The Taste of Freedom

What does freedom taste like to you?

San Marzano tomatoes. Photo by Author

Freedom. Elaine carefully watered and nurtured the leafy green plants spilling across the tiny deck of her townhouse. Her townhouse. Last summer, she had been too exhausted, too broken to plant anything. Moving from the shelter into this house had been almost more than she could manage. But she had done it, all the while wondering if she and the children would ever feel safe again. Worrying if he would find them despite knowing he could not.

She raised her face to the bright August sun. Last year it had been all she could do to sit on this deck, allowing its light, its warmth to begin to heal her. To nourish her, restoring a vitality that she had believed gone forever. Through the fall and winter, she had begun to believe he was truly gone.

Life in prison. No parole. She was safe. She had to remind herself every minute. Then every hour. She wasn’t sure when she had first experienced a day without thinking about him. He still came to her in unguarded moments, the old fear rising. Her heart would race, though only for a moment, as she remembered where he was.

 Elaine reached out to touch a leaf, then one of the dozens of green tomatoes filling the back of her deck. Barely tamed, barely contained to the grocery bags in which she had planted them. Defiance against a man who hated tomatoes and had never let one into their home. The children had never tasted one.

Hints of red were beginning to show in a few of the larger ones. A slow smile spread across Elaine’s face. She had grown these tomatoes from seeds of hope. Bonnie and Dylan had watched with fascination as they sprouted under the grow lights on the coffee table of their cramped living room. Together, they had transferred the seedlings to the garden, impatient after a late spring.

The plants had faltered, and Elaine had feared they would wither and die. Perhaps because they were confined to bags. But no. Like her, they had only needed the sun on their faces. They had rallied and then tiny yellow blooms had formed as they took over her deck. The tomatoes thrived.

Bonnie appeared beside her, tugged at her hand. “Soon, Mama?”

“Soon,” Elaine answered. “Soon you’ll get to taste your first tomato.” Freedom.

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A few of my readers are aware that my husband and I separated amicably during the summer of 2021. I was too tired from the rush of moving and unpacking to bother with much of a garden, though we did plant my beautiful lilac (a gift from my youngest two children), a raspberry bush, and a blueberry bush in pots. I made an abortive attempt at growing pumpkins for my grandsons for Halloween.

This summer, I planted flowers and grew tomato plants from seeds. My attempt at pumpkins resulted in another abject failure. As of this writing, my tomatoes (grown in bags) are spilling all over my deck. By the time you read this, I will likely be eating home-grown tomatoes. I will likely share some with my ex, who doesn’t hate tomatoes, is not in prison, and with whom I remain friendly. My rioting tomato plants served as the inspiration for this story.

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