Fletcher the Collector
Fletcher stood in the plant section of the grocery store clutching a bouquet of white carnations and yellow daffodils in one hand and a Happy Mother’s Day card in the other. It had taken him far longer than he’d hoped to determine which of the multitude of cut flowers were his mother’s favorites and now he was late for dinner. Feeling unmoored by both the overwhelming flower choices and by the deviation from his tight schedule, Fletcher turned to make his way to the checkout. As he turned was struck unexpectedly by the sight of a strange plant nestled amongst the parlor palms and peace lilies. Fletcher wasn’t a plant person, he’d never owned a plant in his life, but this one made him pause. It was so bizarre. Admittedly, he could only identify maybe five different plants by sight, but this was like nothing he’d ever seen. It was a on a shelf, but clearly meant to be a hanging plant as it was in a basket with a hook. The plant consisted of long green leaves arranged radially with each leaf ending in a red, hourglass shaped cup. It was graceful, remarkably weird, and Fletcher couldn’t help but wonder what purpose those pitchers served. A woman passed in between him and the plant and he tensed, suddenly uncomfortable having it out of his sight. When she was gone he looped a finger of the hand that held the Mother’s Day card through the basket’s hook and hurried to the checkout.
“You don’t happen to know what kind of plant this is, do you?” He asked the woman at the register. She squinted at the plant as she reached for the bundle of cut flowers.
“Weird one. Sorry, no.” She scanned the flowers and reached for the card. “You’re not giving that ugly thing to your mom are you? Should only get moms pretty things.”
“No, I guess it’s for me.”
“Well, can’t even imagine why we’d sell something that ugly.”
Fletcher shoved his debit card in the reader. Ugly? It bothered him. He’d never seen anything so incredible and couldn’t imagine calling it ugly. He’d never been more fascinated by anything. He finished the transaction and made his way to his car. As he settled the plant on the passenger seat, he had to acknowledge that that was untrue. He had, as his mother called it, a demon on his shoulder that tempted him into obsession. And while Fletcher thought his mother’s explanation melodramatic, she wasn’t necessarily wrong. He did have a bit of an addictive personality. Drugs had never been a problem, though, he was more of a collector. Fossils, HotWheels, for a while insects, reptiles in high school until he lost a snake and his mom ordered him to sell them all. In college it had been heartbreaks. Well, heartbreaks and vinyl. Fletcher the collector.
Arriving at his parents house, he stowed the plant on the passenger side floorboards and left it in the car. It was warm spring weather, he hoped it would be safe there. He ate well, lasagna and homemade garlic bread. His father was an incredible cook. The table was getting a bit crowded, though. Both of his older sisters were married and had young children. Fletcher barely paid attention to their talk. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and did an image search with a picture of the plant he’d taken in the car. It was called a Nepenthes ventrata, one of the most commonly cultivated commercial varieties of pitcher plant. And it was carnivorous. Fletcher reeled. Truly amazing, the pitchers were full of digestive juices that the plant manufactured to drown and digest unwary insects, or, in some of the bigger plants, rats and small monkeys. There were entire ecosystems built around these plants in the wild. Fletcher was less interested in that than he was in all of the different varieties there were out there. His little plant seemed drab in comparison to the toothed, fanged, striped, spotted, and hairy types he scrolled through online. The thought made him feel more tethered, these were tangible things he could buy and have.
“Fletcher, what are you up to these days?”
Fletcher didn’t answer his uncle, he was reading about how nepenthes were difficult to grow indoors and had very special care requirements. He was already planning how he would, that very night, get working on what his new plant needed to make his apartment a viable living space for it.
“Fletcher!”
Fletcher’s head snapped up. “What? Geez, Mom.”
“Put your phone down and engage, you’re being rude.” His mom glowered at him over her bifocals. His sisters both gave him sympathetic looks. Fletcher felt himself turn red. He and his uncle had never gotten along. His mother’s brother was frequently unemployed and a habitual freeloader. He sat next to Fletcher’s mom with a beer in one hand and a glass of wine in front of him. He was a small man, unshaven and unpleasant.
“Sorry. I was just reading about this carnivorous plant. It’s incredible is all. I could tell you about it.”
“Pointless shit, are carnivorous plants going to pay your rent? Who gives a shit about that. What about the job hunt? Accounting must be easy to find a job in, huh?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m working, just an AR job, but I’ll work my way up with experience of course.” Fletcher wanted to talk about nothing less than accounting.
“What about dating? You dating anyone?”
Well there was that.
“No, just been too busy, really.”
“Oh come on.” His uncle muttered, “Surely a handsome, educated guy like you can find a girl.” He winked at Fletcher.
“Leave Fletcher alone, Uncle Mike,” Fletcher’s sister Fiona said.
“He’s doing just fine. I didn’t get married right out of college either.” Fletcher’s other sister Francesca jumped in.
“Neither did I,” Fiona said, “And you’ve been divorced three times, you’re one to talk.”
“Girls, enough,” Fletcher’s mom cut in, downing more wine.
“I’m sure I could find a girl, I just haven’t looked.” Fletcher, an inveterate introvert, felt like he was drowning. Maybe this was how a fly felt when it fell into a nepenthes trap and realized it couldn’t climb out and was going to be slowly digested alive. Did they realize they were going to be eaten? Did all the species kill the same way, what was the fluid made of and where did it come from? Fletcher looked up at his uncle and realized he’d missed a question.
“Sorry, what?”
His mom squinted at him. “Are you on drugs?”
“Mom, no. I’m just distracted.”
“Oh, leave the boy alone,” his father said from the head of the table, massaging the bridge of his nose. “You know how he is when he gets interested in something. You remember that time he found a fossil at Lake Beaumont? That’s all he talked about for a solid three years. Then there were the insects, the reptiles, he’s a collector. Nothing wrong with having side interests that don’t include raiding your sister’s fridge, sleeping on her sofa, and play acting like you’ve got your life together. Kid’s got a degree, a job. He’s fine.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Supposed to grow out of those tendencies,” his uncle said drily, chugging his beer.
“Whose tendencies are we talking about here,” Fletcher shot back. His mom looked at him with her brows furrowed.
“Don’t go overboard, honey. You need to find a girl and not get wrapped up in a plant.” She set her glass down and looked him in the eye, “Remember you have a demon.”
“OK, Mom, I won’t get wrapped up. And I don’t have a demon.” He shoved his phone in his pocket and tried to focus on the evening, but his thoughts were on the Nepenthes ventrata awaiting him in his car.