The Day Earth Died

2. Stories You've Told

The next spring, The Lonely Dandelion waits until its yellow petals wilt away. I couldn't push the stupid tale out of my head; it just went on. It accompanied me as I let my feet guide me wherever. My hopes of shutting my mum's insisting voice died down the second I realized I was in front of the orphanage.

If that's what it takes, I thought and shoved the heavy doors open. It was just as I remembered inside; vivid. Breathtakingly vivid. As much as plants hardly grew up here, as much as nuns managed to make them grow anyway. Vegetation was everywhere. In pots hanging from the ceiling, or sprouting from the cracks in the concrete tiles, or clambering up the high walls. Maybe faith is what made these plants grow.

It waits, and waits until its fluffy seed head springs out. I cursed my mind for this nonsense as the doors slammed shut behind me. At the other side of the room, past all the beds set for orphans, a young nun sat on a bench in front of a dozen children, telling tales. The sound of the doors directed their attention towards me. Awkwardly, I waved. The nun sprung on her feet as soon as she saw me. She engulfed me into a fervent hug that I struggled to return. The orphans were all gawking at us, still docilely sat on the floor. It waits, and waits, and waits until wind scatters its seeds in the field.

"Malory, Lord, it's been so long!" she said after pulling back a bit, yet keeping me in her arms.

"Has it?" I chewed the inside of my cheek.

Who is she? Hopefully I didn't look as confused as I felt.

"Your mom made my childhood magical, I'll never thank her enough. How is she, by the way? I haven't seen her since... You know."

She finally let go of me, suddenly a little hesitant with unsettling me too much.

"Yeah, she's... she's doing okay." I balanced on my feet a bit. To shake off my feelings maybe.

"I'm glad," she said and offered a warm smile.

My lips stayed clamped shut. She headed back to the reading circle and sat on the bench.

"You're just in time for the fairy tales— No, Jasper—" A little boy ran to me and wrapped his tiny arms around my waist.

It waits, and waits, and waits, and waits until the shy sprout of a friend peeks out. He held me tight, head buried in the fabric of my coat. My mouth gaped; I didn't know what to do. The nun stood up again to come help me. The kid started sobbing against me, his cries resonating in the room. I sighed and brought a hand to his hair, gently fondling it. This isn't me. By the time the nun reached us, he wasn't crying anymore. She picked him up and cradled him in her arms.

"This is Jasper. He's only been with us for a week," she said and spun her shoulder to show me his small face.

"Hi, Jasper," I said.

The nun smiled at me before slowly mouthing some words: "You look like his mom." Oh. He's that kind of orphan. The kind that still has parents. It was awfully common for parents who didn't have the means of taking care of their child to leave them at the orphanage. At least the kid was fed, dressed and had a roof there.

She walked back to the bench and settled there, Jasper still in her arms. I turned back, ready to leave.

"Where were we?" the nurse asked herself. "Oh, right! The Lonely Dandelion is no longer lonely until..."

Silence. She didn't finished the line. I shot a glance back at her. She scrambled on the seat sheepishly.

"What comes after the bee? Does anybody know?"

Kids shook their heads. Her brows tugged up and she roamed her eyes around, searching. The pendulum of the grandfather clock on the wall swung impatiently with steady ticks. I let out a staggered breath.

"It's a fawn," I forcefully shoved the words past my teeth.

Her face lit up and she bowed her head at me as a thank.

"A Hungry Fawn leaps by and grazes on the sprout until it is no more," she continued.

Admitting I remembered hurt. The pain burned in my chest and travelled in my veins, under my skin. It fed to my brain and pulsated in there, worsening by the second. I can't take it anymore. I stormed out without another word. Why do I feel like this? What's wrong with me?

The Lonely Dandelion is lonely again, compelled to wait until spring comes back around, the tale taunted. I tipped my chin up at the sky, opening up my lungs for a deep breath. It had been cloudy all day up there, yet as I stared at it, it was somehow even darker than it was a handful of minutes earlier. Days were short—crazy short. Mum said they were longer when she was young. Same for snow. She used to love it but it all melted away throughout the years. A lot of things just left with time. Youth, innocence, happiness. Time had this wayward habit of stripping things away from me; it got straining in the long run.

I jogged back to the main street, my mind quieted at once. I was the one to make it loud again. "I haven't seen her since... You know," the nun had said. Fuck yeah, I knew. She didn't know how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years (!) I had spent regretting that day. Regretting its happening. Regretting the fire it set off inside me. Regretting not being there for mum when she fell. Regretting the doctor's diagnosis. Regretting the cane mum has had to carry around since then. Regretting the stifling of any hope mum had to ever walk like before. The regret weighted on my shoulders again, heavier than ever. I carried it back on my way home.

Once I entered my house, I took off my coat and slid the bottle of antidepressants over the closet, behind the three other full ones. Truth was that mum didn't use up a bottle a week; she barely did in one full month. On the table, the plate I had left in the morning was empty. Guilt crept behind me, its shadow cast on me as I blew away the dust the plate had already collected. With a rag that laid on the counter, I wiped it clean.

Mum was lying in our bed, though I knew she wasn't asleep. I had never met anyone with sleep as light as hers; the wind blowing was enough to awake her. She was still in her wool dress as I had expected. I closed the windows to keep the cold air outside as much as possible. I took off my boots, and then changed into my nightwear.

I laid down beside mum and tucked myself under our thick quilt. The guilt weighted on my chest and caught up in my throat with each breath. It shrouded me. I slowly drowned in it, succumbing to its burden. I watched it as it splattered onto the four walls of the room, decorating them with my pain as it pleased. Next to me, mum shifted, nudging me out of it. The shadow on the walls retracted and fled out the windows. The burden was lifted.

"Mum? Sweet dreams," I whispered, relieved.

She kissed my forehead before sinking her head back into the pillow we shared. My heart warmed up.