31 Days of Halloween

Day Eight: Honey

My mother was always a gracious woman. She made baked goods for the church potluck and sang in the choir. She donated old clothes to the poor and ran a soup kitchen for years. And when she was my age, she volunteered at an animal shelter walking dogs. Everyone always called her Honey, even though her real name was Hannah. They said she was sweet as honey as a reason.

I believed what they said when I was a child. And to me, my mother was always my hero anyway. But as I got older, her perfect façade began to unravel. She would get angry with me over little things, a sheet corner untucked or one sock that fell out of my laundry basket. If I asked to go play with friends she would redden with anger and then crumble into tears, begging me not to leave her. One time, I remember I had started out the door anyway and she fell onto my legs, grasping at my pants and weeping.

There were good days, too. She would take me out for ice cream before dinner and buy me lavish gifts. But I always knew with a gift came a punishment and I was always on guard. Lately, though, Honey became Honey again. She gave me the same sweet treatment as the public outside and while it made me feel special and loved, it also made me wary.

Today, Honey was outside in the garden when I came home. My friend, Maggie, just got a new videogame for her birthday and begged me to come over and play with her. Honey seemed fine with it, so I left for most of the day. I changed out of my outdoor clothes and got into a plain cotton shirt and shorts for dinner, knowing Honey hated when I wore street clothes to the table. When I turned around to leave my room, Honey was standing in my doorway, her gardening gloves clenched in her hands.

"Put your outside clothes back on. I need a hand in the garden." And then she turned and walked back out, very military in her execution. A sense of dread tickled at my subconscious, but I ignored it and did as she said, slipping into an old pair of jeans and my favorite band shirt.

Honey is digging furiously in her rose beds, small burlap-wrapped blocks at her hip. When I kneel beside her, she slaps a shovel into my hand, and I know I must dig some holes. Once they're big enough, in goes a burlap sack. Honey once told me they're enrichment blocks, minerals and enriched soil that seeps out of the burlap and helps her roses grow magnificently. The flower pods go on top and then covered with the base dirt and watered heavily.

The silence, however, I've never been good at. "When will the roses start blooming, mom?"

She smiles, her white teeth sparkling in the light. "Eight weeks, maybe a bit more. We never rush plants, Marla dear. They always bloom exactly when they need to."

"Will you enter these roses in the fair? Last year's won a blue ribbon." I pick up another block, enjoying the soft yet firm texture of the mixture inside.

"I might. Seems unfair to win again, everyone deserves a chance to win." Honey chuckled at that. There's never been a competition Honey hasn't won. "How is school going? I feel like I haven't seen you all week."

"The principal gave us a new curfew, on account of those people that went missing last month." I pause in my work, looking at Honey. She's stopped as well, looking intently at me.

"Did they say anything about those people?" Her question confused me at first, Honey knew the story better than most. She poured over the news article for weeks, fretting about the family who were slaughtered in their beds and baking cookies for the people grieving.

"Only that they still haven't found the bodies. Although, even if they had, the principal wouldn't tell us something so gruesome at school...we're not allowed to leave alone anymore, so I have to walk home with Maggie now."