To Smell The Roses

Simon Shrub woke up inspired. It was a beautiful, sun-soaked morning at 110^th Street and the day vibrated with life. Deciding to take advantage, Simon planned his journey to work at the teashop and bookstore to include a walk through Central Park close by his apartment. He enjoyed the park very much, especially on beautiful mornings. Today, Simon Shrub took his coffee to-go, headed for the Conservatory Gardens, and would literally stop to smell the roses.

As he began his walk, a mother reading a book to her pre-school children caught his eye. It was a scene he had witnessed thousands of times, but today it whispered to him the promise of life and the future. Simon thought quietly to himself about his own childhood. He thought of the stories that once ignited his own imagination and was filled with the warmth of good memories.

With the Conservatory Gardens just in sight, a new scene interrupted his gaze. Ten yards in front of him lay an unidentifiable, struggling lump. It stopped Simon in his tracks. Creeping slowly forward, he came to the slow realization that this small, struggling lump was covered in fur, had a tail, and was undoubtedly nearing the end of its life. Life is never decidedly easy for a street rat, one can imagine, but this one had certainly seen better days. Simon stepped carefully around the twitching rat with every intention of going on about his day. He was halted by the smallest whisper of a squeak. What is it about vocalizations that give an animal humanity? People who would never hunt deer will go fishing without the first hesitation. If a fish could bark, would the waters suddenly be safer?

Certain that the small rat had just uttered the words, “help me,” Simon again approached the twitching creature. Although he feigned thought for several moments, Simon Shrub knew immediately that there was only one way to resolve this rat’s struggle. You don’t exactly scoop up a street rat and rush it to the veterinary office for the latest, most advanced diagnostic and surgical care. A pit had opened up in his stomach.

Simon was not totally uneducated in the killing of animals. He had seen a television show dedicated to hunting large game (this was a far cry from gunning down a rhinoceros from a helicopter). Employees had disposed of successful mousetraps. In one awful instance, Simon had even witnessed the needless slaughter of a pigeon at the hands of some unruly schoolboys. However, with the exception of swatting a few houseflies, Simon had never taken the life of another creature into his own hands. His time had come. Thank goodness it was still cool enough outside that he was wearing heavy shoes.

His heart raced. His skin was awake with goose bumps. His hair stood on end. Scenes from horror movies played in his head, only now he was starring as the merciless killer. He looked around for witnesses. He was eager to get this horrible event behind him, knowing that at any moment the poor rat could utter another squeak, begging him to relent and grant a few more moments of precious life. Simon said a quick prayer, gave the rat his last rites, and raised his leg. He brought swift death by way of size nine Dockers. There was the inevitable crunch, but the rat chose not to utter any last words.

Simon was relieved. He glanced around, making sure there were no witnesses. He saw the gardens in front of him, the group of children behind him, and this terrible scene immediately beside him. He shuttered at the awful poetry he had just created: gruesome death surrounded by abundant life. He was very envious of the children and wished to be lost in their same story.

Picking up his bags, Simon quickly fled the scene and made his way back to the street. The clean up would be someone else’s burden. He would skip his walk through the park today. Suddenly, he was not in the mood to absorb any more life. Simon may be a few minutes early to the teashop and bookstore, but he will be taking a cab.

"IT"

When Simon Shrub remembers today, he will note that it was a day just like any other. When he looked out the window, the sky was no particular color. His neighbors nodded as he said hello just as they always have. The walk to his train was just as cold as it should be for a day in February. He will remember today, not because of anything special about the weather, but because of the events that occurred on his way to work.
Simon owns a teashop and bookstore. He runs it by himself with an ever-evolving staff of twenty-somethings. They begin their careers at the teashop with lofty goals of fortune and fame in New York City and generally leave after moving on to more attainable goals claiming a “new and more fulfilling path.” This is not the case with Simon. Simon is truly pleased with his teashop and bookstore. It allows him to read, to sometimes write, and to enjoy times of quietly observing his patrons. Their behaviors amuse him very much. He will often make up entire life stories about a person and wonder if he is correct.
After leaving his apartment, Simon walked the several blocks to the subway station. He swiped his card, proceeded through the gate, and made his way down the stairs to wait for the train. The train arrived quickly, which pleased Simon. It was especially crowded on today’s train forcing Simon to stand. He made a quick glance about the train for any interesting subjects to study and found none in particular.
It was at this time that he felt it. Could it be? Oh, please not now, he thought. Not on the train. Just ten more minutes and he would have been off the train and on his way to his private office at the teashop and bookstore, but at the moment he was trapped on the train with it. “It” started as a slow rumble in Simon’s stomach. “It” was a cramp that crawled through the lower part of his abdomen like a barbed caterpillar. “It” was gas.
It’s easy to be polite in public under normal circumstances. However, when one has a barbed caterpillar slowly morphing into a thorn bush creating havoc in the stomach, such decencies are easily forfeited in search for relief. Simon glanced left. He peeked right. Just before he was about to make the decision, it was made for him. Did it just happen? It did. Was there a sound? Simon could hardly judge the faces around him through the pleasure he felt at his own relief. Relief gave way to embarrassment and no amount of concentration could keep his cheeks from glowing red. With a face that could not hide shame, he glanced around the train to see if anyone had noticed. Betraying his own secret, he searched the faces of those around him to find that nobody seemed disturbed. He had done it! Simon had gotten away with his offense. But, pride comes before the fall.
He noticed it first in the short sniffle from the elderly woman to his left. Then, again in the crazed, darting eyes of the man just behind him. The jig was up. What the barbed caterpillar lacked in noise it made up for with a new offense. All over the train, silent news was spreading of what Simon had done. Simon’s thoughts spun trying to invent a way to escape the situation as the speaker in the train announced that they were arriving at a station. It was two stops from where Simon wanted to be, but he had no choice. He must escape before the evidence found him out. All around him, an angered mob of rush-hour passengers were investigating a crime and all the evidence pointed to him. The doors of the train opened and with a mousy, “excuse me,” Simon was able to make his way through the door and onto the platform.
Yes, Simon would remember this day. He would remember the terror of having all eyes fixed on him, calling down judgment for his public offense. Now he was safe. Two more stops until he was in his private office, his private bathroom, and then to enjoy his private thoughts.

Introducing Simon Shrub

Simon Shrub is as inconspicuous and unobtrusive as his name would suggest. He has dark curly hair, he is very thin, and his favorite shirt is flannel. Simon lives at 110th Street in an apartment for one. He says hello to his neighbors. He goes on walks. Mostly, however, he reads his books. He reads all sorts of books; books about war, books about love, books about how people farm in rural parts of Korea. Simon studies all sorts of things. The most interesting of his studies are the people he sees outside his apartment at 110th Street.
Today, Simon needed to buy a stapler. He pulled on his jacket. Walked to the number 2 train and waited – and waited – and waited. He wondered if the train was running a different schedule and waited a bit longer. Waiting patiently is one of Simon’s strongest abilities. When the train did pull up and the doors opened, Simon took a seat near the end of the car.
“What type of stapler should I get?” he thought. “I rarely ever need a stapler, so I should probably get a less expensive one, however when I need it again a cheaper stapler may not work.”
Simon rarely spends money so frivolously. Today’s adventures excited him terribly. He argued back and forth with himself for a while. In the end he decided that he would base the decision on color and feel. After all, what good would a stapler be, cheap or expensive, if he didn’t enjoy using it.
“I KNOW YOU’RE WATCHING ME!” A woman seated across from Simon had nearly startled him out of his seat. “YEAH! I’M TALKING TO YOU!”
Surely, she could not have been talking to Simon. He had only been thinking about staplers and he was almost positive he had been staring at the floor. Although everything in him resisted the urge, he looked directly at the woman.
These are the irresistible moments that intrigue Simon the most. This woman was probably 40 years old. She carried with her a cart full of bags that looked to Simon to be full of smaller bags, which looked to Simon to be full of bags that were even smaller still. As she arranged and rearranged the bags, it was clear how angry this woman was. What could have made her so angry? Where does she live? What does she do with all of those bags? These are the questions that Simon asks about every person. You see, Simon studies people. It’s a habit. And, although he hates confrontation, there are times he just cannot help but explore.
“Me?” he said, barely being heard over the screeching of the subway rails.
“YOU WATCH ME EVERY NIGHT! YOU SEND YOUR PEOPLE TO SET FIRE TO MY HOUSE! I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE UP TO!” the woman’s voice was growing in rage with each sentence. Spit flicked from her mouth, narrowly missing Simon’s face, which grew paler with each passing moment.
Simon shifted in his seat just an inch.
“AND YOU” the woman looked directly into Simon’s eyes. He froze as if remaining perfectly still would allow him to disappear completely. “YOU ARE NO SAFER THAN ANY OF US! THEY WILL COME TO YOUR HOUSE TOO! YOU CAN’T SEE THE CAMERAS, BUT THEY ARE IN YOUR HOUSE. THEY SEND THEIR PEOPLE TO LOOK AT YOU WHILE YOU SLEEP. THEY STEAL YOUR MONEY. THEY BURN DOWN YOUR HOUSE. THEY PUT CHEMICALS IN YOUR FOOD.”
Simon must have looked as if he’d swallowed a live grenade. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman. As she turned away from Simon and began to walk down the aisle of the subway car, it became apparent that this woman was not talking to anyone in particular. He couldn’t be sure what was the matter with her, but he was positive she did not belong on a subway car unsupervised. Simon’s eyes followed her as she paced. He also watched the other passengers on the subway. Some shifted uncomfortably. Some found a sudden interest in the newspaper they were carrying. Most just stared without saying a word. Suddenly, the subway car jerked and the woman fell to the ground. She pounded the ground with her fists, yelled, and it looked to Simon as if she was crying as well. He rose a little from his seat.
“72nd Street. Transfer is available to the 1 train. Next stop is Times Square – 42nd Street. Please stand clear of the moving doors,” called the speaker.
Reluctantly, and then with reservation, Simon stood and walked toward the train doors. He reached into his pocket and laid a ten-dollar bill on top of the many bags.
“I’ll be fine without a stapler for today,” thought Simon to himself. He looked at the woman getting to her feet and then at those who were sitting around her.
“I’ll be fine.”