Seeds | Isabela El Dib Maesano

The house sits polished and pristine on a vibrant green lawn, fitting in with the neighborhood’s white picket fence pattern. All of the houses look almost the same, except for the different items scattered across each driveway. Dog toys, garden gnomes, flowers, and vegetable gardens decorate the driveways, welcoming the spring.
“Honey, please don’t leave the table just yet,” my mother cuts through the last piece of meat on her plate and pops it in her mouth.
“There’s nothing good for dessert,” I mumble.
“Eat the watermelon, I bought it fresh this morning,” she points at a fruit bowl in the middle of the table.
I roll my eyes and pull the bowl towards me, picking up a fork and sticking it into a watermelon square. The cold, sweet liquid fills my mouth, finding its way across my throat as I swallow. I spit out two black seeds into the bowl and pick up another square. I accidentally bite into a seed and feel it crunch between my teeth. I swallow it. It’s razor-sharp against my throat as it trickles down with the fruit juice. I gulp down the rest of the watermelon, leaving the bowl on the table and standing up towards my room.

It’s already 9:30 p.m. and I have to wake up early for soccer practice. I brush my teeth and change into my outer space pajamas, a green alien patch nearly falling off my right sleeve. I’ll ask Mom to sew that back on later. I lay down on my bed, phone in hand, and check my friends’ group chat. Cool, Shay’s bailing out again. I guess it’ll be just me and the sophomores. I scroll through Amazon, searching for a new shelf for my plants and books. My eyes feel heavy, and I hear my stomach slightly grumbling as I fall asleep, my phone falling beside me on the mattress.

I run across the field, and my bubblegum pink cleats make small holes in the grass as I chase after the ball.

“Hey, I’m free!” My teammate shouts as I head towards the goal. I run faster than I ever have, sweat dripping down my eyebrows, and my thighs aching. I prepare myself to kick, eyes on the net and legs swerving around the defense. I lift my leg to kick the ball and feel a sharp sting coming from somewhere inside me—as if my organs had no space. I fall back on the wet grass, my arms clutching my stomach, in pain. The coach blows her whistle, they all come over, huddling in a tight circle. I squirm on the ground, staining my white uniform green.

“What’s wrong?” I hear someone asking. People touch my shoulders, trying to pull me up. All the voices around me are muffled, and I can’t tell anyone’s faces apart. I am ushered to the locker room. Suddenly I feel nothing. The pain stops. How strange. When I’m left alone, just for a few minutes, I take it as an opportunity to lift my shirt. A small lump rests on my abdomen, barely noticeable. For a moment, it moves.

My mom picks me up at school. She gives me an ice pack, which I prop uselessly against my stomach as we drive home. I caress the lump through the thin fabric of my shirt, not feeling any pain.

“Sweetie, I’ll give you something for your cramp when we get home. And then rest, you’ll feel better.”

We pull into the driveway, and I get out of the car, walking across the lawn to the front door. My foot accidentally tramples a flower–a white daisy that had been growing beautifully for the past two weeks. I take the pill my mom hands me. I go to my room. In the bathroom, I strip out my dirty uniform and leave it on the floor. I enter the shower, and close the curtain behind me. With a bright yellow loofa, I scrub the dirt off my body, I try and ignore the small mass growing inside me. But I cannot look away. It looks a little bigger now. The tip of a vivid green leaf peaks out through my belly button, which I gently scrub until the leaf falls and slips into the drain. I don’t feel any discomfort. I finish my shower, dry with a fluffy towel, slip into a set of comfortable sweats. I lie down on the bed and close my eyes. I drift off.

I wake up with my mother holding out a tray with a bowl of soup and some crackers. It’s 7 p.m. My head feels like cotton, and it takes me a few moments to realize where I am. I should have been at school today, especially since I’m supposed to have that biology quiz. I’ll see if I can get some extra credit for that tomorrow.

“Eat this, honey, you’ll feel better in the morning. You can leave the tray on the bedside table when you’re done. I’ll pick it up later,” Mom kisses me on the forehead.

“Good night, mom.”

“Good night, love.”

I drink the soup and eat the crackers, the liquid is warm and cozy inside my body as I swallow it. I prop the tray with the empty bowl on the bedside table, next to my cactus. Shay gave it to me for my birthday a few months ago. A small pink flower blooms in between its prickles. I roll sideways, resting my head on my hand, and close my eyes. I place the other hand on my lump.

“Hon, breakfast’s ready!” The mother calls from the kitchen.

The sun creeps in through the windows, welcoming the morning in. Out on the lawn, the sprinklers hydrate the verdant grass, hitting the old blue bicycle, the one with the training wheels. Inside, the kettle screams hot water for the coffee. Pancakes and scrambled eggs sit ready on the table, with freshly squeezed orange juice in a crystal jug. The mother turns off the stove and heads up the stairs to wake her daughter up. She knocks on the door delicately.

She is met with silence. If she doesn’t wake up, the girl will have to run to catch the bus. The mother opens the door to wake her sleepy daughter.

The neighbors across the street jump up from their seats at the kitchen table, taken aback by a guttural scream.

The mother screeches with her hands half covering her eyes, unable to look at the bed.

The girl lies sprawled on the upturned sheets, arms hanging down over the wooden side rail like climbing vines. Her eyes are wide open, static, and lifeless. A confusing tangle of leaves and stems sprout out of her stomach. Right in the center, replacing the girl’s flesh and bones, sits a dark green watermelon, bigger than the girl’s head. It is the perfect color of green. Fresh and ripe.

Isabela El Dib Maesano is an English Writing, Literature, and Publishing major and Italian Language and Culture minor at The American University of Rome. Born and raised in São Paulo, Brazil and brought up in both Portuguese and English, Isabela began to foster her passion for reading and writing stories that inspired her. She currently works as Chief Copy Editor for the Broad Ripple Review literary magazine, as well as an editor for The American University of Rome’s Remus Literary and Art journal.

theromereviewlit@gmail.com