The Two Watering Cans

Two hands reached for the blue watering can at once, and the garden went suddenly quiet.

Hazel’s fingers curled around the handle. Marcus’s hand was there, too.

“I was going to use it,” Hazel said.

“So was I,” said Marcus.

Between them, the can wobbled. A little water sloshed inside.

The neighbors stood beside the small bed of seedlings they had planted together. Neat rows of green leaves poked up through the dark soil. Hazel had been thinking about watering them all afternoon. She wanted to finish before evening, while there was still plenty of time to watch the water soak in. Beside the gatepost stood the green watering can they kept for days when both wanted to help.

“I filled it first,” Hazel said.

“But I carried it over here,” Marcus replied.

“That doesn’t mean you get to grab it!”

“I didn’t grab it. I just reached for it.”

Hazel let go. Marcus did, too. The can bumped onto the path with a hollow clunk.

Neither of them moved. A small breeze tickled the leaves. One seedling leaned toward its neighbor, and the dry soil around it looked crumbly.

“They need water,” Hazel said, quieter now.

“I know,” Marcus answered. He folded his arms.

Hazel picked up the blue can and set it near the gate. Marcus turned toward the row on the other side of the bed. They were both cross, and the space between them seemed as wide as the whole garden.

Hazel looked at the seedlings. She wanted to help them, but she didn’t want to stand shoulder to shoulder with Marcus while they were still mad. Marcus didn’t seem ready to pass her the can, either.

She took one small step back. Then another.

The garden held its quiet. A robin chirped from a fence, and somewhere beyond the gate a door clicked shut. Hazel rubbed a bit of soil from her thumb.

Maybe, she thought, they could wait. But the seedlings had been waiting all day, and Hazel had promised herself they would get a drink before evening.

She glanced from the blue can to Marcus, then down the rows. The leaves were small, but there were so many of them. Hazel wondered if there might be a way to care for the seedlings without needing to agree about the same can first.

Hazel crouched beside the bed. She looked along the rows, counting them with her finger. One, two, three. Then she remembered the green watering can beside the gatepost.

“Marcus,” Hazel said.

He kept looking at the seedlings. “What?”

“We can use the green can, too.”

Marcus glanced at it. “Oh, right.”

Hazel carried the green can to the little water barrel. She dipped it in and filled it. The can felt heavier than she expected, so she held it with both hands.

“Maybe we can take separate rows,” she said. “I can use this one, and you can use the blue one.”

Marcus glanced at the blue can by the gate. His shoulders lifted, then dropped.

Hazel’s cheeks still felt warm. She could have said, You shouldn’t have grabbed it. Instead she looked at Marcus and asked, “Would you like the blue can for your row?”

Marcus studied the seedlings, then gave a small nod. “Yes, please. And I’m sorry I grabbed it. I wanted to use it, but I should have asked.”

Hazel felt the tightness in her shoulders loosen. “Thanks for saying sorry. I’m sorry I shouted.”

“Let’s make sure every seedling gets some,” Marcus said.

They chose their rows. Marcus lifted the blue can and tipped its spout carefully. A thin stream poured onto the soil around the first seedling. Hazel followed with the green can, letting the water patter near the roots, not on the leaves.

“Not too fast,” Marcus said. “This row has little puddles.”

Hazel slowed her pour. “Good idea.”

They moved along the bed, one row at a time. The cans made soft glugging sounds as the water shifted inside. Hazel watched the dry earth grow darker wherever the drops landed. Marcus stopped to give a thirsty little sprout an extra sip.

“Your row is getting a good drink,” Hazel said.

“So is yours,” he answered.

They worked side by side now, with room between their elbows and no need to tug at one handle. When their cans were nearly empty, they tipped the last water onto the final seedlings. Each small plant stood in damp soil, ready to keep growing.

Hazel set down her can. Marcus set down his. Neither hurried away.

For a little while, Hazel and Marcus stayed beside the seedling bed. The garden was quieter now, except for the tiny sounds of water sinking into soil and leaves brushing against one another.

Hazel leaned close to a row. “That one looks less droopy already.”

“Maybe it was just thirsty,” Marcus said. He pointed to a bead of water resting on the soil beside a small green stem. “It can have a drink without getting its leaves all wet.”

Hazel nodded. She liked how the bed looked after watering: dark earth in tidy rows, little plants standing among it. She rubbed her palms together, and a few grains of soil fell near her shoes.

Marcus picked up the blue can and checked inside. “There’s just a little left.”

“Use it on the end of your row,” Hazel said. “I think that seedling could use it.”

Marcus tipped the can. The last drops pattered onto the soil. Then he turned the empty can upright and carried it to the gate.

Hazel followed with the green can. They placed both watering cans side by side, handles facing out, ready for another day. Hazel straightened the green one so it stood neatly beside the blue one.

“Now we’ll find them easily tomorrow,” she said.

“And we can take turns filling them,” Marcus replied.

Hazel smiled. “Or choose separate rows again.”

“Either way,” said Marcus.

They looked once more at the seedlings. Nothing dramatic happened. The little leaves simply rested in the evening air, with cool, damp soil beneath them. Hazel felt glad they had the second can ready to use. She felt glad, too, that she had asked Marcus what he wanted instead of pulling the blue handle back.

Marcus brushed a speck of dirt from his sleeve. “Thanks for helping me water.”

“Thanks for helping me,” Hazel said.

At the gate, they paused to see that the cans were steady and in their place. Then they stepped out of the shared garden together, leaving the seedlings with the water they needed to grow. The rows lay peaceful in the dimming day, and the two cans waited neatly by the gate for tomorrow.