Dust coats everything in the new kitchen Dad, Mom, and I just moved into. The cabinets with handles missing, the counters with cracks and old stains, the hundreds of boxes we’ve piled into the house that barely fits just the three of us.
A whole stream of dust floats in front of me, glowing in the sunlight peeking from the window over the sink. The dust looks like a stream of water floating in mid air.
The dust was just like this, in Mom’s room. When I found her. Collapsed over the blankets, face turning blue. Not moving, not blinking.
There was so much dust in her room then, too. But back then I didn’t think of it as a river. I saw it as a thick blanket, trying to suffocate all of us.
“Willow? Can you help me with this?”
I turn from the dust streak in the kitchen and walk into the living room, almost slamming right into a tower of boxes taller than me. Dad stands on his tippy toes on the back of the couch, trying to hang a picture.
I give him five seconds before he crashes down.
“Does this look straight to you?” he asks.
His big, ol’ head blocks half the picture framed. But I can see the three of us poking out around him. Mom holding me, Dad tickling her from behind. I remember that picnic super well. The stream we sat next to, the deli sandwiches Mom bought from the store. Those were her favorite.
Dad found three of those sandwiches, stuffed in the drawer of her nightstand, the night I found her.
I shrug, trying to cut out those thoughts. “Sure.”
Dad nods his head, and the afternoon sun hits him at the back of the head. In its glow, I can see gray hairs streaking his blond color. I never noticed those before we moved, before we left the city.
Stupid sun. I’m trying to outrun that night, not slam right into it. If only that giant star would work with me here.
Dad hammers a nail into the wall and hangs the frame. The next second he leaps off the couch and clobbers over to me. We turn together to face the picture.
It’s totally crooked. Like, extremely crooked. Like any second the picture will fall right off the wall and come crashing down to the ground.
Dad looks at me, his eyes in a glare. “Really? That was straight.”
I shrug. “I can’t help your head is so big I couldn’t see the frame all the way.”
Dad stumbles back, hands over his heart, acting like I just shot him or something. “Oh no. No you didn’t.”
I see it coming before he even moves, so I charge up the stairs, screaming with laughter as I leave him behind. But he’s fast as he races after me, hands like claws as they reach for me. I barely make it into my room before he grabs me, sweeping me up to spin and tickle me.
I can’t breathe, I’m laughing so hard. And for a second, it’s all normal. Happy. Despite the sun’s efforts to show us everything we’re hiding from.
There’s a loud thump from Mom’s room. The white peeling paint of her closed door glares at me as Dad sighs, walking over.
“Let me check on her.”
Dad thinks I can’t hear him. But it’s so, so quiet here. There’s not much to block out his voice speaking to Grandma. The crickets chirping and the frogs croaking do absolutely nothing, even with the kitchen windows wide open.
I’m trying to get as much dust out of here as possible.
“I don’t know, Courtney. I think I’m in over my head… It’s so dusty here. You would think someone would have cleaned this for us before we moved in… No, not much help. She’s just sleeping… I’m worried about her, I really am. How does a kid get over that, you know?…It should have been me… Maybe we do need you here…”
My cheese pizza goes cold on the plate, untouched. I gotta get out of here. Away from the pizza, away from Dad making traitorous plans, from all the boxes and the dust. We moved here so we could get away and have a fresh start. Mom said she could handle it, it would be good for. Better than other options.
If Dad goes and invites Grandma to stay, it’s game over. The second she comes, she’ll hate this house. And she’ll want to put Mom in a hospital. I know her and her tastes. She never liked anything Mom did, nitpicked her right in front of me until sometimes she cried.
And I’m not going to let anyone take her away from me.
I grab my bag still leaning against the doorway and push the porch door open. Even with just a soft touch, it throws itself back and smacks against the rotting wood outside.
“Willow? Where are you going?” Dad pokes his head around the living room corner, hand over the speaker on his phone.
I shrug. “Just going to explore.”
Dad looks outside at the fading sunlight and frowns.
I roll my eyes. “I’ll be fine. We’re like 5,000 miles away from other people.”
Dad’s forehead is still furrowed, but he nods. “Okay. Be back before it’s too dark. Deal?”
I wasn’t lying when I told Dad we’re 5,000 miles from civilization. Our house, more like a cottage really, is the very last house in the whole town we moved to. To get to a real grocery store like Walmart, we have to drive thirty minutes. We can’t even see a neighbor. But if we walk up the road for fifteen minutes we hit the downtown area with local stores and groceries, apparently.
But I’m walking in the opposite direction, towards the woods surrounding our house. For me, it’s just trees and grassy hills. No people, just what I need right now.
When I get to the edge of where the forest begins, I start running. My legs and my lungs need me to go, go, go. And forget, just for a second. I concentrate on not falling flat on my face as I leap over roots, piles of long-dead leaves. I’m careful to avoid the small bundles of blooming spring wildflowers. I go until my side begins to pinch, my lungs burn.
When I explode into a large clearing, filled with those spring flowers I didn’t want to destroy with my feet, I finally stop. Bowing over to catch my breath, I push my hands against my knees, backpack sliding off my shoulder. It falls with a thud to the dirt, and, through the dying light of the day, I see my tears start to hit the ground.
I curl up into a ball right where I stand, sobs racking my entire body.
None of this is fair. None of it. I hate it here, I hate I couldn’t fix Mom for her. That I couldn’t put all her sadness into a bowl and put it in the dishwasher so it came back out sparkling clean.
“My child. What is wrong? Please stop crying.”
I whip around so fast I almost fall over. A woman is standing behind me in the clearing. But where skin should be are branches and leaves, threading together in the shape of a human. Her hair is a cascade of red leaves, her eyes brown chestnuts, her fingers twigs with small sprouts budding at the end. Blossoming all over her are hundreds and hundreds of flowers. Purple violets. Pink daisies. Blue hydrangeas. Yellow marigolds. She waits, staring at me while I gape, lips made of vine curling up into a smile.
I should ask her what she is. How she is possible. If she’s going to eat me.
But all I stammer is, “M-my Mom. She’s sick.”
“Oh. Oh no.” She shakes her head.
She floats over to me, and where she goes more flowers bloom behind her like footprints in the grass. Red roses, yellow sunflowers, white dandelions. The trees hugging the clearing reach for her, grazing her arms.
I don’t run away. I don’t scream. I can’t explain it, but seeing her makes me feel so calm. When she draws closer, I smell her. Fresh blooms, wet soil, wind trailing through the leaves.
She reaches forward, the bud on her fingertips wiping away the tears still on my cheeks.
“What is your name, little one?”
“W-Willow.”
Her chestnut eyes widen. “Oh, what an honorable name. The Willow tree is one of my favorites. So beautiful, so strong. And what is your mother’s name?”
I swallow, very aware of her hand still on my cheek. “Jennifer.”
“Well, it is lovely to meet you Willow. You may call me Briar. Together, you and I will bring your mother happiness and health. With the help of flowers, of course.”
The next day, after my first new day of sixth grade, I tell Dad I’m going to explore again outside. And I return to Briar. She waits for me in the clearing, just like she said she would be. She floats alongside the edge, hands twirling together vines into baskets.
She smiles up at me as I step up to her. “Hello, Willow. How was your day?”
“I thought about you all during school. If we’re going to help my Mom together, I have some questions.”
She nods, waving away the vine baskets. They float off into the forest thanks to the help of a breeze. “Of course. I see you are just as curious and intelligent after the trees of which you are named. Your mother is a smart woman.”
I swallow. No one talks about how smart my Mom is anymore. But she is really smart. Really, really smart. She used to do my math homework for me, if I begged her enough.
I jump right into it. “What are you?”
Briar laughs, a sound like rain dropping against the backside of leaves. “I believe I am what your kind calls a Druid. I am at one with nature around me.”
“And how exactly will flowers help my Mom?”
Briar turns from me and walks towards the middle of the clearing. The flowers that appear below her trailing feet come out of thin air, without a single sound. She bends down over a patch of soil and leans so close to it, her lips brush the ground.
“Flowers have long been known to heal and benefit your kind.”
Out of the dirt appear white flowers. Their green stalks grow tall, white flowers drooping down like little bells. Briar gestures towards it. “This is Lily of the Valley. Your kind believes it first sprouted from the tears of Eve, the very first woman. But I know the truth, that flowers have been a part of this Earth long before you.”
She plucks a single stem off and floats back over to it, placing it on my palm. “This is a special flower, Willow. Not only is it one of my personal favorites, but I have seen it change people. Give them second chances, make them fall in love, change a person’s mind in the blink of an eye. Give it to your mother tonight. And let the flower do the rest of the work. It will give you the answer you’re seeking.”
Dad is playing the guitar. I can hear it when I step out of the woods, the music caressing my arms and cheeks like a breeze blowing through the grass. I’m so, so quiet when I step inside, hoping he’ll keep playing.
Dad and Mom met because they’re both singers and can play the guitar. The house used to have so much music, all the time. If Dad wasn’t playing, Mom was. And if they weren’t, I used to too.
Not anymore. I haven’t touched my guitar since that night, but Dad playing makes me warm, the Lily of the Valley flower still clutched in my hand. But he stops when he hears the door. The next second he comes into the kitchen, smiling.
“Dinner is in the fridge. Pasta salad. I outdid myself, if I do say so.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Dad points to the flower. “What you got there, kiddo?”
I swallow, remembering Briar’s instructions. “I found it, out in the woods. I think it’s a Lily of the Valley. It’s really pretty. I-I thought Mom would like it?”
Tears weld at the bottom of his eyes. He nods and reaches for the flower. I hand it over.
“Tell you what. I’ll go give it to her now.” He fills a glass with water. “Go ahead and grab yourself some dinner.”
My alarm doesn’t wake me the next morning. Something brushing the hair out of my face does. When I slowly blink open my eyes, I see Mom. The sunlight bathes her like an angel, her blond hair like a ray of light. She is more beautiful than any flower I’ve ever seen.
Her soft pink lips smile at me. “Good morning, kiddo. I wanted to hear from you directly all about your new school. What do you think of this house, huh? We sure know how to pick them.”
I sit up so fast, I almost push Mom off the bed. She laughs. And I immediately start to cry.
“Briar, I need all the Lily of the Valleys in the world. You were right, it worked!”
Briar laughs, and the trees next to her sway, like they’re dancing.
“We’ll start with these seedlings, yes?” She drops at least twenty seeds in my palms. She gestures for me to follow her to the middle of the clearing where the first flower appeared.
“I’ll teach you all my tricks to make flowers heed your command.”
I gasp, eyes widening. “Can I make them appear out of thin air? Oh, oh! What about making them appear wherever I step?”
She smirks, twig fingers twirling a piece of my brown hair. “Not quite, little one. I’m afraid I can’t give you the magic that courses through my veins. But I can teach you the power humans have with flowers. So many people don’t even realize what I’m about to show you.”
She pats the ground next to her. I sit down with her and listen.
“First things first, we must ready the soil for your flowers. Choose your location to plant carefully. Each flower has different preferences to the amount of sun it wants. Lily of the Valleys, for example, like more shade. Perhaps in the shade of your home would be best?”
I nod, thinking I should pay attention the next couple of days where the shade falls the most on our yard.
“Regardless of where you plant, before you dig into the soil, you must speak to it. Thank it for what it will do for you, tell you your plans and what flower you shall plant. And, give it something back, a payment for all it’ll give to you. Tell the soil a secret no one else knows.”
I wait a week until I plant. I have big dreams I have to decide on first. Little flowers aren’t enough for Mom to get back to the way we were before. She needs a whole garden. A magical garden, to bring the light back.
I’ll need way more flowers from Briar, but for now, I curve the twenty seeds she gave me into a design. A star. Mom used to love looking at the night sky with me.
I do exactly what Briar told me to. I thank the soil. I tell it what I’m about to plant. I tell it what I need the flowers to do. And then, I give it the price. I tell it a secret I’ve never told anyone, not even myself.
“I think all the time about what would have happened if I hadn’t come home early from school, if I hadn’t found Mom, if I hadn’t learned CPR that day in class. I know I wouldn’t have a Mom anymore. I have nightmares about it sometimes. Dad doesn’t even know.”
The next day, the seeds have already grown into baby plants, strong green saplings swaying in the wind. Dad was super impressed with me.
But it’s not enough. After school, I unveil my grand plan to Briar.
Briar smiles, patting the top of my head. “This is a beautiful idea from a beautiful young woman such as yourself. Your mother will love it.”
“So, you’ll do it?”
Trouble like a storm cloud crosses the branches on her face. “I will try my best, Willow. But to create that many seeds takes a lot of energy. Might I ask you to help me?”
I nod. “Anything I can do. You’ve done so much for me already.”
Briar reaches up and pets one of the trees near us. It leans into her touch. “Songs and music always make me feel so happy and so energized. Like I am the sun itself. Can you sing, little one? Will you sing for me, so I can make your seeds?”
I smile.
When I get home, just as darkness is chasing me like a giant shadow, I almost run right into Mom.
She stands in the living room, twirling the cord of the phone around her finger like a strand of hair. She grins at me, waving. Her blue eyes sparkle. And I try not to cry immediately.
She whispers into the phone. “No, no. I understand Mom, it was scary there for a while. But we need more time together here, just the three of us. You get it, right?”
Dad grabs my shoulders, and I reluctantly let him drag me into the kitchen. But I don’t keep my eyes off Mom, even when Dad makes me sit down at the table and plops a plate full of food in front of me. The smell of burgers and french fries hit me like a wave. Mom’s favorite.
“S-she…” I whisper, too afraid to speak normally unless I scare her off.
Dad squeezes my hand as he sits down next to me. “Had a really good day, Willow. She saw your flowers too, had so many questions. She loves them already.”
I watch her skate around the living room, slowly unpacking a box of photos and frames we hadn’t gotten to yet. She’s talking to Grandma and telling her not to come.
Flowers really are magic.
I didn’t think I would be so nervous to play for a magical creature like Briar, but I take my time making it to her clearing instead of running like I always do. My palms sweat the entire way. I almost drop the guitar three times.
But I have to do this. The flowers I planted yesterday have already grown their first flowers, reaching for the sun like it’s a glass of cool water. I have to do more. I have to paint my mother a whole painting in the grass with the glowing, white Lily of the Valleys.
As always, Briar waits for me in the clearing. But the second I walk in and her chestnut eyes take in the guitar in my hands, her hands clap together.
“Please, please. Sit and strum for me. Oh, I am so excited.”
I plant myself into the cool grass. I let the blades tickle my calves as my fingers place themselves on the strings. I take a deep breath in, like Dad taught me. Always steady yourself before singing. I close my eyes and let the music carry me away.
Wishing for a chance
To dance with you again
Under the stars
You taught me to read
I risk a second of opening my eyes to see Briar in the middle of the clearing. She sways her hips, arms stretched above her head, reaching for the sun like the flowers back at home. The trees respond, swaying just like her. A downpour of petals and leaves begins to swirl around her.
If I could pick all the honeysuckle in the world
And feed it to you with half of the love you’ve given me
Would that fix you?
Would you see my shadow again?
All around me birds sing. The breeze in the branches is like a second guitar playing with me. Briar is humming along, somehow knowing the tune like she’s heard this song all her life on the radio. She begins to spin with the petals, flowers sprouting from the ground and tangling into her legs.
Tell me you’ll dance with me again
Or read the stars with
Honeysuckle tangled in our hair
Give me that chance
Briar keeps dancing, even when I stop playing. She glances at me over her shoulder just for a second, as her hands carrasses the tornado of petals and pollen floating through the air. The sun beams onto her. I wish I could capture a photo of this moment forever.
“Wherever did you find that song?”
I shrug, cheeks burning like they’ve got a sunburn. But I’ve been sitting in the shade the whole time.
“I wrote it myself.”
Briar crosses through the still swaying petals. She hands me one of the woven baskets she was making earlier.
Inside are hundreds of seeds.
“Get to work, little one. Your dreams need planting.”
The next day, I tell the soil as many secrets as I can while I plant the seeds. Stars, circles, swirls, and mountains made of seeds. Lily of the Valley will totally transform the ground beneath Mom’s feet. And she’ll never have a reason to stop being happy.
I spend the Saturday planting away. Building homes out of tiny mounds of dirt for the seeds to take cover in, just like Briar showed. Dad works on cleaning the house and helping to take care of Mom while I stay outside. The back of my neck starts to burn, my arms and legs cramp, sweat drips off of me like a river.
But I don’t care, because it’ll all be worth it.
When the day is fading and the night has peaked above the horizon, I’m brushing the dug up yard with water. Dad steps out on the porch, towel in his hand.
“Kiddo, dinner is–”
His eyes widen as they take in my work. He lets out a low whistle. “I know you were working on a garden but I had no idea this scale. This is huge, Willow.”
I shrug, like it’s not a big deal. Not like I just spent a whole weekend day with dirt underneath my fingernails and coating my knees. “Mom said she loved Lily of the Valleys. Well, I’m giving her a whole garden.”
I let the hose finish its hard work and join my dad on the front porch. Dad wraps his arm around me and hugs me close. I can tell by the way his chest heaves that he’s crying. We both are silent, looking at the countless tiny hills in the soil ahead of us. The grass is mostly gone, but it’ll be worth it.
It has to be worth it. Give me a chance.
Briar has me bent over a growing bud, singing softly to it to help it grow faster.
“Music is as precious to plants as the very sun is, little one. Even a single bar of notes or voice can send the roots down deeper, have the leaves turn–”
She stops mid-sentence and turns towards the woods, face lifted to a soft breeze that runs through the entire clearing. I stop my humming and watch her, as she closes her chestnut eyes and a soft smile crosses her vines.
“Ah, the Monarchs are starting their journey.”
I sit back down, hands still planting firmly into the soil. “Monarchs?”
As if obeying her very words, a single Monarch butterfly appears from the edges of the clearing. It flutters directly to Briar, perching on her shoulder. She lifts a finger and touches its wings, but it doesn’t fly away
“The Monarch butterflies fly 3,000 miles to their winter home, all to chase the sun and stay with its precious warmth. Do you feel the chill in the air approaching, little one? This one tells me its brothers and sisters do. Do you know they will pass through this very town? I imagine you will get to witness this incredible journey for yourself.”
Now that she’s said it, I have noticed summer slowly releasing its tight grip in the South. My legs grow cold underneath me as they touch the dirt, a shiver running up the back of my legs.
Dad orders Chinese food from the only Chinese restaurant in town. The fried rice and egg drop soup still sing in my mouth as I sit on the porch, looking over at my entire yard of budlings. Their green leaves stretch towards the sky, hiding underneath the white flowers that will soon bud.
My guitar stretches across my lap. A glass of water leaks condensation next to me and into the wood. I strum my fingers over the strings, enjoying the feeling of metal pricking into my skin. The music floats through the air, like a breeze.
I don’t have words tonight, just notes. Briar said it would be more than enough. I watch the Lily of the Valleys and swear they’re dancing back to me. After everything I’ve learned from Briar, I wouldn’t be shocked.
The porch door swings open behind me, quietly. Any seconds I expect Dad to speak up and ask what I’m doing.
But it’s Mom who sits next to me. I don’t even have to look to know it’s her, the way she smells like cinnamon and lemon. She sighs so happily as she stretches out next to me on the porch. My fingers keep strumming, eyes taking hungry glances at Mom. I’m afraid to move, afraid that any change in my appearance will startle her back inside.
But she doesn’t move. She tilts her head up towards the stars and smiles. Her robe exposes a bit of her pale collarbone, freckles just visible on the cheeks in the moonlight. Her toes dig into the soil in front of her.
“What a beautiful garden you’ve built, Willow. I am so proud of you.”
She leans her head on my shoulder, and I lay my cheek on her somehow still soft hair.
“I’m proud of you too, Mom. For coming out of your bedroom.”
Over the sound of my guitar, I think I hear her crying.
“There are butterflies coming to the town. The Monarch migration. Do you want to go with Dad and I to see them? I know you’ll love it.”
Mom sighs happily, reaching forward and brushing her fingers against a Lily of the Valley. “I would love nothing more, Willow. I promise I’ll be there with you guys.”
The next day, Dad takes me along with him to the store so we can, “actually cook for once”. Everywhere I look are posters and flyers talking about the Monarch’s migration.
Briar was totally right. As usual.
As we’re checking out flour, sugar, oil, chicken, and potatoes, Dad points at one of the flyers attached to the worker’s cash register. “What’s this all about?”
She smiles as she packs our stuff. Her super red hair matches the super red lipstick on her lips. “Our town is super lucky. We get to watch the Monarch migration happen right from downtown. It’s always a huge event. Super magical. And great food. You guys should come.”
“You know, they travel 3,000 miles.” I say as I grab a packed bag of groceries from her.
The woman smiles at me, and I see a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. “That’s right sweetie. Smart kid you got there.” She winks at Dad.
He pats me on the head, ruffling my hair way too much for my liking. “Takes after her Mom.”
My heart splinters into a million pieces. If Mom were here with us, she’d pick out candy to try with me and hide it from Dad, who always thinks that stuff just makes cavities.
She will be well enough for the butterflies. She promised she would be there, so I know she’ll come. Me and the Lily of the Valleys will make sure of it.
“Have you ever seen the migration, Briar?” I ask.
It’s just a few days until the butterflies reach town. Today, I am strumming my guitar again for her, so she can help nurse a sick tree back to health. It almost fell over into our clearing a few days ago when a cold fall wind picked up, and Briar screamed so loudly I still have nightmares about that.
She shakes her head as she waves her hands over the rotten trunk. As she goes, the black bark transforms into gray. Slowly, the tree begins to lift itself up again.
“Every year, a few butterflies join me in my clearing. But they can never stay for long. It’s too long of a journey outside their regular path. They would die if they came this way.”
“So you’ve never seen it yourself?”
“No, but don’t worry. I feel it happening. It’s such a magical dusting in the air.”
I keep strumming my guitar as the tree grows and grows. Once was once bear branches are now full of bright green leaves, so thick I can’t even see the sun peaking through them.
I wonder if that’s what the migration will be like, too. The air will become so thick with butterflies we can’t even see each other.
An idea blossoms in my brain.
“Would you like to see the migration? Like have you always secretly wanted to?”
Briar sits next to me and bobs her head along to my guitar. “Sometimes, I dream about the butterflies. But there is nothing to be done. It’s not like I can walk among humans. Your kind is so judgemental. They would be afraid of me.”
I smirk, knowing she’s right. I feel like Dad would faint if he saw her. Mom, probably not. She would love Briar, that I know.
Maybe she could meet her. At the migration. It would be even more magical.
“You’re right, but what if we did something about it? I bet a big enough trench coat could hide all your branches. And a hat big enough would make it look like you were just a big dude walking alone, minding his own business.”
Briar thinks about this for a while. Underneath her, an entire garden of sunflowers grows through her branches, reaching for the sky.
Finally, Briar smiles. “Have I ever told you I like the way you think, little one?”
Dad and I are sitting on the couch, folding laundry together. The news plays in the background. So is a vinyl record of one of Dad’s favorite albums, Rumors by Fleetwood Mac.
“Are you excited for tomorrow, Willow?” Dad asks, smiling over at me as he struggles to fold a giant fitted sheet together.
“I think it’s going to be really beautiful. My friend says that many butterflies at one time is like looking at magic.”
Dad stops folding for a moment and stares up at the ceiling. “I bet it will be magical. Like we’re sitting in the world’s biggest garden, even bigger than yours.”
I smirk, but before I can say anything, movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention.
It’s Mom. But this is not the version I’ve seen floating around the new house. It’s the statue from our old life. Hair standing up all over the place, robe barely on right, eyes sunken into deep black pits.
She shuffles forward. “I thought I heard voices…” she mutters.
Dad jumps up immediately. “Oh, I’m sorry sweetie. Were we being too loud? Let’s get you back to bed.”
The way she looks makes me feel sick. This is Mom when her depression is hard, not someone who was being healed by flowers, who promised me she would go tomorrow to the migration.
“Mom?” I whisper, just as the vinyl scratches to a halt. “You’re still going tomorrow, right?”
She blinks, like she’s staring at someone she doesn’t even know. Not her daughter. “Oh no, sorry. I can’t—I can’t go anywhere right now. I don’t have the energy. You understand, don’t you, sweetie?”
“No, I don’t,” I snap. “You told me you were going to come. You lied to me.”
“Willow,” Dad warns.
But no, I’ve had enough. I’ve tried so hard. I built her an entire garden that was supposed to make her feel better. Briar said it would work, and it had been working. I spin from my parents and storm outside, slamming the door behind me so they know I mean business. I pluck one of the Lily of the Valleys out of the ground and race back inside.
Mom is still standing there, blinking slowly, Dad trying to get her up the stairs.
I throw the flower at her. It smacks against the side of her head. She flinches, and Dad cries out, turning to glare at me.
“I grew all of those for you!” I yell.
Mom flinches, and Dad’s face falls. But I’m not done yet.
“I grew an entire garden for you with my bare hands. Lily of the Valleys are supposed to make you happy again. I’ve done so much for you, you know that? I’m 12. I’m not supposed to be trying to get you out of your room just so you can hang out with me. I’m not supposed to find you dying on the bedroom floor and bring you back to life.”
I’m yelling so loud, my words are like claws digging into the flesh of my throat. The air echoes weird around me with the quiet of me taking in a breath.
“You promised me you would go. You said this was a restart, but was that a lie too? You’re missing so much, Mom. You know what? I hate these stupid flowers. I hate this place. And I hate your depression.”
I shove past them and storm up the stairs, hating even more how they say nothing at all.
But a single voice does float up to me as I stomp to my bedroom door: the news reporter on the TV downstairs.
“100 percent chance of rain and storms tomorrow. The butterflies will have a hard time with the migration…”
Great, just great. Somehow what was supposed to be a magical day has just turned into a little trash can.
The town has absolutely gone wild for butterflies.
Downtown looks totally transformed. All kinds of shops have tents and tables out for people to look through. Wild honey. Jams and relishes. Freshly made goat cheese and milk. Bread still warm from the oven. The most beautiful and colorful collection of vegetables and fruits I have ever seen.
Every inch of the place is covered in drawings and artwork of Monarch butterflies. If I move my head fast enough, everything is a blur of black and orange. It’s like they’re already here, but I know they’re still coming. The entire middle of the street is blocked off for them. Not a soul walks there.
I’m standing there, taking it all in. I wish I hadn’t said those things to Mom. My sore throat reminds me of my harsh words, the way she looked like she was about to cry. But I also wish she was here with me.
She was supposed to be here.
A breeze floats across my shoulders. I turn to the right, and Briar appears next to me. I can barely see her face with the jacket and hat I let her borrow from my closet. Thanks to the extra layers, she looks like just a normal human beside me.
I wrap my arms around her before I begin to cry again. She was just the person I wanted to see. She chuckles next to me, a bee buzzing out from inside her jacket.
“Good to see you too, little one.”
Before I can begin to tell her about Mom and the flowers failing us, I hear footsteps approaching us.
“Who is this?” Dad asks, coming up behind me and handing me a pretzel twisted to look just like a butterfly.
“My friend from school.” Is all I say as I stuff a big bite into my mouth. Maybe this pretzel can make me forget how bad I feel.
Briar lifts a single arm to wave, but the jacket totally covers every inch of her branches. We hooked it on one of her fingers just to make sure. The extra brown fabric on the ends flops over sadly in the breeze. I almost giggle, but I don’t want to give us away.
Dad lights up, and I can see he wants to ask a bunch of questions. But I punch him in the side. “She’s super shy. Don’t even look at her, it’ll make her freak out.”
Dad gawks, looking down at me with wide eyes. But before he can speak up, someone shouts.
“They’re coming!”
The noise from the crowds and the shopping immediately stops. Silence lifts all around us. I hold my breath, waiting, peeking around Dad and onto the street. Someone grabs the arm of their toddler as they try to run out into the middle.
Over the horizon, I see them. At first, it’s just a few butterflies. The orange and blacks of their wings are bright against the gray sky. Then I see more. And more. And even more.
More butterflies than I ever could have imagined fly right for downtown.
Thunder booms from right behind me. I squeal and almost drop my pretzel. Someone else screams. We all tear our gaze from the beautiful procession of butterflies to the darkness racing towards us. The sky is nothing but black, tumbling clouds. Lightning dances across the air, a wave of gray rain flying towards faster than anyone can move.
It’s on us in seconds.
I wince as cold rain smacks into every inch of me, coating me before Dad can even open our umbrella. But suddenly I’m not worried about the rain or my pretzel or keeping Briar’s identity a secret.
The butterflies.
I run towards them, halting in the middle of the street as the storm meets them. The effect is immediate. The group staggers. As heavy rain pelts them from all sides, some start to fall to the ground, wings unable to pick up.
“They’re going to drown if we don’t do something!” I yell.
All through the ground, people begin to murmur. They stop their frantic packing and look at the butterflies struggling. Voices cry out all around me.
“But what can we do?”
“Oh, this is so sad.”
“We have to do something?”
The rain is so, so cold. I watch the butterflies falling down, one by one. And I can’t help but think about Mom, back home, still in her bedroom. I feel like I’m a butterfly on the ground, trying so hard to pick up my wings and make Mom happy again. But I can’t do it, because the rain is just too heavy.
How am I supposed to save the butterflies if I can’t even save my own Mom?
“Willow,” Briar’s voice reaches me through the storm. “Follow my lead.”
Before I can stop her, she drops the jacket I got her from my closet. Even more people begin to gasp as she floats past them, flowers bursting from the concrete and sidewalk beneath her. Someone screams. People back away.
No, she doesn’t deserve that kind of reaction. She is a wonderful, magical being. Just because people have never seen anything like her before doesn’t mean they have to be afraid.
“Willow? What is going on?” Dad asks behind me, jaw dropped as he takes in Briar.
I turn to him. “That’s Briar. She’s my friend. She lives in a meadow behind our house. She’s the one that gave me the Lily of the Valley. She’s the one that has helped me make my garden and helped make Mom better. We have to help her back now!”
Dad shakes his head. “Hold on. Timeout, she lives behind our house?”
“Ugh, Dad! We don’t have time for this! The butterflies!”
I yank out of his grip and run for Briar. Dad yells after me for him to follow, but I don’t listen.
Briar and I make it to the butterfly group. Even more have fallen to the ground. I crouch down, pushing the hair that’s fallen in my eyes thanks to the rain, and gingerly lift one into my palm. It looks up at me, legs dancing on my palms as if to say thank you.
Next to me, Briar lifts her hands into the air. From the very ground rises the trunk of a tree. It bursts up into the air, knocking a few butterflies out of the way. But I carefully pick those up too. People gasp behind me. A few start to clap, like this is nothing but a simple magic trick.
The branches spread across the sky, leaves sprouting in the time it takes to blink. The tree provides some shelter from the rain, but it’s coming down hard and fast. The butterflies still can’t fly forward, though the group still in the air starts to crowd underneath the leaves.
Briar wipes her forehead. “That has taken a lot of energy from me, Willow. I cannot make more trees like this. It’s not enough to save the butterflies.”
She looks at me, chestnut eyes searching my face. Within them, I see she trusts me to figure this out. It’s been her and I working together to figure out my problems lately. And even if Mom didn’t get the full effect of the magic in my garden, I did. I can do anything I set my mind to, with Briar’s help.
If I can’t save my Mom, I can save the butterflies. I can do this.
I turn to the crowd still standing in the rain, still watching. “We need all the umbrellas we can get! The butterflies have to find shelter so they can get dry and fly again. We have a big barn at our house. If we can get them there, then they can be safe and fly again.”
Everyone looks to one another. Dad looks between me and them. He looks unsure what to do, wringing his hands together. He keeps looking at Briar, who has started to pluck butterflies off the ground and lay them across her vines and branches.
But then, finally, something clicks inside his brain and he nods, running over to me to help me with the butterflies.
“Hurry, please!” he calls behind his shoulder at the others.
That shout snaps people into action. Everyone starts to either run to get their umbrellas or dives into stores to find some too. In moments, everyone is moving for us. Umbrellas pop open, people help to carefully lift the butterflies off the ground, and we start to slowly make our way towards our house.
We are an army of people and butterflies, slowly making our way to my home. Dad asks Briar question after question. Briar answers where she can, shrugs where she cannot.
No, she doesn’t know of others like her.
Yes, she can make anything grow out of the ground.
No, she does not want to eat me.
Yes, she is magical.
I guess I owe it to Dad for not fainting, but even his questions are starting to drain me.
Until we make it to the house, and I see her. Mom, standing in the middle of the storm.
Standing in the middle of my garden.
Dad is running towards her first, but I’m quick to join him. I’m still kinda mad at her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t worry about her at the same time.
She shouldn’t be out in this storm.
But she gently pushes Dad to the side, telling him she’s okay. “I just had to see the flowers, I had to make sure they were okay in this storm.”
They’re more than okay. They’re thriving in the rain. The flowers are even bigger than before, almost as big as my fists. They look almost like fireflies, glowing in the darkness of the rain.
But Mom stands in front of me, pulling my attention to her.
“You were right.” She says, as she pets back the hair clinging to my cheeks. “I have been hiding. Depression is tricky and evil, my little one. But I have to get better. I don’t want to leave the life where my daughter grows me an entire garden just to make me feel better. I’ll try better. I’ll take my medication, I’ll go to therapy.”
If it weren’t storming, Mom could see how hard I was sobbing. Dad wraps all three of us into a tight hug. We’re all three shaking, laughing, crying.
Someone comes up behind us, and I let go of my beautiful family to see Briar standing there, smiling and looking as beautiful as ever with a trail of Lily of the Valleys making my garden even more stunning.
Mom gasps, blue eyes widening as she takes in Briar and the flowers that trail behind her.
But Briar makes the first move, wrapping Mom into a branch-filled hug. “Your daughter has told me so much about you. She is a special one, that Willow. She is so filled with light and love. I know you did that.”
Now it’s Mom’s turn to cry. But Briar floats by, Mom watching her go.
As much as I would love to tell her all about Briar and I dancing in the meadow, I clear my throat. “The butterflies, Mom. We have to help them.”
That snaps Mom out of her trance. She nods and lets go of me finally, running ahead of Briar to open the barn doors. Briar dances in, followed by everyone from the town. On our shoulders and heads and legs and clothes are hundreds and hundreds of butterflies. I join everyone in the barn as they start to gently help the butterflies on the stacks of hay, on the dry pieces of spare wood.
We are silent as we work, so careful of the butterflies, watching as they slowly start to lift their wings again and take shaky steps forward again.
Somehow, Dad sneaks away into the house and comes back with his guitar.
Somehow, he starts to play, and Mom starts to sing.
Somehow, people start to dance.
Somehow, the butterflies slowly start to wake up.
Somehow, they start to dance with us, swirling in the barn like a tornado of butterflies.
And, somehow, Mom sweeps me up into her arms and starts to dance with me.
“You have saved me. Over and over and over again.” She kisses me on the cheek, lips like the wings of the butterflies surrounding us.
I cling onto her harder, burying my head into her long, wavy blonde hair, still a little damp from the rain still pouring outside. She spins me around and around, arms never lessening their grip on me. I get a glimpse outside the barn door, Briar spinning round and around in the rain. Roses and sunflowers and daisies burst and bloom with every step, mixing in with the white lily of the valleys scattered across the grass.
I owe everything to flowers.
