PLANT LOVER

ROGER AND ME

A sometimes erotic series about the relationships between plants and their human counterparts

-by Lina Piskernik

Another lockdown was just partially lifted in Austria, and Vienna is proudly wearing its orange badge of honour, while the rest of Austria is still standing at a red on the very logical Corona traffic light system. This has encouraged some of my friends to go on dates which are mostly done outside, regardless of the freezing rain and general greyness that Vienna is exuding in its typical winter glory. 

I, meanwhile, do not have to go on a date during times of multiple Covid variants because I have commenced a torrid love affair with Roger, the peperomia argyreia plant sitting in my office. We’ve known each other for only a few months as he was an impulse buy off one of those Instagram ads, but I really feel that we have a connection like I’ve never had with anyone, or anything else. 

The other day I was touching one of his larger leaves and I could feel something between us, or was it the electrostatic from the dust colliding with my dry winter skin? Sensually touching him in this way reminded me of when I first saw him when I was unpacking him from the carton. I received him in the Spring, and he was still so small, just a teenage plant, but since then he has really matured. He no longer is a little sprout in a tiny pot; now his leaves are broad, a fecund, dark green; and his stem is thick and sturdy. 

I actually wasn’t the one to make the first move in the relationship. Roger chose a tender moment between us to take his chance on me. I was on the balcony, repotting him into a larger pot in the hot summer sun. He was really thriving like no other plant I have had before; the many indoor gardening Instagram accounts had really taught me a lot during the multiple lockdowns. As I was diving my hands deeply into his fertile, dark soil, I could feel his leaves gently brush my neck. I’m not sure how Roger knew this was my most intense erogenous zone, but it really made me notice him for what he was for the first time: a full-fledged plant who had needs that go beyond water and sunlight. 

As our connection grew, I knew we had something that was beyond just a fling. I moved Roger into a well-lit spot in my office so that I could spend more time with him without my roommate finding out. That’s when we first really started to get to know each other. Before, we had flighty physical experiences that were rushed by the fact that my roommate was in the other room but in that office we were able to connect on a much deeper level. We were going beyond fondling of leaves or entwining roots and fingers. I’d whisper my deepest secrets to him; secrets that I would have never told anyone else, not even the aloe plant in my living room. And so, our emotional connection grew stronger. 

© Andrea Zapanta Scharf

Roger and I began enjoying romantic candle lit dates, where I gently caressed his big, smooth leaves while soothingly whispering sweet nothings like “Your soil is so moist tonight.” His leaves were soft and gentle, yet his base was strong and stable. I knew that if he were just the right species he could pick me up in his arms and carry me to safety, far away from this pandemic to New Zealand, where Covid is but a distant thought. 

I feared that what Roger and I had was just a summer fling with the heady emotions coming to an end once the first autumnal leaves would fall. I was also afraid what autumn and winter would do to Roger. Was he only a seasonal plant? Would he survive the grey Viennese winter?

As the cool fall winds began to blow through Vienna’s streets, my fear began to grow. Was this really the end for us? I confessed my worry to him one night as I was lying on the floor, being the “big spoon” to his ceramic pot. 

“I can’t lose you already. I feel like our journey has just begun,” my quivering voice whispered, as  tears formed in my eyes. A tear slipped down my cheek, falling into and being absorbed by his soil. He was silent for a few seconds and his leaves were moved thoughtfully by a breeze from the open window. 

I immediately understood what he was trying to tell me.

He may die tomorrow. Life is so fleeting after all, and this pandemic has forced us to look that hard fact in the face. But even if Roger would lose all his leaves and his stem would turn brown and lifeless, the love that we had will remain real. Our lives will be intertwined forever, his roots with my fingers.