Marigold Meditation

A knock at my door breaks the incessant click-click-click of my typing. Seated at my desk, I look up from the document on my computer to find Darren—my boss—standing in my office doorway.

He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. No “How’s it going, Mika?” or “Hey, how’s your day?” He’s all business.

“Any update on that analytics report?” he asks.

“Should be done for Thursday—like you asked,” I say.

“What about Q2 evaluations?”

“Same thing. Should be done by Thursday…like you asked.”

Darren’s face sags. “Well, if you could get it done a day or two earlier, that’d really help me out.”

“I’ll, uh, try my best, but—”

“Thanks.” Darren gives a couple parting raps on my office door and then disappears.

I shake my head. Asshole…

Returning to my work, I notice my reflection in my computer screen—an acne breakout on my forehead, dark bags beneath my glazed eyes. I look half-awake. I feel half-awake…

Suddenly, a pressure swells up in my temples. Moving around my jaw, I try to massage it away—to no avail. So I open my desk drawer, snatch a near-empty bottle of Tylenol, and pop a couple pills.

As I go to return to work, my phone buzzes. Checking it, I see a text from Denny, my younger brother by nearly a decade. The message says: “Need ur help with my project when u get home.”

A sigh burst forth from my lips. I reply: “Kk.”

As I go to put my phone down, it starts ringing. I check the caller ID. It’s my mom. Another sigh. What the hell is it this time?

Reluctantly, I answer the call.

“I’m working right now, mom,” I say to her in Romanian—her native tongue. “Is everything okay?”

“Someone’s following me, Mika,” she replies in a thick accent, her voice hushed.

“I highly doubt there’s someone following you, mom.” My words come out as a sigh.

“I’m telling you: there’s a security guard following me.”

In the background, I suddenly hear what sounds like engines whirring. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m at Pearson.”

“Pearson as in the airport?! What the hell are you doing there?”

“Elon Musk told me to go. He said there was a package for me here.”

I exhale heavy. “Mom, how many times have we talked about this? You don’t know Elon Musk. You’ve never met him. You’ve never talked to him.”

“Then how did he give me the code to get onto the runway, huh?”

“You’re on the runway?!”

On the other end of the line, I hear racing footsteps. Then a voice that’s not my mom’s shouts, “Hey! Get over here! Stop!”

“He’s coming for me, Mika,” hisses my mom. “I’m scared.”

“Just listen to me, mom,” I say. “Don’t run away from him, alright? Just give him the phone and let me speak to him. I’ll explain everything.”

I hear more commotion on the other end, followed by my mom crying, “Get away from me!”

“You’re not allowed to be here, ma’am,” replies the other voice.

Then it sounds as if my mom drops her phone and the call goes dead.

“Mom…? Mom…?” I call to her.

No response. Sigh. I pocket my phone, run my hands through my hair, and then I start packing up all my shit.

***

The ride home from the airport is soundless—like outer space soundless. Not a peep, save the occasional cough or throat-clear.

I sit in the driver’s seat, brooding silently. My mom rides shotgun, doing the same—though her brooding has an element of shame.

We pull into the driveway of our house. I put the car in park, turn off the engine. My mom and I sit there for a moment…and then, shattering the stillness, she says, “Thank you, Mika.”

Turning to her, I nod, pursed-lipped. Give her hand a squeeze.

We head inside.

Before we can even get our shoes off, Denny ambushes us at the door.

“Yo, I really need your help with that project,” he says to me, oblivious to our mom’s current state. “It’s due at midnight.”

“Let me just get mom settled into bed,” I tell him. “And then I’ll come help you, okay?”

“Kay, but can you try to hurry. I haven’t even started this thing.” He flashes me a wry smirk.

I shake my head. “Go get started and I’ll be there soon.”

“Aight.” Denny heads upstairs to his room.

My mom and I head up after him, only we go to her bedroom. I grab a robe from her closet, give it to her to put on. While she changes into it, I fill her a cup of water from her bathroom, take out two pills from her prescription bottle on the sink.

I return with them and her face sinks.

“Please,” I say to her, in a pleading tone.

Worry in her eyes, she hesitates…finally grabs the water and pills, downs them.

Relieved, I sigh. “Thank you.”

She gives me a flat-mouthed nod, gets into bed. I tuck her in and dim the lights.

“I’m just gonna go help Denny with his project, alright? But I’ll be back to check on you in a few.”

She nods. “I love you, Mika.”

“I love you, too.” I plant a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll just be next door if you need anything.”

Closing her bedroom door behind me, I heave a sigh. A wave of exhaustion comes crashing over me. I feel like I could just collapse where I stand. But I have miles to go before I sleep…

I head to Denny’s bedroom, go to open the door—ding! My phone buzzes. It's a message from Darren: “Shit hit the fan. Long story. Gonna need the report and eval TONITE!”

The pressure in my head from earlier suddenly returns—more intense now. My temples thrum like a pounded drumhead. I don’t even bother trying to massage it away. I just dig out a couple more Tylenol from my purse, down them.

I run back downstairs, snatch the laptop bag that I left by the front door, then race back upstairs to Denny’s room. He sits at his desk, mindlessly watching a YouTube video on his computer.

“What happened to getting started on the project?” I say, as I plop down on his bed.

“Man, I don’t know what the hell to do,” he replies, eyes glued to his screen.

Taking out my own computer, I say, “What exactly is this project?”

“I don’t know. I gotta write some stupid report about, like, current events.”

I start typing away on my computer. The clicking keystrokes tear Denny’s gaze from his computer.

“What are you doing?” he asks, face wrinkled in confusion.

“I gotta work on a project of my own while I help you with yours.”

He tsks, sighs. “Man, you never have any time for me anymore…”

My lips curl into a frown. I feel a pang of guilt deep in my chest. Closing my laptop, I get up from Denny’s bed and go to stand by his side.

“Alright, let’s figure this thing out.”

***

By the time we finish Denny’s project—and by “we” I mean “I”—it’s 7. And by the time I finish the report and evaluations Darren asked for, it’s 8:30.

Putting away my laptop, I feel drained—mentally and physically. I feel tired and I feel hungry. But more than that, I feel wound up. Taut with stress.

And so, I decide to forgo the food and rest I so crave, and instead, head out into the backyard.

Silence and solitude welcome me. The summer night air wraps my body in a warm embrace. The setting sun floats on the horizon, painting the clouds in vivid shades of yellow and pink. They look like puffs of cotton candy.

I grab a rusty old watering can sitting nearby, bring it over to the backyard hose, fill it—listening to the slowly rising pitch of the accumulating liquid.

The water sloshes as I carry the can to a nearby flower bed—one I’ve been working on for some time now. The garden consists exclusively of varieties of my favourite flower: marigolds.

In bloom, they all look so pretty, so vibrant—their petals of yellow, orange, and crimson like the frills on a wedding dress. Like a sunburst. Just looking at them, beholding their natural beauty, fills me with gratitude for life.

Crouching, I bury my nose in a few of their bulbs, breathe in that pungent musky scent that always reminds me of barns and wet hay. I rub a couple petals between my thumb and forefinger, hypnotized by their velvety soft texture.

Straightening, I take the watering can and tilt it over the garden, showering my lovely marigolds. Beads of liquid form on their petals and stems, glisten in the waning sunlight.

The flower bed soil quickly turns mucky and mushy. I imagine the squelch of the mud sucking at a boot fighting to free itself. Compelled by a sudden urge, I dig my hands into the wet earth, squish and squeeze a fistful.

Mother Nature’s stress ball brings me great relief.

I bring the handful of dirt to my nose, inhale deep. The earthy smell of the soil fills my nostrils and I feel the tension in my body melt away, like snow on the first day of spring.

A cascade of calm gently washes over me. My lips curl into a smile. I close my eyes.