How Does Your Goth Garden Grow?

Her name was Matilda Manor and she looked like a waif. Her raven hair cascaded down to her waist, while the sleeves of her jacket crept over her thin wrists. Some said she must be a witch because at age 90, her hair remained a deep black. Others suggested she was a sprite, imbued with extraordinary powers to rehabilitate the sickest of plants. Despite her delicate appearance and dulcet demeanor, all agreed that if there was anyone who could answer a question about blooming plants, it was Matilda.

She was one of the most popular gardeners in the club, often called upon to lead garden tours or talk to ladies’ clubs about how to make plants thrive. But the questions she was being asked today by three teenage girls dressed from head to toe in black threw her off her normal stride.

“When I was your age, I wore bright clothes, the brighter the better. I wanted to be noticed. Carmine red lipstick, sky blue eye shadow and lots of it. As much purple mascara as my eyelashes could hold. What’s the fun in wearing black?”

Jane shrugged. “Perhaps we don’t want to be noticed.”

Matilda regarded the teens thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But did you ever stop to consider that alone, you might not stand out, but three of you dressed the same certainly do?”

They shrugged. “We’re not trying to fit in,” said Willow, a tall teen with frizzy black hair that added to her already impressive height.

“That we are not,” said Sandra, twirling a black barbell-shaped tongue piercing.

“We’ve come to you for advice,” explained Jane.

Matilda was secretly pleased because she relished the opportunity to help the teens understand the natural beauty of the garden, and hoped the experience would encourage them to wear at least a little bit of color.

“I’ve been a gardener since I was a young girl. I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”

“We’re not looking for pretty plants. If we wanted those, we’d hang out in Jane’s mother’s garden. It’s filled with hydrangeas, azaleas, and all manner of frilly blooms.”

“It sounds delightful,” said Matilda. Seeing their expressions, she reined in her enthusiasm. “Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“If we wanted to teach someone a lesson, like, say, the girl whose locker is three doors down, what would we use? We don’t want to hurt her. We just want her to stop asking us questions. She wears the silliest dresses to school – all shades of yellows and whites. She decorates her locker walls with photos of sky-high sunflowers. She reminds me of Elle Woods in Legally Blond – too pretty, too peppy, too positive. It sometimes feels as if we’re surrounded by large sunflowers.”

“What kinds of questions does she ask?”

“Well, like the questions you’re asking. She wants to know more about us and she seems to think that if she doesn’t get a response the first or second time, she can keep asking.”

Matilda spoke slowly. “Many plants are harmful, but it really depends on what you mean by harm. For instance, a person who likes only dark colors may find it uncomfortable to walk through a garden overflowing with pastel-colored flowers. Someone who is sensitive to scent may shy away from philadelphus coronaries. Those are different types of harm.”

“Mockorange shrubs,” offered Jane.

“You know your plants,” said Matilda approvingly.

“My mother’s plant. Actually, I like to gentle smell of orange that the blooms release.”

“Most people need to keep their distance from poison ivy, although a few lucky souls are immune.”

“Now you’re getting close to giving us the information we need,” said Willow.

“No, Willow, that’s not it. We don’t want to hurt her, just make her lose interest in us.”

Matilda looked at Willow and shook her head. “I was trained as an herbalist. I studied integrative medicine and I strongly believe in the healing power of plants. I cannot in good conscience recommend plants that will make anyone sick.”

Willow tried another tactic. “Well, is there a plant-based potion that we can give to make her lose interest in us?”

Matilda stifled a sigh. “In Shakespeare’s world, Puck concocts a magic potion from a flower. If the potion is placed upon a person’s eyelids, that person will fall in love with the first person they see on waking up. Is this what you’re thinking?”

“No, yes, maybe. Got any other suggestions?”

“Nettles will irritate the skin if touched. Strawberries will stain the tongue red if too many are eaten at a time. And handling beets will turn a person’s hands temporarily red.”

Matilda tried to connect with the girls one more time. She singled out Jane. “Have you considered asking your mother if you can create a Goth garden filled with dark plants? Queen of the Night tulips, black hollyhocks, black dahlias, black Baccara roses, black Mondo Grass, dark chocolate baptisia, and the best of them all, black bat flowers. The list is endless! Your garden would be unique.”

“That’s not a bad idea, but how does it help us persuade ‘Sunflower Girl’ to stop asking questions?”

Matilda nodded firmly. “Now that’s an easy question for me to answer. She’s curious. She’s interested because she doesn’t know anything about you or why you wear black. Invite her out. Tell her why dressing in black is important to you. Ask her if she would like to get her hair dyed black. Would she like a wardrobe makeover? If she agrees, you may find she has more in common with you than you thought. It’s equally possible that she will distance herself from you if she discovers that you’re not really compatible.”

Jane had the final question. “That’s great advice. Would you like to become one of us? We’d have fun dressing you in black, coloring your hair, teaching you how to apply black eyeliner. You could become the honorary elder Goth.”

“Not a chance,” said Matilda. “I feel privileged to be invited, but I like all colors.”

She thanked them for coming and went in search of lavender to calm her senses.