SURVIVOR

My husband Steven and I were sitting on the couch, both of us scrolling through our phones, when I remembered something I wanted to ask him. “Hey, did you notice that our forsythia is really popping this year?”

Steven looked up confused. “Forsythia? Where do we have forsythia?”

Now I was confused. “You haven’t seen it?” I got up and went to the back door. Steven was right behind me. I stepped outside and pointed to our fence by the trash containers. “It’s been sticking out of the top of our garbage pail corral.”

“I thought I cut that down last year!”

“Cut it down! Why would you cut it down?”

Steven pointed to the forsythia. “Because it’s just a few yellow sticks growing through the fence!”

“But that’s what I like about it.” I argued. “It’s a scrappy little fighter! You said so yourself.”

Steven began shaking his head. “When did I say it was a scrappy little fighter?”

“Well, you didn’t actually use those words, but you said you cut it down last year and here it is making it’s way through the fence…” I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s a survivor!” I held up my pointer finger to make my point. “Which makes it a scrappy little fighter.” I reasoned.

Steven just sighed. “You don’t think it looks ridiculous?”

“Sure I do. But a little burst of sunshine color on a dreary day certainly makes up for how ridiculous it looks sticking through the fence like that.”

Our son Alex came out the back door. “What are you two arguing about?”

Steven pointed to the forsythia sticks poking through the fence. “Your Mom doesn’t want me to cut that down.”

I quickly interjected before Alex had a chance to respond. “Your Dad cut it down last year and yet it’s back.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I think it should get some respect for it’s survivor skills. That’s all.”

Alex laughed. “Survivor skills.”

He looked over at me and saw that I wasn’t laughing.

“Oh, you’re serious.” He stopped laughing and began backing up towards the door. “Well, you two seem to have this under control so, I’m going to head back inside and get back to work.”

Steven looked back at me and shook his head. “You realize that when I start trimming around the yard I’m going to be cutting it down again?”

“Sure.” I pointed back at the forsythia. “But right now it’s a pop of color that makes me smile.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Besides every time you cut it back it just seems to come back stronger. That’s what I call a survivor!”

“Okay. I’ll make you a deal.” Steven said.

I was feeling cautious. “What kind of deal?”

“If you stop calling it a survivor I’ll wait until after it blooms to cut it down.” He held out his hand for us to shake on it.

“Deal.” I said as I took his hand, pulling him closer so I could give him a kiss on the cheek.

I was following Steven back inside when I couldn’t help but turn around to give the forsythia one last look. “See you next year.” I whispered.

“I heard that!” Steven called over his shoulder.