The Garden Ritual

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. And every night, when I heard the stairs creak as Mama and Zia descended, I’d tiptoe to the sitting room window, peek through the shutter slats, and watch as they basked in the glorious misty haze that settled in our garden. They’d toss their heads back, their faces to the sky, and sing, chant, and pray to the heavens. The scents from our garden filled the night air as the purple clouds coasted by silently—every night for as long as I can remember.

Tonight, Isabella, my 14-year-old sister, was going to join them. After dinner, Mama and Zia talked to her about what that meant as they cleaned up the dishes. I sat at the table, finishing my thin watery stew and hanging on to every word.

“Isa, tonight you will join us under the purple clouds. It’s our family’s tradition. Our mother welcomed us, and now we welcome you. Sylvia will also join us in a couple of years,” Mama explained.

I would join them too! I never thought that Isa and I would one day be out there like Mama and Zia.

“But why? I don’t want to,” my sister huffed.

“Isabella, you have no choice. It’s what we must do,” Zia retorted.

Isabella knew better than to argue with Zia; it was not an argument she’d win. Zia doesn’t explain anything. No excuses. I wish she would ask questions because I wanted to know why just as much as she did.

Mama brushed off Zia’s brusqueness and Isabella’s attitude, “It’s how we survive. It’s how we live off the land that doesn’t want to provide for us. It’s how we survive in a world that believes we don’t belong,” Mama explained.

I bit my tongue not to interrupt or beg her to tell us more- this was the most explanation I’d ever received about their nightly ritual, and I wanted to savor the treasure trove of knowledge bestowed upon me. That was all I would get, though.

“Cony, enough,” Zia snapped. There’s no point explaining it to her. She won’t understand until she experiences it for herself.”

I willed my eyes and ears to stay sharp as I lay in bed. I didn’t want to miss this moment - I didn’t want to miss the glimpse into my future.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard the soft click of my sister’s door opening. Her feet shuffled across the wood flooring, followed by the imperceptible steps of Mama and Zia. I waited until the tell-tale creak of the last stair before getting out of bed to follow them.

I tiptoed behind them, careful not to be seen, and took my place near the window to peek out slats. I watched as the purple clouds filled the sky. Mama and Zia lifted their hands and faced upwards. Isabella, uncertain of her role, stood watching them.

Mama encouraged Isabella to join them, and she clumsily followed along. The purple clouds passed as they swayed back and forth.

As Isabella grew confident in her movements, Zia began to falter. Her movements were slow, her hands dropped to her side, and she rocked before falling to her knees.

“Zia!” I called - but no one heard.

Her hair whipped in the wind, and Mama and Isabella swayed and danced around her. Their movements became frantic as the wind grew stronger.

I watched Zia - waiting for her to get up and join them, but she didn’t.

The ends of her hair turned to dust first. Piece by slow piece, she disappeared, and in her place, petals floated away until nothing was left.

Mama and Isabella stood over the pile of petals, hugging each other. Isa hid her face in Mama’s bosom like a small child. A salty tear landed on my lips as I said a silent goodbye to Zia.

Mama and Isabella walked towards the house, hand in hand. Behind them, our barren garden bloomed with all we needed to survive.