Petals. Marti Eicholz
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for. I am grateful that I already have a child, a beautiful boy named Scotty. I am grateful that I did not have a stillbirth. I am grateful that Scotty did not know about the pregnancy, that we did not have to deal with his heartbreak on top of ours. I do not want anyone to give me reasons to be grateful, if you do try to remind me, I will punch you right in your head. I was not sure I wanted another child.
As the months went by, the thrilling highs were less frequent. Mary needed a lift. There was not much to do on any night of the week after Scotty went to bed, so many nights Mary walked around town with friends. After walking an hour, they would often become tired and need a rest.
At first it seemed a little strange, but their favorite place in town was this beautiful church. Its frightened Mary to enter such a place, so imposing. To keep a promise to her friends, she saw herself forced to enter. It took courage to pass through the old oak door, but the moment she stepped in, she found it enchanting and breathtaking. Sometimes they would end up staying there for hours just talking. These friendships made her feel warm and cozy. She felt no harm. And Scotty was safe, home asleep.
The nights that Mary and her friends spent time in the church left Mary wondering a lot about the soul of the dead fetus. Does its soul need to return to earth in another body?
Mary enjoyed her nighttime outings. The best times were in the park near the lake and the woods. The stars would come as if to welcome this gang of friends back to their hours of comfort and relaxation. They would sit, heads tilted toward the sky, observing the constellations and the patina of the moon. Their chatter and drink went on until the small hours, always with a backdrop of crickets in the long grasses.
The lack of sleep took its toll. Over time, the thrilling highs were less frequent, replaced by longer bouts of dull depression.
Exhausted and frantic after years of suffering, Mary reached a limit. Over vodka a friend one evening gently directed her to some stimulants she had available in sample form. The result was perfect. She began using the pills, rather innocently, along with her medications for her disorder and her consumption of alcohol whenever she needed an extra boost. To her, it was better than a cup of coffee.
Mary’s workload grew exponentially, and she had trouble keeping pace. She could not juggle Scotty’s school activities, keeping up the property, creating wedding gowns, and managing her moods. She took more and more pills just to keep up, and then even more pills to get to sleep again. She gave little thought to this drug use. She and her friends were no street junkies making covert deals in dark alleys.
As she waited on the corner for her friends to show up, she thought I am successfully making my life smoother.
The gang of friends arrived. Mary climbed into their pickup. The pickup lurched as it turned onto a dirt road. The ruckus from the bottom of the truck was unbearable, because of the noise and excessive shaking. They slowly climbed. It seemed impossible to reach the lovely cabin at the top. The rocks and deep potholes shook the truck and everyone in it, like a paint mixer. They rolled down every window in the truck so they could have some leverage to hold on and not lose their grip. When the fresh clean mountain air entered the truck, they knew they were nowhere close to home. The cabin set deep in the heart of the mountains. Overhead, the woods closed in, shutting out the moonlight. The woods were silent. No eyes and ears. They were free. They chatted, laughed, drank alcohol, tried marijuana, got high and started all over….
They thought they were fireworks in the velvet dark, the blaze that dares to light up the night.
It was morning when Mary arrived home as golden bars of sunlight shined through the majestic oaks. Fractured images of sights and sounds and smells flashed with haunting echoes of the night were present.
Scotty dressed for school stood macho asking, “Where have you been? You look awful.”
Mary lashed out and slapped Scotty, “That’s enough! You don’t talk to your mother like that.”
Scotty rushed out of the house to catch the school bus.
Scotty struggled through feelings of sadness, confusion, and anger as he rehearsed for the town’s storytelling festival coming up on the weekend. His dad would be home and hopefully the family would attend this significant event, drawing people from all over the region. This year festival programmers scheduled local, regional, and nationally known oral storytellers but also featured a student, Scotty Miller.
Visitors roamed the streets, checking out the many interesting shops and securing a seat for the storytelling sessions.
Adam and Mary seated along with a large group of children eager for fright by Scotty’s collection of haunting tales. Through his spoken word and song, he started with a scary story about a student’s first day at a new school and not finding his classroom. The school was a maze. Scotty walked his audience through this winding maze of spooky adventures.
The audience rewarded Scotty with claps and yells for more, realizing there is no substitute for the power, simplicity, and basic truth of a well-told story. Everyone saw the proud smiles that lit up the community. What they could not see was that Scotty lit up his mother, Mary on the inside so completely that at that moment her darkness disappeared. She felt whole and happy.
Scotty thought today was full of sunshine and happiness. I cannot tell my dad about Mom. My dad needs his weekend to relax and prepare for his next week of work. Mom and I will work this out.
And that was the way it was: Scotty kept quiet. Scotty buried his anger. And Mary never said a word. Life continued.
Mary had a never-ending search for comfort and her friends came to her aid. Her drug use escalated. She moved to street drugs. She dabbled in crystal meth. Her addiction progressed to opiates in the form of heroin. Throughout this time, she still felt on top.
She needed her next fix to feel real natural joy. Her addiction became such that she cared for nothing else. She pursued an addictive life.
She lived in disbelief. She told herself, “I am no druggie engaged in covert activities, and I am no criminal. My customers admire my work. If Scotty misunderstands, I clear it up with a smile and an apology and all is well.”
Mary could not have been more wrong.
One evening all alone Scotty wrote in his diary, 'Life is unpredictable. Mom is emotionally and physically abusive, slapping me, telling me I am garbage and imposing all kinds of arbitrary rules. My mom is someone else. She is someone I once loved but now, I fear. I am ashamed to say that all I love is the memory of who she was. She manipulates me and sweet-talks and then without conscience she deceives me, extinguishing any hope. Sometimes, on my blackest days, I wonder what I would feel if the police came to tell me she was dead. I do not know. I pray I do not find out. I often stay home from school because she is too fragile to be home by herself. When I am in school, instead of paying attention to my teachers, I spend all day worrying about how my mom is doing---plus, I am weighed down with keeping the secret that I have a “crazy” mother. It is tough for me to be sympathetic. Instead, I feel angry. I am getting a job soon to have an excuse to spend time away from home.'
Scotty kept the lawn and the rose garden manicured and healthy. By cutting the grass shorter it took a far longer time to grow back so, he had more time to work on his other projects. There was always so much he wanted to do. First, he needed to tackle the dandelion.
The dandelion had a boldness that Scotty just did not care for. It was too tall, too yellow and in the wrong place. He stopped and thought this is my lawn and what on earth does that flower think it is doing there? I want green. I plan for green and I will get it perfect, even uniform green.
Adam was home surveying the perfect lawn with a smile as his son faster than a speeding bullet bent over the brash little flower and plucked it. Adam giggled.
The sound of laughter caused Scotty to be straightened up and with a smile, “Hi, Dad. It’s good to have you home.”
“Job well done, this will make your mother happy,” Adam was not noticing Scotty’s silence.
They stood back, admiring nature at its finest. Scotty felt deeply satisfied with his