Marigold Magic

Part IV

“Time to wake up, cream puff.” my dad strode through my room to the window and drew the curtains wide open.

I used to cringe whenever he used a cooking themed term of endearment but these days it made me feel closer to my mom. My mom used to be a celebrated chef, she had worked at several of the country's renowned Michelin star restaurants.

“I’m not feeling well, dad.” I pulled the bed covers over my head to shield my eyes from the intruding light.

“Come on, muffin. I know the first day at a new school is tough, but you’ll make friends and before you know it, you’ll be right at home again. The longer you avoid it the harder it will get.” My dad sat on the end of my bed pinching at my toes. My efforts to dodge him failed, I kicked back playfully.

“Stop, stop.” I retracted my legs into the fetal position to get my feet away from my dad.

“I know. Alright, I’ll go.” I pulled the covers back from my head and sat up slightly. I caught a glimpse of the pot of marigolds sitting on my windowsill. A temporary calm fell over me.

My mom gave me the marigolds a few years ago when I had been struggling at the new school I had started at. Being a famous chef came at a cost, my mom moved around frequently with her work and as a consequence, I had attended many different schools over the years.

After my mom passed away, my dad and I moved back to his home town. Hopefully, this would be our last move. It was nice to have some extended family members around.

The marigolds drew me back to the time my mother had given them to me. I had been walking around the restaurant’s vegetable garden helping my mom pick fresh ingredients for that day’s menu.

“What’s this one momma?”

“It’s a marigold, petal.” My mom replied using a botanical term of endearment.

“Shall, I pick one for the menu?”

“No, buttercup. Marigolds aren’t edible.”

“Why are they in the vegetable garden then?” I remember looking up at my mom with a confused look.

“They might not be edible, but they still serve an especially important purpose in the garden. In fact, they are probably the most important plant in the whole garden.” She looked down at me and smiled, her eyes sparkling.

“What momma?”

“Well, they help keep the other plants healthy by protecting them from all the bad bugs in the garden.” My mother picked a marigold and smelled it then handed it to me. The smell was strong and beautiful.

“It smells beautiful, momma.”

“Yes, but not to bugs. Bugs can’t stand the smell. The smell repels them.”

“You mean like when Wonder Woman puts her bracelets together and they generate power that pushes away evil villains?” After cooking my mother’s next biggest passion was superheroes, Marvel or DC she didn’t care. They were great according to her, but Wonder Woman was absolutely fabulous in her eyes.

I spent many late nights on the weekend watching Wonder Woman reruns with her while she wound down after the evening dinner service.

“Yes, exactly.” My mother’s eyes glinted. She loved it when I managed to make a Wonder Woman reference. “Like Wonder Woman protects citizens from harm, marigolds protect the vegetable garden from harm. The vegetables know that when there is a marigold around, they are safe.”

The next day mom brought a pot full of marigolds home from the restaurant’s garden. She gave them to me along with a pair of homemade Wonder Woman bracelets she had made me. She told me that the marigolds and the bracelets would protect me from evil villains.

In my deep subconscious I knew the marigolds and bracelets couldn’t really protect me but somehow psychologically my mom’s gesture had worked, and I never had any more trouble at that school.

“Cupcake. I’ve made you a hot breakfast. Give you all the energy you need for your first day.” My dad’s voice carried up the stairs to my bedroom. Drawing me out of my daydream.

I slipped my Wonder Woman cuffs on around my wrists and put my maroon pullover on over the top to hide them. They were getting too small for me, and I was getting too old for them, but I didn’t care.

The school uniform was ghastly. Neither the color nor cut were very becoming, but at least I didn’t have to worry about wearing the right clothes to school. Wearing the wrong designer clothes or, for that matter even, non-designer clothes on your first day of school could be a social life killer. Trust me, I know, I’ve been there. It’s a lot of hard work to make friends once you’ve been shunned because of your fashion sense or lack of it.

I went downstairs to find dad had cooked me a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon. My favorite but I still couldn’t stomach any. I sat there for an eternity pushing the eggs around the plate until my dad finally reminded me it was time to leave for school.

“I'll walk you.” He held out his hand as I stood up from the dining table.

“Dad, I’m 15.” I protested.

“Come on you’re never too old to have your dad walk you to school.” My dad’s hand was still hanging there.

“Are you trying to make sure I don’t skip school?” I shunned my dad’s hand away.

“No, I just thought you could use a little company.” Dad pulled his hand away realizing I wasn’t going to take him up on the offer to hold his hand.

“It’s OK dad. I’ve done this enough now. I can handle it on my own.” I slung my bag over my shoulder, kissed my dad on the cheek, opened the front door and left.

A wave of panic washed over my body. I steadied myself for a moment and then managed to slowly put put one foot in front of the other and walk down the garden path through the front gate.

I dragged my sketchers along the ground leaving rubber streaks on the sidewalk. I studied every weed and crack in the pavement as if I was expecting to get a pop quiz on them. As I turned the corner, I could smell the wonderful smells of bread, vanilla bean and caramel.

Crème Brule was my favorite dessert, and my mom would make me one every birthday. The smell was familiar and comforting for me. I walked slowly past the bakery studying every baked good in the window. I was ready in case that was the topic of any pop quiz too.

The school was only a mile from our townhouse. What should have taken me about 15 minutes to walk took me about half an hour. If I had walked any slower, I would have been going backwards. Even still the journey was a lot faster than I had wanted it to be and before I knew it, I was standing on the school’s eastern corner.

The school was imposing. Being an inner-city school there was less room to spread out so most of the school went up. I was used to living in smaller cities where the town along with the school would sprawl out all over the place.

As I inched closer to the school gates, I noticed a thick bunch of marigolds lining each side of the sidewalk, like a guard of honor. They were a welcoming sight. I smiled and looked towards the heavens. I knew my mom was up there looking down on me and protecting me from above.

In an inconspicuous way, I put my wrists together down low in front of me and walked through the gauntlet of students protected by the rows of marigolds and repelling any evil that tried to come my way.

My body relaxed as a wash of anxiety left me. I knew, I was going to be OK in this new place.

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