The Penny Plant

Part 1:

Barely awake, Penny opens her eyes as sunlight pours into the room. She briefly wonders what time it is, then sighs with relief when she remembers that it’s Saturday. No need to worry about time. No work. No alarm clock interrupting her dreams. Just the soft sound of her air purifier diligently whirring away in the corner.

She coughs, clears her throat, and rolls over in the hopes of getting more sleep. She pulls the covers up over her head to make it darker. She’s still adjusting to having this new bedroom with an east-facing window. It gets bright in the morning, and she’s pretty sensitive to the light. She wants to get blackout curtains.

Penny’s stomach growls. Her eyes are tired, but it’s too bright and she’s too hungry to fall back asleep. Her mouth waters at the thought of her leftover burrito in the fridge. It’s not a “proper” breakfast, per se, but she doesn’t have much food at the moment. She’s been ordering takeout daily. Between work and unpacking, she hasn’t had the energy to get to a grocery store since she moved in on Tuesday. Today’s the day to finish unpacking, explore stores nearby, and hopefully spend some time with Rose. She’s eager to get to know her new roommate, but they’ve barely talked so far. She doesn’t like the feeling of living with someone she doesn’t know. They’re in the preliminary-data-collection phase of getting to know each other, so every piece of information makes a huge difference. Every time she steps out of her bedroom, she has to emotionally prepare herself for the possibility of an interaction. It’s exhausting.

As she struggles to open the obnoxious cap of her allergy medicine, she sneezes. It’s as if her body is telling her to hurry up. Removing a pill, she realizes there are only two left. “Ugh, I need to find a drug store too,” she grumbles. Everything is a reminder of how unfamiliar her surroundings are. Adjustment is hard, and she can’t wait to feel more settled in this new home. She’ll sleep better, she’ll know where to buy things when she runs out, and hopefully she’ll know Rose better. But right now, even a simple task like going to the store feels so intimidating when she doesn’t know where to go. It certainly doesn’t help that she’s felt so itchy. Allergy season is in full swing, and they’ve had high-pollen count days since she moved in. Opening her SmartScroll and checking the pollen count, she frowns to see that it’s another high-pollen day. Great.

She sneezes again. It catches her so off-guard that she can barely cover her nose; she takes it as a reminder to check in with her body. Breathing deeply, she closes her eyes and greets her anxiety. She often imagines her anxiety as some sort of sludge monster: an entity that may lay shapelessly dormant at times, but will stumble into overwhelming form when evoked. It is ultimately meant to serve and protect her. But she is still learning how to master it. And right now, it’s smothering her a bit.

At least she unpacked some of her favorite clothes yesterday, like her pink skirt that has pockets. Her gloom eases up as she catches herself in the mirror tucking her yellow and white button-down blouse into her skirt. She looks cute! The outfit is fitting for this spring day, not just because of the color scheme but because she can squirrel away a wad of tissues in her pocket.

Now that she’s gotten into real clothes, it’s time to brave the common spaces.

In the bathroom, Penny sneezes again, then splashes water on her face to wake herself up and soothe her itchy eyes. It would be SO helpful to keep the windows closed, but Rose keeps them wide open. Even Penny’s bedroom upstairs, where she has her air purifier and full control over the windows, can’t be much of a reprieve when the common spaces have so much pollen. Eventually, she’ll ask Rose if they can keep the windows closed in the common space. But the thought of actually voicing this request makes her anxiety thicken.

As she busies herself with mundane tasks like peeing and brushing her hair, Penny once again finds herself playing out the possible conversations in her head. “Rose, would you mind keeping the windows closed…? Rose, can we keep the windows closed…? Rose, is it okay if I close the windows…? I hope it’s not too much trouble, but… Sorry to impose, but… My allergies are bothering me… My allergies really get to me this time of year… If we could close the windows when the pollen count is high… It would make me more comfortable… Thank you… Sorry…”

They’ve had so few conversations that Penny’s brain can barely improvise Rose’s response in any meaningful way. Rose seems kind enough, but she hasn’t been around much. Apart from casual hellos and goodbyes, she hasn’t said anything other than “Just FYI, I’ve got a presentation that I’m giving on Friday, and I’m basically gonna have no life until then. But I promise we can spend some time together after that!” It gives Penny a sense of peace to know Rose wants to spend time getting to know her, but the lack of other communication has given Penny’s anxiety lots of space to fill in the gaps about who her new roommate is. Her anxiety — which tends to go about “protecting” her by surmising the worst case scenarios — imagines Rose to be judgmental, impatient, and controlling. But anxiety doesn’t actually prepare her for the worst case scenarios; it just hijacks her imagination, creates a hypothesis, and then looks for evidence to support that hypothesis. Clearly Rose has no interest in being her friend, as shown by her minimal effort to connect so far. Perhaps Rose didn’t even have a presentation yesterday; she was just lying—

Penny sneezes again. Cued into her airways now, she takes a few deep breaths, savoring the relief from her itchy sinuses as well as the disruption of her anxiety spiral. Time to think rationally. What does she know about Rose? Well, Rose has lived here for three years. And it’s obvious that she loves plants: the living space is populated with dozens of potted plants: hanging from the ceiling, sprawling on the shelves, greeting her on the counters. How does Rose keep track of all of them? Penny is still learning how to take care of herself. She can’t even imagine taking care of this many plants. She’s sure Rose’s bedroom has more, although she’s only seen the door closed. Rose feels like a mystery right now.

Penny reminds herself that Rose must be nice. After all, Rose seemed pretty amiable when she was interviewing her as a potential roommate. And she asked interesting questions that Penny didn’t expect, like “How do you handle conflicts?” and “Have you ever lived with a Black roommate before?” When Penny said no, but she had Black friends, Rose told her that if they lived together she would want Penny to read Me & White Supremacy. A week later, when Rose contacted her with the lease, she reminded her again about the book. Penny has been chipping away at it since she bought it. She's glad to be reading it. But she's also overthinking everything. If white supremacy is intertwined with everything she does, is it white entitlement to request that the windows stay shut? The analysis paralysis is eating away at her. There’s SO much potential for mistakes. And social mistakes are the worst, most devastating kinds of mistakes to make.

Leaving the bathroom, Penny hears Rose in the kitchen. Thank goodness her ears exist. Now she knows to expect Rose’s presence in her breakfast process. She can take a moment to prepare herself for this high-stakes encounter, rather than split her focus between responding to Rose and managing her surprise. Should she even go in? She’s hungry, but maybe Rose just wants the kitchen to herself. She doesn’t want to take up too much space in the kitchen. But then again, this is a great chance to talk with Rose: to gather more data about her new roommate, so that maybe it doesn’t have to feel so high-stakes anymore. In fact, it’s probably a good day to chat now that Rose is done with her presentation. She can ask how it went! Having enough of an interaction plan and enough longing for her burrito, Penny enters the kitchen.

Part 2:

 When Penny walks in, Rose is standing at the stove, still wearing pajamas. “Good morning!”

 Rose turns to smile at her. “Hey! Happy Saturday!”

Rose’s cheery greeting brings Penny such sidetracking relief that she’s grateful she came in with a conversation-starting question in her head already. “How was your presentation?”

Rose shrugs. “It went well enough. I’m pretty good at working within their bullshit, and honestly, I’m just glad it’s behind me. Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about work.”

“That’s fair,” Penny gives a cookie-cutter reply, banking herself a moment to manage a pang of anxiety when Rose says she doesn’t want to talk about work. It makes Penny feel like she did something wrong. When the brief snow globe blizzard of her emotions settles down, she realizes she’s grateful that Rose feels comfortable setting a boundary. No hesitation, no apology. Maybe Penny can feel comfortable setting boundaries too.

“Want any eggs?” Rose asks.

“Oh!” Penny takes in her roommate’s setup near the stove. Rose has a carton of eggs, a chopped bell pepper, a bag of shredded cheddar, and a whole tray of spices from the spice rack.  “Yes, please! Thank you so much. I wish I had something to offer you too, but I’m pretty low on groceries right now.”

“Girl, it don’t have to be transactional! But if you want groceries, I was gonna go to August Market later. Wanna come?”

“Yes! I’ve actually been wondering where to get groceries around here.”

“Perfect. How ‘bout we leave after breakfast? I’d rather shop on a full stomach. If the store sees me hungry, I get way too many snacks.”

Penny laughs. “Sounds good to me.”

The conversation lulls as Rose focuses on seasoning the eggs. Even with the windows open, the smell of cajun blend fills the room. The strong spices tickle Penny’s already-irritated nose. She sneezes again. And again. “Excuse me!” Even when she has tissues, she often feels a bit gross sneezing around others.

“Bless you! You doin’ okay? I feel like you’ve been sneezing a bunch.”

Penny’s heart stops. She doesn’t know what to say. She is mortified by the possibility that Rose thinks she’s sickly and contagious. Maybe Rose thinks she’s disgusting! Maybe Rose is a germaphobe like her mom, who sometimes responds to her sneezing like it’s a tactless social misstep. But Penny can’t take too long to reply. Rose’s tone was more solicitous than offended; this gives Penny the strength to push aside all anxieties and craft a sentence. “I’m okay! It’s just that my allergies have been acting up.” She clears her throat, feeling betrayed by her body. She just walked in a moment ago and they’re already discussing her allergies. She didn’t feel ready for this.

“Oh no! My plants aren’t bothering you, are they?”

“No, no!” Penny insists. “It’s seasonal. Just the pollen from outside.” Rose’s response was caring. Encouraging. This is Penny’s opportunity to finally mention the windows after days of rumination. “Um, come to think of it, it would be really helpful to keep the windows closed on high pollen days.” Penny throws in a casual “come to think of it” to mask the fact that she’s kneaded this request through every wrinkle of her brain. She doesn’t want Rose to know that she was too intimidated to ask.

“Gotcha. Thanks for letting me know!”

That’s it. There’s the conversation. Penny feels herself physically calm down as she watches Rose close the windows in the kitchen. Rose is more than receptive — Rose thanked her! “I really appreciate it! And I’m happy to open them up any time we have a low pollen day.”

Rose smiles. “Great! That way, you can be comfy, and we can also get fresh air in here when it’s doable.”

That way, you can be comfy. Penny feels her anxiety melt away into goop. “Yeah! Don’t even worry about adjusting the windows from day to day. I look up the pollen count every day, so I’ll do it.”

“Penny… allergies… let her deal with the windows,” Rose mumbles, tapping her forehead. “This is what I do to remember what each of my plants needs. I just say it out loud and tap my forehead.”

 This unlocks something inside Penny. Rose is putting Penny in the same category as the other things growing under her care. For the first time, she feels like she actually belongs in this home. “Thank you,” is all she can verbalize at the moment.

“All my plants need different things,” Rose continues, gesturing to the nearby greenery. “Monsteras need indirect sunlight, peace lilies need more water than others, aaaand now I know the Penny plant needs to have window control.”

 The Penny plant?? Rose is claiming a certain responsibility. If Penny’s anxiety was melting before, at this point it’s evaporating. “I’ll go close the other windows!!” she blurts. It’s the perfect excuse to step away and process this overwhelmingly positive exchange. 

 “I’ll have eggs and toast for us by the time you’re back!”

 Penny feels significantly less tense, so much so that she didn’t even realize just how much tension she was holding in her body before. Each window she closes feels like an act of empowerment. She is actively creating a healthier living space for herself. By the time she’s made sure every single window is shut, she feels ready to return to Rose. Rose is SO nice! It took a lot of focus for Penny to manage both her relief and the social engagement at the same time, but now she has a better idea of what to expect. Rose’s mien so far has been quite disarming.

 As she joins Rose at the table, Penny drops her mask further. Her anxiety warns her that it could be a bad call to be so honest, but a deeply-assured force inside her knows the trust that could follow is worth the risk. “I’m so glad we had that conversation. I’ve been wanting to ask about the windows for days. Ugh, why was it so anxiety-inducing to think about it??”

 By the subtle softening of Rose’s gaze, Penny understands that her roommate has caught a glimpse into the depths of her inner turmoil. “I can’t answer that for you,” Rose says.

 Penny pauses. She didn’t expect Rose to say that. She wasn’t sure what she expected Rose to say. Maybe her question was rhetorical. Maybe she expected to have thoughts imposed on her, or perhaps to be provided a question to help her analyze her own anxiety. Maybe she was unconsciously taking on the role of a white woman asking for emotional labor from a Black woman. She feels a bit guilty and can’t think of a wise response.

 They eat in silence for several moments. Unacted upon, Penny’s guilt gives way to gratitude that Rose made no attempt to own or control her anxiety.

 Rose speaks. “I do appreciate your honesty. And I hope you keep it up.” Her tone is warm.

 “Well, thanks for helping me feel safe enough to be honest,” Penny replies with a sigh.

 Rose’s eyes widen and she sits back in her chair. “Oooh, can I just sit with that for a second? Safe enough to be honest, safe ENOUGH to be HONEST. I love that!”

 Penny is speechless. Rose is making space for herself to process something out loud. Maybe Penny doesn’t have to constantly juggle conversation-making and conversation-processing.

 “Safe enough to be honest. I’m just so glad you said that. Okay, we good, carry on.”

 "Uhhh,” Penny is grinning from ear to ear as she tries to remember something. “Oh! I was gonna ask! Is there anything you need from me?”

 “Hmmm. I think you just said it. I need to live in a space where we’re safe enough to be honest. Doesn’t have to be some perfect pristine safe space, like that even exists. It just needs to be safe enough that we can mention what’s important to us and talk about it and see what’s up, and it’s okay if the process is messy.”

 “I like that,” Penny smiles. “How would you describe honesty?”

 Rose takes a bite of her toast as she thinks. “Owning your vulnerability. Owning your needs. I feel like it’s so easy to forget that we’re organisms. We get all caught up in the… the shit that builds up between who we REALLY are, and all the baggage we acquire to fucking survive. And I need a home environment that reminds me to shed all of that stuff.”

 Penny nods, eating her egg as she listens intently to Rose. She briefly wonders if Rose’s pause before cursing was a moment to decide whether to tone-police herself. If so, she’s glad Rose decided not to.

 “So many times, I’ve just shut up because I’ve been afraid of how someone would respond. ’You know, sir, I felt really uncomfortable when you just reached out and touched my hair.’ How would he react? Or, ‘Can you let me just FEEL what I’m FEELING instead of saying I should face this like a strong Black woman?’ What would THAT evoke? Or, ‘I think you should do some thinking about what you just said. It was really dehumanizing. But I don’t have the energy to explain why.’ Can I just SAY that sometimes?? But usually it feels safer to just keep my mouth shut.”

 “Yeah. It takes so much guesswork and analysis to figure out whether it’s safe enough to be honest, sometimes it’s just not worth it.” Which is how Penny let herself feel itchy for days without mentioning the windows.

 “You got it, girl.” Rose rolls her eyes. “See, this is one of the reasons I like plants so much.”

 “Because they’re less complicated than people?”

 “No way! They’re just as complex as us. They have to manage relationships and regulate themselves too. But they already know how to do that stuff. They already know who they are and how to be honest. Plants don’t lie!”

 Penny inhales sharply and sneezes messily into a napkin. Eww. And at the breakfast table, of all places? “Ugh, sorry. Plants don’t lie and they don’t sneeze, either.”

 “Well, they don’t have lungs to protect.”

Penny contemplates Rose’s response. There’s forgiveness there. No, it’s beyond forgiveness — it’s a larger context that reminds her there’s nothing to even BE forgiven. It’s so easy to forget that we’re organisms. After a moment, Penny realizes she’s just smiling and reflecting, not scrambling to think of a response like she usually is during a conversation.

 “Plants teach me a lot about people. Whenever I get impatient with people, I try to remember that we’re not too different from plants at the end of the day. In lots of ways, we can’t lie either. Like with sneezing. If something is irritating you like that, your body won’t let you lie about it.”

 “You can say that again,” Penny laughs, blowing her nose. If her symptoms weren’t so obvious, the windows would likely still be open and they probably would not be having this conversation. Her body wasn’t betraying her after all; her body was calling on her to lead with honesty.

 Rose stretches her arms. “All right, I wanna get outside.” At this point, they’re both done eating. She gathers their dirty dishes to bring to the sink. “Thanks for being real. Seriously. We need to trust each other to express our needs, and I feel really good about this so far.”

 Penny feels an urge to hug Rose, but she isn’t sure if it’s the right moment; instead, she decides to look forward to a future discussion about touch boundaries. “And thank you for breakfast! That was delicious.” She couldn’t sacrifice too much attention to the flavors and textures as she navigated her talk with Rose, but she ate everything on her plate, so it was definitely good. “I’ll do the dishes!”

 “Thanks!! I’ll get some clothes on and we can go to the store.”

 Standing at the sink, Penny considers what Rose said she needed: a home environment that reminds them to shed all the baggage they acquire to survive. She came in expecting to talk with Rose about work, but instead they stumbled upon a discussion of their commitment to honesty. She thinks about Rose referring to her as the Penny plant – another organism growing in this home. Rose doesn’t care about her because she graduated from a prestigious school, or because her family is upper-middle class, or because she’ll never make mistakes (she will), or because she’s white or autistic or lesbian or anything else about the way she’s tagged in society. Rose cares about her because she’s another organism with senses and needs. That’s unconditional.

 Who is she, really? As she scrubs the dishes, she imagines herself scrubbing away the slurry of opinions she’s picked up in an attempt to steer herself through — to judge herself through — the maze of social interactions that make up her life. She pictures it disappearing down the drain, following the soggy toast crumbs and specks of paprika. She eases into her exposed vulnerabilities. She’s not Penny who is an irredeemable person because she benefits from white privilege; she’s Penny who is working to recognize how white supremacy operates through her as a white person. She’s not Penny who overreacts to things; she’s Penny who needs to rest her senses when she’s processing too much at once. She’s not Penny who is gross when she sneezes; she’s Penny who sneezes when she needs to remove irritants from her airways. It feels scary to acknowledge what she can’t control in the world – white supremacy, sensory overload, irritants – but it helps her know who she is beneath all the baggage. It helps her recognize the being she needs to be compassionate with. That’s who the Penny plant is.