Love, Infatuation and Gerry
Not too long ago, some students asked me to explain the difference between love and infatuation. I always try to keep things simple. I remember saying that infatuation is when we experience very strong affection for someone (or something) that we barely know, while love is reserved for a person or thing we know very well and, yet, we still love them either for or despite their nature. I remember warning them that infatuation, pouring our affection on someone or something we don’t know much about, can be a dangerous thing. I wish I had heeded my own advice.
Shortly after our discussion, on one Sunday afternoon, Dave and I were walking through the central bazaar, or market. Our shopping was almost done so we were a bit tired with carrying our bags. I perked up only when we approached an area with live plants. And there I spotted the most beautiful geranium. The plant was quite tall, with gorgeous bright pink blossoms accentuated with dark centers. It was love at first sight! On the spur of the moment, I asked the vendor how much the plant was.
“Thirty-five”, was the answer.
“Thirty”, I countered, and she agreed. (Note: 30,000 Uz s’om is about US$3.00!)
It was too quick and too easy, but I never questioned it. I was too enamored by the beauty of its blossoms to think straight. I also immediately bought a bigger pot and some soil, determined to provide my beautiful plant with housing that matched her beauty. That same afternoon I transplanted my new geranium and named her Gerry. A quick introduction between Gerry and Joyce (my tall plant) was made, and I placed Gerry on a wide windowsill separating her from Joyce by about a meter. Gerry was in good company, I thought, as I sat in my comfortable chair by the window admiring both plants. I would not admit it to Joyce, but I was totally smitten by Gerry.
The following morning, I noticed tiny black spots on the white windowsill under Gerry, but I was in a rush and, topped with the fact that I still avoid using glasses as much as I can, I dismissed the specks as some leftover dirt from the recent transplanting. Later that afternoon, though, I noticed that there were more of the black specks on the sill and on the leaves. The time had come to inspect Gerry properly. Prior to that, I had been focused on her stunning blossoms, ignoring the rest. My visual inspection confirmed my fear. Gerry was infested by something. I gave her a good shower and promised to keep an eye on her. “We can beat this, Gerry, but you need to do your part,” were my last words before I went out.
When I got back, I checked on Gerry. Five new black specks rested under Gerry, taunting me. And that’s when I panicked. I realized that for one whole night (and a lot of bad things can happen at night) and a full day, Gerry was only one meter away from Joyce. Acting as a fifth column within my little family. At that point I should have taken Gerry and put her on the balcony, separating her from the rest of my plant companions. But that’s where the danger of infatuation lies. People are temporarily irrational. And so was I. I risked the health of my other plants. I placed Gerry further from Joyce, but she still remained in the same window area.
That evening there were less black spots, but they were still there. I dug out my glasses. A thorough examination produced a small light green worm that looked quite well fed. I flushed it down the toilet it and went to consult Mr. Google. Apparently, Gerry had brought home a tobacco budworm larva. The black specks that I, blissfully unaware had been picking up with my bare fingers, were the poops prodigiously produced by good feeding. Surely, I had not licked my fingers between picks. I shuddered. No wonder the worm looked so plump, and Gerry’s leaves so Emmenthal-like.
And still I kept Gerry in her spot. Another restless night was wrought with nightmares of big green worms, the size of little pigs, crawling all over my room. In the morning my first trip was to Gerry. I found only four new black spots. That was encouraging I thought as I wiped them, this time with a paper rather than my fingers, and left for class. When I returned, I put on my underused glasses and examined Gerry yet again. It took a while, but the result was successful, if finding a green worm in your room can ever be called success. I killed it, gave Gerry the second shower of her life and crossed my fingers.
That afternoon right after I returned from work, my first trip was again to Gerry. I was like an anxious mother rushing home to check right away on a sick child. I inspected the windowsill and was greatly relieved to see no new black specks. Had I averted a disaster? Was it over? The biggest test would of course come after a full night.
The stillness of the night proved too tempting for the third larva. It munched away the night and left the black tell-tale specks for me to see. Out came the glasses again. I almost missed it. Its color matched the surroundings, and it was perfectly still, frozen with fear, as if knowing that death was imminent. The only thing that gave it away was the unnatural angle with which it spanned the stem and the leaf. It followed the fate of its two siblings. I crossed my fingers hoping there wasn’t somewhere an already hatched larvae that would take revenge on my other plants.
That’s the danger of infatuation. I was smitten by Gerry’s beauty, but what did I really know about her? I brought a total stranger into my home. I didn’t know anything about her, nothing about her background, with whom she was hanging around before I laid my eyes on her. It was clear now that she had spent some time in bad company.
For several days afterwards I kept anxiously checking under Gerry. But the black spots, signs of bad tidings never re-materialized. Only then was I finally able to relax and confidently declare a victory.
People do crazy things while blinded by infatuation. Looking back now, I can’t believe I endangered my little family of plants by continuing to shelter Gerry. I was lucky that it all turned out well, but not because of my smart decisions. Just pure luck.