"Rhubarb" by Endrit Ramku

Prose Fiction - Winter 24/25 Issue

Growing up in that small house on 7th, 2 bed 2 bath - it feels weird even to say "growing up." Did I really “grow” up? My body sure did – legs stretching, arms reaching, teeth falling out and coming back in. But did I grow? Like, really grow? Sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in this loop, making the same mistakes over and over, waiting for the time I do it right.

We’re doing a project on plants. It’s a one-person-one-plant type thing, and by the time it’s my time to choose, choices are limited. All the good fruits like kiwi and strawberries are gone, and I’m not entirely sure why, but one catches my eye. Rhubarb. So I tell my teacher I want to do rhubarb. She tells me that rhubarb grows in the dark. I disregard it at first. I do all the research. I learn where it’s grown (primarily in Washington State, Oregon, and Michigan), where it’s native to (Asia), where it got its name (the Rha River in Russia, now the Volga), and three fun facts. I learn it’s not a fruit, the leaves are poisonous, and the rest of the “fun facts” listed on the website aren’t as, well, fun. I remembered what my teacher had told me, about how it grows in the dark. So I look up why it grows in the dark. The first result is, “It’s looking for the light.”

Sometimes I feel like rhubarb. I feel like my body can’t stop growing and my stomach won't stop protruding for every extra calorie I eat. I grow and I grow and for what? I think it’s because I’m looking for the light. In my mind's eye, I envision a gallant prince riding through the stormy night, his cloak billowing behind him. With each thunderous growth spurt, I longed for him to burst through the door, whisk me away from the darkness that threatened to engulf me, that I dared to grow into. But as the minutes ticked by and the rain continued to fall, I realized that no prince would come to my rescue. I was alone, a damsel in distress with no hero in sight. I’m the rhubarb. Every pamphlet that slides across the guidance counselor’s desk reminds me of how much I’ve grown physically and yet not mentally. Because a big girl would want to go to college and not be afraid of leaving everything she knows so she can just know more. Be more. Weigh less. But all I want is to stop growing. Stop looking for the light. Stop time. 

In my mind I’m still a little girl, drinking Nesquik chocolate milk huddled under a small blanket on the black leather couch that had become so familiar to me. I’m watching Rapunzel. Where’s the light? the rhubarb asks as it grows and grows and goes to school one day to find that there were no princes. No towers to release her long hair down so the prince can climb up and save her. Someone should have saved me. From growing in the dark. Why didn’t someone tell the rhubarb that she didn’t have to grow up so fast? Nobody told her to savor the moments of her childhood because they would pass by so fast. Time can’t be stopped, time won’t be stopped, and the rhubarb won’t stop growing, even in the dark.