Flower Crowns

Everyone tells me that Mama’s gone. They never agree on where, though.

Grandma always says that Mama went to “a good place.” She never gets any more specific than that. If I press her for details, she gets this look on her face where her eyebrows bunch up together and her nostrils widen and her lips go really, really thin. 

Once, I asked her if Mama’s dead, like Freddy from Knotts Street who got pushed into the river. Her face went pale and she blinked quickly a few times, but she didn’t cry. She just repeated that Mama was in “a good place” and left the room. I spent the rest of the day feeling terrible, so I didn’t ask again.

Rose says that Mama is “traveling.” When I ask her where, she gives a different answer each time. Sometimes she says that Mama’s walking down a beach in Florida or hiking in Canada or working as a fashion model in Madrid. She’s obviously lying. Mama hates beaches, says that the ocean makes her hair all frizzed up.

Other times she tells me that Mama’s in the sky.

“Like in an airplane?” I always ask.

“Sure,” she always replies.

I only asked Clem once. He just looked at me and said, “New York.”

But Mama’s not really gone, even though everyone says so. She visits me sometimes. And I know she’s not a ghost because she wears different clothes every time.

Today, Mama shows up in the morning, just when I’m about to get out of bed. As soon as I see her, I smile, making sure I show my teeth like she taught me to. This is my favorite kind of visit, because Mama can stay for the whole day. Last time, she only showed up when the sun was about to set, and she had to leave fifteen minutes later.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Mama says.

She’s wearing a white blouse and faded blue jeans. There’s a hole in the left knee.

“Morning, Mama,” I reply.

“I was thinking we could go to the woods today,” she says.

I nod. My stomach growls.

Mama laughs. It sounds like the church bell when it rings for Sunday Mass.

“Get dressed, and go eat breakfast. Then come find me. I’ll be waiting by the tree stump.”

She waves goodbye and leaves.

I put on my dress, which is yellow with white dots and goes down to just below my knees. Then I brush my teeth and head downstairs to the kitchen. It’s empty, but there’s three bowls of oatmeal set out on the table. Grandma must be at the market already.

I eat quickly, because I want to go meet Mama as soon as possible. I can imagine her sitting on the tree stump, laughing. 

“Sunlight’s a-wasting, sweetie,” she would say.

Rose comes in. She looks around for a bit—probably for Grandma—before sitting across from me and pulling a bowl of oatmeal over to her.

“Good morning, Lily,” she says.

“Morning, Rosie,” I reply, because she hates that nickname, and I think she’s too bossy and uptight. She’s nothing like Mama.

Sure enough, she frowns, but doesn’t say anything. She picks up her spoon and begins to eat. Outside, a songbird sings. Another replies.

I’m putting my empty bowl in the sink when she speaks again.

“What are you doing today?” Rose asks.

She doesn’t look up from her bowl.

“I’m going to the woods with Mama,” I answer.

Rose frowns. She’s always frowning, these days.

“Mama’s in England, shopping for books,” she says a few moments later.

“That’s silly. Why would she go all the way to England for books, when she could just buy some from Mr. Halden?” I respond.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rose says quickly, “What matters is that Mama’s not here. You know that, right?”

She raises her head to look at me when she asks her question. Her eyes are shiny, and her voice breaks at the end.

“But Mama is here. We’re going to the woods today. You can come with me if you want,” I suggest, confused.

I don’t really want her to tag along—it’s always been just Mama and I on these trips, not Mama and I and Rose—but Mama says that I shouldn’t be selfish.

Rose shakes her head. She looks back down at her bowl again.

“No, thank you. Have fun. Be back by dark.”

I shrug. “We’ll be at the tree stump if you change your mind,” I say, as I walk out the back door.

Rose doesn’t seem to hear me. She stays hunched over her oatmeal.

I walk down the street, every step quicker than the last. By the time I get to the tree stump, I’m flat-out running, my dress rising up behind me.

Mama’s sitting on the tree stump, the sun lighting up her face. The woods loom behind her. She laughs when she sees me and stands up.

“There you are, sweetie,” she says, “Ready to go?” 

I nod, and she takes my hand. We head into the woods together, following a small path. I try to touch every tree I pass by. The rough bark scratches at my hand, but the moss feels nice, wet and springy.

“Rosie says you’re in England, buying books,” I tell Mama.

She laughs. “That’s silly. I’m here, aren’t I?”

I grin at her. “That’s what I said!” Mama laughs again. 

The trail leads to a small field. It’s more of a patch, really.

Mama stops. “Look at these beautiful flowers,” she says.

I look at them, scattered dots of red and yellow and blue among the green grass.

“They’re very pretty,” I agree.

Mama kneels down in the grass.

“Let me show you how to make flower crowns, sweetie,” she says.

I kneel down as well, tucking my dress under my knees. She plucks some flowers, about a dozen of them.

“These are daisies,” she says, “If Clem had been born a girl, I would have named him Daisy.”

My eyes widen. Clem doesn’t seem like a Daisy. Clem is Clem. Calling him anything else sounds weird.

“Huh,” I say.

Mama laughs. She takes three of the daisies and crosses their stems right below the buds so that it looks like a canary’s foot.

“Now,” Mama continues, “you braid them like you would braid hair.”

I nod. Mama showed me how to braid hair a few years ago. She takes the stem on the right and places it between the other two. She takes the stem on the left and does the same. 

“Repeat for about an inch or so,” Mama says half a minute later, “Then you put a new stem on top of the center one, like this, and continue braiding.” 

I stare silently, mouth slightly open, as the flower crown grows before my eyes. After she has braided the last flower in, she pauses.

“Now, you braid the remaining ends and tuck them in near the start. And you’ve got a flower crown!” 

Mama smiles widely at me, handing me the finished crown. I hold it in my hands for a few seconds—gently, so that I don’t harm the flowers—before she takes it back and places it on my head.

“You look like a princess, sweetie. I wish I had a camera,” Mama says.

“I want to make one for you,” I reply, already reaching to pluck some flowers.

Mama laughs. “All right. How about these buttercups over here?”

She points at some. I nod eagerly.

“Perfect," I say.

We spend all day making flower crowns, dozens and dozens of them. Mama laughs when she tries to find some flowers to pluck and couldn’t find any. She begins to gather up the crowns.

“Come on, sweetie. It’s getting dark. Time to go back.”

“Okay,” I say reluctantly. I place as many flower crowns in the lap of my dress as I can. 

Mama laughs. “Let’s go,” she says, standing up and walking back to the path.

I hurry to do the same, trying not to let any flower crowns fall. We walk, leaves crunching under our feet.

“Did you have fun today?” Mama asks.

“Of course,” I reply.

Mama smiles. “Good. That’s all I ever wanted, Lily.”

She slows down as we get to the edge of the forest. I see Rose sitting on the tree stump, reading a book.

“Rosie!” I call.

She looks up. Her eyes widen. 

I continue talking. “Look! Mama’s—”

But Mama was gone.