RAQUEL

SABOTAGED her STREET WITH SUNFLOWERS

Many of us know what life is like in the suburbs: kids on scooters, cloned brick houses, and people hiding within the borders of their fences. 

It was much like that down on Triton street, with the exception of the kids. Aside from house number 27, the residents were mostly seniors,  and in the sentiments of Raquel, “it felt like living in a retirement village.” 

Lights were out by nine each night. The only sign of life on the street was from the televisions of those who had forgotten to close their blinds and fallen asleep in front of the screen. 

Meanwhile, Raquel at number 27 was wide awake, enjoying the liberty of staying up and letting her mind run wild in streams of creativity that only kicked off in the early a.m.

By day, things on Triton street didn’t get much more exciting. Most of the residents had given up life or labour of every kind, finding their joy in one place only: their garden.

“They were so pretentious with their little front yard displays,” Raquel said. 

Each was an artwork. Polished stones, manicured ferns and colour coordinated flowers lined up like toy soldiers. Number 12 had always been king of the lawns, his grass trimmed with scissors and perfectly levelled to the kerb. Number 5 had set up a genius watering system so that she could spend all her time grooming the flowers on her cherry-pink tree. And number 20 seemed to think he was at the head of the game with his vast display of cactuses. 

“It’s like a war out there,” Raquel said, shaking her head. 

During a late night conversation, she conjured up a plan to do away with the crooked, competitive ways of her neigbours’ gardens. She would ruffle with their precious displays and bombard them with sunflowers. 

“I wanted to make a mockery of their gardens. But also can you imagine driving through your street one day and seeing sunflowers blooming tall on either side? What a dream!” 

Raquel visited Bunnings and placed an order for a thousand giant sunflower seeds. The first time she went Bunnings barely had enough stock for one house let alone a street, so she requested an order because the Angel Daisies and Petunia’s just weren’t going to cut it.  

When the seeds arrived and the clock struck midnight, Raquel set out tossing handfuls of sunflower seeds in every front yard. Night after night, she went around with a water bucket and tended to their needs. It was only a matter of time before they started to grow. Yellow flowers would soon tower high and brighten the sidewalk.

One day she heard a man from number 8 talking to a man at number 9. 

“Someone has been planting sunflowers in our yard,” said number 8. 

Number 9 put his fingers inside the loops of his jeans and looked up to the sky, “I  think it must’ve been a plague of birds,” he replied. 

Number 9 was convinced sunflower seeds had been eaten by birds who then flew over and discarded them… all over the lawns… exactly in the perimeter of every person’s garden … only down this one street. 

The theory got around and funnily enough a handful actually fell for it. Though for some daft reason most plucked out their sunflowers. Some thought they were weeds, but most knew what they were and refused to let them take over their holy havens.

There were a few that weren’t so pompous and enjoyed the surprise when they sprouted as if the flowers were some kind of underground gift, some kind of soiled miracle. Number 14 left his in to bloom. He eventually figured out the culprit was from 27 because it was the only other house who left theirs in. He didn’t know exactly who was responsible so he referred to them as the Flowerpot Hooligans. Sometimes he’d walk past to compare the height and if anyone was there he’d give them a wink and a laugh. 

Each night Raquel continued to replace the seeds that had been pulled out. She hoped that one day her neighbours would let them grow. But the street never splashed with rays of yellow like she’d imagined. 

She gave up on the Triton folk but she’s still sneaking around spilling seeds. These days she’s trying to grow a lump sum of watermelons down another part of town. 

And while Triton street never glowed gold, Raquel gets a badge anyway, for at least trying to bring life and colour back to the brick-laden ‘burbs.