The Terrarium - Greg Rochlin

Greg has reached the point in his writing career where he is getting more involved in style and expression. He is pushing the boundaries of his writing skills and finding new creative directions to explore. This is one writer who does not want to be type cast in one genre, rather a writer who is for himself first and reader second; the sign of a good artistic mind.   

What is the purpose or concept of this piece? It is for me an experiment in writing in the style of an interior monologue, in a quite detailed manner. Hence the progression of action is less important. You could call it a slice of life. But in addition, the piece as a whole shows Jackie's development as a person.

Greg Rochlin

The Terrarium

“That’s fantastic guys, thanks so much,” Jackie was saying. 

“Careful, put it down,” said her older brother Aaron. 

The terrarium was balanced on Jackie’s right hand, still half-enclosed in its grey-brown wrapping paper. It had red stuff taped or glued onto it. The thing itself was a large jar of thin glass, with a glass lid. Inside were layers of stones and sphagnum moss, with tiny plastic figures perched on the top.

It was a birthday present from her sister Meg and her boyfriend Tom. They were all at the table after dinner. Her mother lived in a small solid house in a leafy suburb. The dining room was just big enough to hold the table and sideboard and the seven of them.

Jackie realised that Aaron was right, it needed to be put down in a safer place. She wanted to feel spontaneous on her birthday, but decided that prudence was the thing at that moment. There was always that tension, she thought, between doing whatever you feel like in the moment, and doing what you should do in terms of priorities and all that.  Her assertiveness teacher had made her write down a list of “should” and decide the implications of each one. 

She was aware that she tended to defer to her brother, he being older and a psychiatrist.  She often felt she was not intellectual enough, having done only a basic Arts degree.

“Here, let me,” said Antonia, Ed’s mother the skinny nurse, taking the glass object in her spidery hands and putting it tenderly on a side-table nearby. Jackie was left with the wrapping paper balanced on her palm. She felt bereft of the jar. She approved of the act, but was not sure whether she appreciated Antonia’s jumping in like that.  It was Antonia who had first felt the glass of it.

“Come on,” she said to herself, “be generous on your birthday. It’s an occasion for them as well as for me. The gift is for their benefit as well as mine.”

She let the stiff paper drop and crouched to peer at the terrarium, without touching it.

“It will all stay just like that forever,” said Meg.

“Can’t be for ever,” said Ed. His speech was precise and clipped. “Maybe two years. Eventually the oxygen will deplete.”  Ed was in finance, and was studying economics part-time.

Jackie realised that Ed was just trying to participate in the occasion, but all the same, for the moment, his academic tone got on her nerves.  She often had trouble following his elaborate pronouncements. She said nothing, but stared intently. Meg and Tom were beside her, peering in also. Aaron was opening another bottle of wine in the kitchen. 

“It’s a white rabbit, chasing Alice,” Jackie said. “No, you know what,” she added, “I think they really aren’t aware of each other.”

The next day, she came home after work, and was pleased to be greeted by the terrarium. The rabbit had not moved. Neither had Alice.

It reminded her of the vase of Keats, what was it, “Thy streets for ever more will silent be.” As she scrutinised the rabbit, she thought maybe it had moved just a tiny bit. She got orange juice from the fridge, and then thought of doing an experiment involving measuring their positions. She had done physics at school. It had been something to do with a ball bearing dropping under gravity in a flask of oil. “That’s what we have to do in life,” she said to herself, “it’s an experiment, we have to measure, evaluate, deduce.” The last words were said aloud, firmly.

She took a photo with her iPhone. “Now it’s stuck  in time.” Drinking some more juice, she added to herself, “I must talk to Michael about it.”

She put her cardigan on the back of the chair. It was red, and just a decorative little thing. The other people in the house would be coming in later, in half an hour. People like Pete, in final year of surgery, who seemed to think he was part of a MASH series and would stagger in, to unwind in a Hawaiian shirt and a glass of vodka.  Then there was Susan the district nurse with the small rounded car. Sam would still be on his shift until some ungodly hour.

She wondered what would happen if she were to suddenly flip and be part of life inside the glass jar. What sort of world would it be? Would it be limited to those few rocks and bits of moss, or would there be a whole other world, with hills and hedges and factories and road intersections?

An hour later she was out to dinner with Betty, a friend from school days. They were sitting at a table for two at a small pub that specialised in hamburgers. She was a large girl, flamboyant, with bright red lipstick, sparkly nail-polish, and all sorts of layers of interesting items of clothing.

After they had both come to terms with the balancing buns and their arty toothpicks, Jackie asked, “So, what do you think about experiments?”

“On animals, you mean? Horrible, hate it. I read yesterday …”

“No, no, I mean life. Is life an experiment?”

Betty put down her knife. “Have you been reading Aristotle again, Jackie?”

“No, it’s just that, someone gave me this terrarium. I’ve been thinking about my reaction to it.”

“You mean that glass ornament sort of thing with the moss and stones?”

“That’s the one. My brother Aaron used to have a train set, and he had all sorts of painted scenery made out of papier-mâché. It was amazing. His own private world.  Well, I look at this thing and it reminds me of all the universes out there. Other dimensions.”

“I don’t know about other dimensions. You know me, I live day to day.”

Betty was in marketing and was always giving updates on her monthly sales figures.

Julie thought, “I might have known it, she’s so pragmatic. I love her, but how can I have a deep conversation with her?”

“What I mean is, what about Ed. He’s so analytical all the time. I’m not sure he’s right for me.”

“But you two have so much in common. Going to the movies, Scrabble.”

“Yes I suppose so. How’s Allan?”

Betty plonked her fork onto her plate. She and Allan were constantly going though some new crisis.

Jackie smiled ruefully. “Alright, what now?”

“Where do I start?”

The remaining hour was consumed by Betty’s latest tale of Allan’s lack of empathy, and that of men in general.

The next morning at work Jackie sat for an hour at her desk preparing some ideas for the coming trade fair. They were a small-scale textile firm, supplying specialist cloths to fashion designers. The desks were positioned in various corners of a cavernous run-down warehouse space situated in an obscure laneway of the city. Jackie was still very junior, performing all sorts of odd tasks, but also starting to suggest some of her own designs.

The six members of staff involved with the preparations for the fair filed jovially into the meeting room. Jackie sat with her notes and her eye became conscious of the water cooler, looking like a large jar, which gave a gurgle. Tom started talking about the layout of the cubicle. She thought, “Now, I mustn’t get nervous, I need to listen to them and be ready with my stuff.” But the water cooler caught her eye. It gurgled again. She mused on the white rabbit. Suddenly she heard her name. “Hey Jackie, are you with us? What are your thoughts?” In an instant she was back on track. They liked the idea for the arrangement of the shelves and there was agreement that it should be incorporated into the display.

To add to this little success, during the week she was told that her textile design, a modern reinterpretation of an Art Nouveau pattern of repeating leaves, was favourably received. It would definitely be taken up by the art department for use as part of a bedspread.

On the Friday evening, after going straight from work to visit her mother, she returned home to find that no-one was at home. Or perhaps she thought, Pete was in bed. The terrarium was gone, and in its place was an ugly statuette of Elvis Presley. But, there it was after all, on another small table in a dark corner of the room, perched on a rattan mat. Another intrusive force at work. Alice was, however, looking luminous.

She knew what Ed would say if he were here. “You should consider whether the feng shui is disturbed or if energy patterns will need to be realigned.” Or something similar. She was beginning to think that the Ed experiment was over.  She drew up a chair and meditated on the world within the jar.

Greg Rochlin (AUS)   copyright greg rochlin 2014