———Published June 15th, 2024———
Sonny James wasn’t the type of man who ever thought he’d get in a fight with a bush. But one hot and muggy 4th of July—he found himself embroiled in just such an arborescent feud.
The feud, unlike the bush, hadn’t suddenly sprung from the ground. It, like many good feuds, had slow roasted in the salty marinade of a hot and humid South Carolina summer.
The bush in question wasn’t one of those domesticated, fangless bushes that muddles around office buildings and neighborhoods run by soulless HOAs. It was a bush Pan himself could’ve been proud of. A bush addled with plant testosterone and a certain joie de vivre. A bush that didn’t mind gnawing and biting to protect its existence.
This wasn’t a bush with its ball’s in its wife’s purse.
Nor was it a bush in the midst of a midlife crisis.
This was a silverthorn bush—or as the Johnny Labcoats call it—Elaeagnus pungens.
Elaeagnus pungens is a flowering plant in the family Elaeagnaceae. It is commonly known as “thorny olive”, “silverthorn”, and—in the case of Sonny’s shrubby foe—”that bastard out there”.
Native to Asia, Elaeagnus pungens is now commonly used as landscaping in the southeastern US. Where, on that fateful Independence Day, Sonny James had the unfortunate luck of being on the wrong end of a sweaty, thorn-pricked dispute.
“This damn thing’s growing like a weed,” Sonny hurled over his shoulder in the general direction of his wife drinking iced tea in the shade. “It’s growing faster than I can cut it down.”
His machete hit the air like a cheese knife digging into a stinky wheel of brie.
“Don’t worry about it today honey, it’s the 4th. Come enjoy yourself and call the landscaper in the morning,” his wife replied.
“Heh, yeah some landscaper,” he muttered. “
The machete met the bush with a crack as a single branch fell towards Sonny—digging its barbs into his calf before he could even flinch. Sonny yelped, cursed, and walked inside.
His wife enjoyed her tea.
Her name was Samantha or Sam or most commonly, Sammy. (Yes, Sammy and Sonny, how cute!)
Sammy and Sonny had met almost 3 decades earlier when Sammy worked as a receptionist at a prestigious law firm in Santa Barbara. Sonny at the time had just been hired as a paralegal for the firm, getting his degree in his spare time so he could one day rise the ranks to partner.
He never became a partner—but he did earn a living. And when the time came to retire, Sammy and Sonny moved to a quaint neighborhood in the South Carolina countryside to stretch their retirement savings and escape the growing crowd festering in California.
Unfortunately for our two retirees grown accustomed to the coastal, SoCal breeze, they moved to South Carolina just months before a summer so hot, Satan himself was ringing his sweat rag.
Sammy didn’t mind the heat too much. She spent most of her afternoons indoors with the AC cooking. While Sonny had spent many of those same afternoons fighting with a bush.
Sammy had always loved books. And one thing she wanted to do in her retirement was read as many of them as possible.
So she got a library card and fell into the habit of retreating to the library’s cool confines on especially sweltering days. It was a small town with a small library. But that only added to its coziness. Plus, despite its petiteness, it was packed with a generous selection of novels, biographies, educational books, and more.
So one day when Sammy receded to the library, away from the growing Silverthorn and the similarly-growing foul mood her husband was entangled in, she happened upon a copy of “The Encyclopedia of Plants” and proceeded to look up Silverthorn—aka Elaegnus pungens.
That’s where she learned that Silverthorn could grow up to three-and-a-half feet each season. Although, the dendroidal sprout in their yard seemed to possess super libidinous powers that made it grow even faster in the soggy heat.
It’s also where she learned that pungens meant “sharply pointed”. So on that fateful 4th, the irony of her husband’s “sharply pointed” mood wasn’t lost on her.
As heatwaves danced from the sun, she continued to sip her tea.
⚫
Other than the machete it took to the shin, the bush quite enjoyed its 4th of July. And while it didn’t care about humans and their politics, it did take the idea of Freedom pretty seriously.
(This bush was a naturist after all—not to be confused with a naturalist. And it took the philosophy of naturism seriously in all its aspects. Not just when it came to textilic matters of the flesh.)
So on that 4th, it evaporated water from its stomata. And sucked fresh nutrients from the ground as the neighbors sucked dangerous levels of nitrites in hot dog form.
It even stayed up late watching the fireworks with awe. (It didn’t have human parts, but if it did, its jaw would’ve dropped at the explosive power held in human hands.)
And just around the time you could hear snores emerging from Sonny’s bedroom window, the bush drifted off to a gently rooted sleep.
⚫
The next day Sonny called the landscaper. He made the call sharply at 8am. But of course, he hadn’t heard back until almost noon. It was nearly 2 now and the sun beat a four on the floor rhythm as sweat danced its way down Sonny’s spine.
Sammy was inside reading—the only thing she seemed to do these days. So Sonny and the landscaper, Cooper, headed to the backyard as the AC roared. As they got to the bush, Sonny could smell yesterday’s Miller Lites and smoked brisket escaping Cooper’s pores.
“So this is the sunnuvabitch giving you all them problems?”
Sonny and Cooper stood around the Silverthorn in the backyard. It was a big backyard. And it bordered an open lands forest with walking trails that anyone in the community could use. Other than the trees, they were surrounded by grass.
There were no fences in the neighborhood. So neighbors waved freely when mowing their lawns. And the breeze blew just as freely—which the Silverthorn loved.
One thing the Silverthorn did not love was Sammy and Cooper talking about it as if it wasn’t even there. The nerve of some humans, am I right?
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
The Silverthorn bush wasn’t the only bush in Sonny’s backyard. But it was the bush with the biggest balls. Most of the other bushes were gardenias. Their white flowers flatulating in the wind. With some other, spineless, house-broken bushes sprinkled in.
But the Silverthorn stuck out like a crack-crazed Viking in Santa’s workshop.
“Well, have you thought of cutting it down?”
The Silverthorn’s knuckles tightened—or at least, where its knuckles would have been.
“Of course, I tried. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear the bush is fighting back. I’ve tried pruning it, but somehow it’s growing faster than I can keep up with.”
“Hmmm, you sure got a pickle in your hand.” Cooper was infamous around the neighborhood for misusing common phrases. He continued inspecting the bush with respect. Respect that the Silverthorn returned by not poking his bare hand.
“Well I’d say we can tie a rope around it, tie it to my car, and rip it up by the roots…” the Silverthorn’s respect evaporated in the heat, “… but them roots are established enough to be wrapped around your sprinkler pipes by now. Afraid there’s nothing else I can do besides take an ax to it. Tell you what, I can’t do it today, but I can be here Monday morning. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour to get it done.”
They shook hands and that should have been that.
⚫
That night, Sonny laid awake, staring at the ceiling with nothing but leaves, roots, and thorns on his mind. His wife said good night and rolled to the far side of the bed.
It was hot that night. Even compared to the rest of the stifling summer. Sonny was a puddle.
He could’ve turned on the AC. But the AC in this house was old. So old that when engaged, it sounded like a jet turbine and woke him up. So it was either sweat—or be annoyed all night.
He was already annoyed. So he chose to sweat.
He looked out his window. The stars twinkled quietly so far away. The moon rose and viny shadows crept onto the ceiling. He closed his eyes to escape them. And before he knew it, he found himself suddenly wet to the bone. He was lying face up in a puddle about a foot deep.
He opened his eyes and tried to look around. But he was tied down by something coarse and scratchy. He tugged against his restraints trying to break free—but everytime he squirmed, something would bite and gnaw at his flesh.
His eyes swung wildly. And he finally saw what had him contained.
He was wrapped in vines—endless brown and endless green. The harder he struggled, the more the barbs bit. He was trapped in a dunce cap of thorns—a chinese finger trap of bushy dismay.
What could he do?
He cried. He yelled. And as his yell turned into a wail of dismay, the vines began to loosen and snake back into the ground.
Now that he could look around, he saw he was in a very shallow lake that stretched on forever. Over there was a tree—no, a bush. A very large bush. A bush with a trunk-like spine that extended up and up and up.
He hated it. But there was nothing else in sight. So newly freed from his ensnarement, he sloshed through the water in the direction of the bush.
Before long he was standing directly under it. Where he could see it stretching up and out of sight. As he peered up the infinite foliage, a single voice called out and demanded: Climb.
He didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to listen.
His hand seemed to reach out under its own volition. His fingers grasping the trunky center. And as his hands closed around it, thorns pushed through his palm like a bed of nails. He bled. But still the voice said: Climb.
Every step, every grab, every reach, every pull, was more painful than the one before. His hands bled. His arms bled. His legs bled. He became slippery in blood.
But still the voice commanded: Higher.
So he continued. And as waterfalls sprang from his eyes he reached the top of the bush. He could just peer over it and see the top. As he did, he saw heat waves dancing from the foliage.
But what caught his eye was Cooper sitting there with an ax in one hand and a Miller Lite in the other. Cooper wasn’t drinking his beer—instead, he seemed to be talking with the bush.
Cooper noticed Sonny and put down his beer.
“There you are silly, we’ve been looking for you,” Cooper said as walked to the ledge and grabbed Sonny’s arm. But instead of pulling Sonny up, he gave him a push and said, “See ya here next time.”
As Sonny fell to the ground, he heard a voice. It wasnt like the voice that commanded him to climb. It was a nice voice. A gentle voice. It was the voice of a cherub.
“Don’t worry about it right now, honey. Come enjoy yourself. It’s nice in the shade.”
And just as the words seeped into his eardrums—he landed.
He awoke. The sweat puddle had turned into a pond and then a small lake overnight. And yet, he was cold. The AC was cranking, sending shivering waves through the room. Sammy was nowhere in sight.
It must be morning.
He looked out the window and sure enough he could see the Saturday sun streaming in. And sitting there on his lawn, framed by the window like a crooked smile was the Silverthorn bush.
Sonny flung the sweat from his fingertips and walked downstairs.
⚫
The library opened at 8am. Ad Sammy had arrived not long after. She immediately went to the fantasy section and picked up a book called, “The Backyard Garden”. It told a story of strong warrior fighting a war in order to win the heart of an equally strong princess.
It wasn’t “high literature”. But Sammy didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, a good story is a good story. Plus, she loved getting lost in the cozy embrace of a good sentence.
On most days this early, Sammy would be alone at the library. But today, there were a number of people strewn amongst the comfy chairs holding various books.
It must’ve been the heat. Today was especially spicy and people were desperate for any way to get inside. If they were sane, that is.
As Sammy flipped a page, a gentleman sat down in the comfy chair closest to her. She looked up and noticed him smiling. His salt and pepper hair glinting under the fluorescents.
She quickly looked back to her book.
But a half a chapter later she dared another glance. And as she did, the man turned towards her, locking onto her gaze. She felt like a strong princess meeting an equally strong warrior.
Her heart raced and she didn’t know why.
It hadn’t done that in years…
⚫
Sonny sat on the back porch drinking whiskey on the rocks. Sonny rarely drank. And when he did, it was usually the watered-down type of beer that made you piss more than it made you drunk.
But today, he needed something that could really take off the edge…
So he grabbed the almost full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 one of the neighbors had gifted when they moved in.
It was only noon and already a quarter of the bottle was gone.
Sonny felt the heat invading the porch. Even in the shade, the red tridents seemed to poke and pierce under his skin. He felt the coolness of the ice in the glass. Perspiration dotting the curves to match the sweat beads on his forehead.
He fidgeted and turned, swirled and sipped. And all the while, he was staring at the bush.
He stared and stared. And as he stared, he became more drunk. And as got drunk, he could no longer feel the coolness of the glass in the ice. He felt only heat. Flames building up around him.
It was past 4 when the bottle was empty. But still, Sonny needed to find away to take off that edge.
⚫
Sammy was worried. And not just because she was driving home exceptionally late.
She never stayed out much in the afternoon. She was usually there prepping dinner. And she was worried about what Sonny would think.
But there were other things besides nutritive matters on Sammy’s mind too.
Let’s just say she had come from a certain fantasy world. One where a strong warrior met a strong princess. And while it may be a bit hyperbole to say they fell in love—there was certainly lust involved.
Sammy was turning over pages in her mind.
She would’ve gotten home sooner but she had to go back to the library to grab “The Backyard Garden.” But as soon as she grabbed it from the shelf, it felt almost dirty. Almost like it was illegal to have.
So instead of checking it out, she simply put it in her purse and left through the front doors. It was very unlike her. But today she was a princess. She wasn’t herself.
These were the thoughts flitting through her mind as she drove home. And as she drove, she noticed something else. Smoke. Lots of it billowing not too far away. Something she hadn’t noticed with her mind (and body) occupied on the other side of town.
As she made a right turn going towards the smoke, she flipped on the radio.
“… a house fire on Ficus Street, the cause of which is unknown. My source on the ground said the fire chief called it an ‘act of God’. We’ll be waiting by for more information and let you know as soon as new information comes in.”
Sammy’s worries evaporated and left nothing but a pool of sweat. Ficus Street was where they lived. Was their house ok? Was Sonny ok?
She turned off the news and pushed down the pedal. She was only a few minutes away.
⚫
By the time Sammy got there, the fire was mostly out. The neighborhood was almost completely fine. Only their house and their backyard had been touched by flames.
Which meant that their kitchen, their bedroom, their office, their gardenias, and yes, even their Silverthorn bush, stood as a charcoal crisp.
The house jutted out at odd angles framing smoldering holes. A venomous vampire’s fang here. A misshapen Easter Island Head there.
Police and firefighters dotted the street and stopped her from getting too close. It was only after she had sufficiently convinced them it was her house that the authorities escorted her to where a civilian was sitting, holding a plastic water bottle.
He looked up and smiled.
“Honey, it’s so good to see you.” Sammy could see smoke and embers rising behind him as if a great dragon had stirred. “I’ve been waiting for you to get here.”
⚫
Epilogue
It had only taken a few weeks for the authorities to rule no foul play in the incident. And due to some twist in fate, the insurance company agreed.
It took a few weeks more to get their payout. And another few weeks to find a new home. This one in a rare banana belt region in Montana. Nearly 2,000 miles away from their previous home.
They had decided after the fire they wanted somewhere cooler. And the big sky was calling them.
They had taken the money the insurance company gave them for a hotel in the meantime and used it to travel. They came back with suntans and the taste of pina coladas on their lips.
Sonny even learned to surf.
While Sammy read by the beach. She even read some Shakespeare, starting with The Tempest and working her way to Hamlet. (Although, one might note that there was one fantasy novel she had brought that she only took out to peek at its pages when Sonny wasn’t there.)
They arrived at their new home on a Tuesday morning. The temperature was comfortable. And the sun was clear in the air.
One reason they chose this house is because it didn’t have any landscaping.
It was surrounded by all natural and native plants with a 10 foot perimeter cut around the house—for fire safety of course.
Sammy liked that. And she looked forward to spending many days in the cozy nook curled up with a book peering out into the thickets.
She walked downstairs to grab another box to unpack. Which is when she heard Sonny grumbling in the office. She walked by and could just overhear him.
“This dam bastard, there’s a fly in the house.”
She walked closer and could see him holding a fly swatter like a rapier chasing down his entomological foe.
“And dammit there’s another one.” He swung wildly.
Instead of grabbing a box, Sammy continued out the front door. She didn’t know why, but she felt the urge to walk down a path that led through some trees near her house to a pond. She hadn’t visited the pond yet. But the previous owner had told them you could catch catfish there.
She walked the path, passing fallen oaks and mushrooms sprouting through broken twigs. When she arrived by the pond, she noticed something buzzing. Not a fly. But a mass. A giant throbbing tumor pulsating in the air.
It wasn’t a fly. It was hundreds of flies. Thousands maybe. And given the short path to the house, chances were near 100 they’d continue driving Sonny insane.
As she looked at the pond and the black ball of writhing cotton candy above it, she had to resist throwing herself face first into the green water.
That night Sonny dreamt of flies.