The After Effect
written by: Anthony John Ward
Gerald had been fascinated by the movement of plants. The fact that they moved in the same way that animals do, except much more slowly, so that you don’t see it. He wanted to see it. He wanted to witness a plant move of its own accord. Not blown by the wind, or knocked by a raindrop, but to actually witness the plant move. He was intent on watching the day’s eyes close up for the night. He had seen them with their white floret rays fully open, like satellites, on a morning, their central disc like the sun they followed across the sky throughout the afternoon, and he had observed them all closed up on an evening—though he had never witnessed them move. That’s because we never just sit and take the time to take things in in the moment, he said to himself. Though now, at this moment, he was determined to take it all in.
He set himself down on the metal-framed park bench, stinging his bare arm on one of the nettles that had nudged itself through the gap in the framework. He sat concentrating on one bunch of daisies about a foot away from his shoes. At first, he tried not to blink, but gave this up in less than a minute, knowing it was futile. But it was not futile, for he was going to witness the daisies slowly close their petals.
After about an hour, he thought that the petals looked less outstretched than before. He rose from the bench and witnessed the setting sun rise momentarily before kneeling down to inspect the daisies more closely. They’ve definitely moved, he thought to himself, though he hadn’t seen them move right before his eyes. He got back to his feet and sank down on the bench again. He noticed the sun had shifted even further below the horizon while he wasn’t watching. He scrutinised the daisies more closely, his eyes narrowing with the dimming light as his mind meandered through a field of memories. He remembered his daughter when she was young, making a daisy chain that she wrapped around her waist like a belt. How much she had grown all of a sudden, as if she had just jumped from childhood to adulthood and all the memories in between were just a memory that it had happened. He wished he’d been more relaxed, lived more in the moment, had taken more time over the time they spent together instead of thinking there wasn’t enough time to do everything he wanted to get done. If only he had spent that extra half hour on the swing instead of making it a half hour less.
While his eyes stayed focused on the daisies, his thoughts pushed further through the depths of his mind. Where had all the time gone? All those years have flown by, and I did nothing to prevent them from flying by. Too busy thinking about the future, without stopping to look around. He stared harder at the daisies, contemplating the translation of the name Bellis perennis, ‘everlasting beauty.’ How that resembled the precious moments in life. How they were never everlasting but were everlasting in memory.
These daisies would not be everlasting, but there would always be daisies.
The sun had sunk completely, and it was becoming dark, so that Gerald had to squint to see the daisies. He rose from the bench, but this time the sun did not rise with him, then he knelt down again to look at the daisies. His face dropped as he noticed that they were all closed up. “I don’t believe it!” He uttered to himself. I was taking notice. I was watching them all the time. I hardly took my eyes off them, and I still didn’t see any movement. I still only got to observe the after-effect. He left the bench, rubbing the sting of the nettle into his arm as he made his way home, muttering, “Maybe another day.”
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