carefully weed them and then the…the…the next time I come and check on them, I find injuries on the roots and stems. And I am not talking about scuff marks but deep gorges from the garden trowel, as though you deliberately injured them. Or…or…or when watering, you will pour water on the flowers that I specifically asked you not to. So yeah, forgive me for not trusting you one bit with my babies. I mean, isn’t that what you have always wanted – for me to stop asking you to help? Well, I have. Now don’t bring your guilty feelings to me. Deal with them huko pekee yako. Mimi usiniletee!”