The Greenhouse

Twenty-nine

When I reach the end of the journey with the girl, she places a hand on my shoulder and directs me into the town I had originally intended to bypass. She tells me that, in addition to the drama school, the town also hosts a clown’s school and famous circus, as well as being the producer of a renowned blue cheese. I turn five times to the right until I come to the building that she lives in, close to the famous historical center.

— There, she says, bursting into a sudden flurry of activity, we’ve arrived.

It’s raining on the windshield, and in some odd way it feels like I’m breaking up with a girlfriend or something, even though I’ve no direct experience of anything like that. She wriggles in her seat, with her hand still on my shoulder.

— Are you in a hurry? she asks. Do you have to get to your destination by a specific time?

— No, not exactly, but I have a long way to go yet, I add, to give her a more assertive answer. I’m guarding myself against surprise questions, potential requests; women often have plans and organize things ahead of time without you even realizing it.

— No, I was just going to ask you if you wanted to stay, she says. I share an apartment with another two girls who are with me at the school, so there’s plenty of room for you, too.

I ponder on whether there can be any danger in accepting the invitation to stay, whether it might affect my future plans. People who pop up in your life for just a brief moment can have a greater impact than those who sit there for years on end. Experience has taught me what an insidious and fateful effect coincidences can have.

— Seriously, she says, adjusting her hair and tucking a lock under her ribbon. It’s getting dark anyway so it’ll be night soon.

— Yeah, thanks, I say, deciding to share the apartment with the three actresses. In any case I’ll be gone before they wake up.

— There’s just one thing, she says. My roommates are vegetarians, I hope you don’t mind. For the dinner, I mean. We’ll probably have spinach lasagna tonight.

As we’re stepping out of the car, she suddenly says:

— What did you call that plant that’s like a trampoline again?