[trans]

art;;
- 🌻

name;; margaret e. thatcher
↳ middle name is emily, after her grandmother
nickname(s);; maggie, mags
gender;; female
pronouns;; she/her
gardening experience;; ↴


you loved how your mother's flowers looked.

they were beautiful, so beautiful, and delicate but strong, with sturdy stems of rich greens, and petals that glittered and sparkled like gemstones under the sun's shining rays.

they were perfect.

you just wish everything else could be perfect too.

your family had never been functional. from the moment you could hear and see and speak and most importantly, think for yourself, you were as familiar with yelling—hoarse, gravelly yelling—as you were with the soft, sweet lullabies from your mother, lulling you back to a peaceful sleep. you were as familiar with yelling as you were with the faces of the people who would raise you, the gentle kisses to your forehead, the loving glances they would give you.

your family had never been functional. so you started a garden.

you named each plant after a member of your family, a mom, a dad, you and your grandparents. the aunt and uncle your father never lets you talk to, the cousins a few states over you never got to meet, and your other grandma that died a week before you were born.

they all lived in harmony, never yelling, never crying, never doing anything but being happy and peaceful and quiet. you liked it. you liked how good it made you feel to have your own mini garden, though it wasnt so mini anymore because it took up the whole windowsill now. (later she'd scold you for having too many in one planter without the proper spacing.)

your mother said it was messy, and they looked a little droopy, but your plants were doing pretty okay. she said she was proud of you, that you were a natural for having never done much gardening before, and that she could teach you more if you were interested.

well of course you were, so you said yes.

sometimes you wish you hadnt.

it had been going okay for a few weeks, the lessons with mother helping to balance out the bad times with some good,but nothing lasts forever.

your father found out, and he was furious. he flipped the table, said you didnt have time to hole up in your room and play plant doctor like some old kook from the swamp, said the farm was the highest priority and especially now, it required everyone to pitch in.

you say nothing as you walked past the broken pottery pieces and soil.

you feel like a piece of you was left behind somewhere in those broken pieces of pottery.




🌼🌻🌼🌻🌼



the summer of the next year is when you're introduced to gardening again.

today had been like any other day. you woke up tired, got ready tired, went to school tired, threw away your lunch tired, and came home on the bus tired.

when you got off at your stop though, you immediately knew something was wrong.

as you made your way up the dirt trail to your house, the smell of something tangy hit your nose. as you got closer, you realized it was coppery.

your pleated skirt flapped around as you sped up, trying your hardest to will your hands still as you tried to rationalize everything.

maybe she cut herself chopping vegetables for dinner. maybe she'd snagged her skin on some scissors. maybe she'd—

gotten stabbed

—hurt herself working in the fields.

it wouldnt be the first time, because your mother wasnt used to the big farm equipment.

as you apprehensively walked through the door, you felt relief wash over you at the sight of your mother running her hand under the sink, and the coppery smell you'd smelt earlier was even stronger here.

"mom?" you say tentatively, questioning, voice inquisitive yet cautious.

"oh, maggie, honey! oh gosh—you werent supposed to see this.. um, i.. arent you supposed to be in school dear?" the young kalon said all at once, moving a strand of brown hair out of her face. you noticed her good hand was shaking a little. maybe she was nervous.

"we got let out early.." you reply as you set your bag down at the dinner table, looking around for the other residents of the house. "where is everyone?"

"they're out sweetie! but hey, we can have fun all by ourselves, cant we? i know a lot of things we can do together!" the kalon beamed, sending you a bright smile over her shoulder. you return it in earnest, finding the motion so much easier when it was just your mother here.

"yeah, that's cool." you trailed off as you unpacked your lunchbox, searching for the ice pack to put back into the freezer for tomorrow. "what're you doing, by the way?"

"ah, i just.. little accident with the shears, you know! haha, silly me.." she trailed off, waving her good hand dismissively. "nothing to worry about dear, i promise. it's just a small cut, really."

"okay.." you reply as you deposit the ice pack into the tray in the freezer.

"honey, is something wrong?" her mother's voice came from behind her, and her hand froze on the handle. she swallowed past the thick lump in her throat and nodded, not staring her mother in the eyes to avoid her figuring anything out.

"no, no. everything's fine. thanks though. for asking." you're quick to say, maybe too quick, because she glances at you for a moment before turning back to the kitchen sink, shutting off the water and drying her hands quietly.

"uh?—"

"honey, why dont you come garden with me today?" she suggests out of the blue, interrupting whatever you had planned to say. (you had no plan, so you're secretly kind of glad for the interruption.)

"but dad—"

"your father isnt here right now. besides, this can be.. bonding time. yes, bonding time, just between us two. is that okay?" she said, giving you a way out if you wanted.

you nodded, and you couldnt help the small smile forming on your face at the elated grin she gave you.

"i'll just be a sec—gotta finish washing up—but you can head out to the greenhouse now if you'd like? i think you'll find a surprise waiting there for you." she winked at you after she said that, then turned back to the sink and started humming.

curiosity getting the better of you, you head out the back door to check the greenhouse. what you find there is definitely not what you expected, and you have to wonder how your mother did it.

she was always clever like that.

the garden you'd had last year was sitting in a crate, labels with hastily scrawled names attached to eat clay pot. you couldnt resist walking over and getting a better look, finding yourself confused but pleasantly surprised to find the plants were the same as the ones you'd been growing last year before.. the incident. you found out even the labels were the same; the only difference was the containers, though you supposed after being smashed there wasnt much to be done that could save them minus reversing time, and that wasnt possible, so..

"do you like it?" she asked from behind you, and you turned around to give her a hasty nod. you dont think you could get the words out correctly right now, but you really do like it.

she comes over and hands you a wrapped gift, and you're confused for a moment until she mutters "happy birthday" and kisses you on the head.

you cant believe you had completely forgotten about your own birthday.




🌼🌻🌼🌻🌼



it's been a week since the last fight with your father. currently, you're in the spare room that was actually the attic of your grandparent's house, because there was nowhere else for you to go.

your mother says everything'll be sorted out soon, but you dont think it will.

your ears still hurt. they've been ringing all week, keeping you up at night and reminding you of what happened.

you drift over to the windowsill, where the garden your mother had meticulously put back together for your birthday now sat, the soft greens and saturated yellows and almost-blues mixed in.

it helps to take your mind off things, sort of.

your cheek still stings, you think idly as you trace your finger around the planter box. it's sturdy and warm to the touch, probably because the sun's been beating down on it all day, but it's a mild comfort nonetheless, and you're not too picky about that kind of stuff.

you hear the door to the attic click, and you glance behind you to find your mother standing in the doorway.

"how're you holding up?" she asks, though you think she already knows. it doesnt sound much like a question.

"im fine." you reply shortly, keeping your gaze on your plants, letting the frills of one curl around your wrist. you're pretty sure she knows you're lying.

"you dont have to bottle it up, you know." she says softly, stepping forward to stand beside you, but she doesnt touch you.

"i know." you continue staring at the plants, debating what to do with the one labeled "dad." very, very briefly, you consider burning it, but you think this plant is a lot different than your father, and you dont think you could ever hurt a plant. at least not willingly.

"why dont we start lessons again? just you and me, no one else. we could do it up here if you'd like that." she suggests, and you turn to stare at her.

after all this, that's what she's thinking about?

despite yourself, you nod, letting her drone on about safety and plant health and how to take care of them and what kinds there are and what environmental factors you have to consider when picking plants.

you feel yourself relax for the first time in awhile just listening to her talk, and you decide you definitely have the best mom ever.




🌼🌻🌼🌻🌼



adulthood wasnt that interesting. it certainly wasnt all it was cracked up to be when you were young and gullible and would believe just about anything people told you.

you run your hand along some of the various pots and windowsill planter boxes and hanging planters that decorate your room, occasionally stopping to read various kinds of chicken scrawl on the labels.

you wonder what your mother would think of you, surrounding yourself in artificial beings to cope with your inability to express what you think and to fill the gap left from a loneliness you cant seem to rid yourself of. you wear your plants like a cape, but like a cape, the shadow you leave only gets wider the bigger the cape.

you think she would've scolded you and then taken you out to eat somewhere you're familiar with, maybe socialize a little, and then come home to watch a movie and binge on popcorn and ice cream.

well, she cant really do that anymore, can she. not when you've completely shut her out like you have.

she was upset at first, but you think she's gotten over it, or at least, she's ignoring you too now.

you grab the pot with the label "silence" and you sit on your bed, staring at nothing while you think. you think about a lot of things. you think about how your ears dont ring anymore, but sometimes you still find yourself wishing you had the reminder to cling to.

ha. arent you stupid? your grip on the pot tightens. why would you miss that? idiot.

you set the pot on your nightstand and fall back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling. you dont know what to think about today, so you guess you just. wont.

maybe you should call one of those hotline things. that's what you're supposed to do when you feel bad, right? call some stranger up using your phone and hear fake sympathy and pity in the form of "helpful words" that dont actually do anything at all?

maybe you could..

no.

..yes.

no?..

yes.

you reach over to the other side of your bed and move your hand around until you find the charger, and once you have the home phone in your hand, you dial the numbers slowly.

the ring tone makes you almost call it quits, but you stay, waiting with baited breath for the "hello" to come from the other side.

when the other side picks up, you decide you definitely arent ready for this, but you persevere anyway because you need this, you need this and maybe. maybe your mom needs this too.

"mom?" you try, voice softer than you want it to be but you hear a sharp intake of breath on the other end and you think you're doing this okay because she hasnt yelled at you yet and—

"mar—maggie. what, what made you.." she trails off, voice a mixture of confusion and maybe excitement, maybe curiosity, maybe both.

"i.." you pause, unsure what to say or how to say it, implying you ever figured out the right words. you say to hell with it and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"i wanted to see you. i mean, soon. wanted to see you soon." you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and it's the first emotion other than utter apathy you've felt in a long time.

"that." she sounds like she's just as unsure as you are, and it kind of helps ease your anxiety, though not a lot. "that sounds wonderful sweetheart. when do you?.."

"tomorrow, or.." you inhale, trying to work up your nerve to finish this conversation before you cancel the call and end up staying locked up in your house for the rest of your life like a hermit. "or maybe today. if you want. tomorrow is ok too though."

"do you want me to come get you?" she asks, like she's seven or so years younger and you're 12 again and you're too afraid to get on the bus because you dont want to answer the questions the other kids will ask you.

"please." you scrunch your eyes shut, letting your body fall back against the bed.

minutes pass, and then you hear a laugh and then your mother speaks again; "i'll teach you how to garden, if you'd like."

"sounds great mom." you reply, feeling bubbles rise in your chest. but it's the pleasant kind. like the kind you get after meeting someone after a long time and the nostalgia mixes with your emotions and just creates a big mess of feelings and—

ok you need to stop talking and just. breathe. breathe maggie, breathe.

each inhale and exhale is easier than you ever remember it being, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can truly breathe.