I threw out the jade plant I bought the day we moved away. Like our towels and our bed, harbouring bad energy, belonging to another life – I didn’t want to move it to this apartment anyway. It seemed stupid not to. None of this was the plant’s fault. It came.
I treated the plant badly. I kept it in the most hostile environment I could think of. I neglected to water it, on purpose. Not like the African violets: dead because I forget. Still, it would not die.
I threw it out, and I guess that means something.