Of Marigolds and Memories

The tattoo needle danced across Catrina’s skin, leaving behind a swirl of orange yellow ink mixed with droplets of blood. She took a quick glance at the tattoo artist, awed that she had finally been able to secure an appointment. The artist was a slim young woman with straight, waist length, raven black hair, and a heart shaped face upon which she wore black cat eye glasses. She was a travelling artist, who had quickly gained fame for her exquisite work. The artist lifted the tattoo machine to wipe away some of the blood before proceeding. Catrina felt the needle return directly on her rib and she internally winced. No way was she going to move an inch and risk ruining the artwork. Catrina also noticed the artist had no visible tattoos which she found a little odd as she quickly ran through previous artists she had interacted with. “No tattoos?” she asked, finally breaking the silence. “Nah, I prefer to be the artist not the artwork.” she replied. “I imagine it’s hard to decide on a permanent piece when you’ve seen as much art as you have.” The artist remained quiet for a minute before she replied “Nothing is truly permanent.” Wasn’t that the truth, Catrina thought to herself. Two hours under the needle later and the piece was finally done. The artist handed her a piece of paper and said “Here, follow these care instructions.” Catrina put the paper in her purse as she exited the shop.

The crisp November air was impregnated with diverse aromas. Each home was cooking their most sacred dishes tonight. Catrina walked slowly past the homes, each glowing with golden light, bursting with aroma, and vibrating with the dim buzz of conversation. Each door had a trail of cempasuchil (Mexican Marigold) petals leading away from the door. The marigold petal trails stretched for miles and would intertwine with each other, forming a thick orange yellow carpet. The longer Catrina stared at the petals the more she imagined she saw a golden light emanating from them. She reached the door of the small hotel she was staying at. It also had a trail of marigold petals leading off into the distance. The hotel lobby was mostly deserted except for a smiling receptionist. “Would you like some atole (traditional corn-based drink) and pan de muerto (bread of the dead)? It’s free for all hotel guests today.” “Yeah, I’ll take some.” Catrina replied while wishing for the bottle of mezcal she had just bought and internally cursing fresh tattoos for not mixing with alcohol. She opened the door to her room and quickly scanned it. Nothing out of place. She took her drink and bread to the small balcony where she watched the Dia de Muertos (Day of the Dead) festivities commence.

Catrina sat outside basking in the light of the dying sun, she toyed with a golden oval locket hanging from her neck. She opened it and stared at the two pictures within. One picture had two people in it. The man had short black hair and dark eyes. The woman had red brown hair and light brown eyes. Her parents, both over a thousand miles away. The other picture depicted a young man with a cascade of dark curls that framed an almost angelic face. He was even farther away. As the last crumb of bread melted in her mouth, she noticed the piece of paper sticking out of her purse. It was titled “Care for tattoos” making a mental note to go to the store she flipped the paper over where it said “Care for the soul.” “What in the witchcraft is this?” She thought to herself as she scanned the bizarre list of ingredients. Grind petals from one marigold flower, mix with 1 tsp of cumin, 1 tsp of agave syrup, one tear from the left eye, and ½ a cup of holy water read the instructions. Puzzled, she grabbed her purse and headed to the corner store for her tattoo ointment.

Sugar skull painted faces and bright clothing flocked the streets as the Day of the Dead festivities continued in full swing. Marigold petals floating in the wind. She reached the small corner store. As she grabbed ointment for her tattoo, she noticed a small mortar and pestle. Doubt crept into her mind, but then her sense of adventure took over. At the counter she paid for the mortar and pestle, cumin, and agave syrup. On her way out she spotted a marigold bouquet, she quickly plucked a flower as she headed for the church down the road from her hotel. Two looming baroque style towers cradled the heavy front door, luckily it was still open. With the light of the candles, she could make out the forms of a few praying women every couple of pews. Their rosaries entwined in their hands. She reached the stone basin containing the holy water, as she dipped her small cup to scoop it up one of the praying women walked out and smiled at her. A few centuries ago, she would have been burned at the stake if found with that list she thought sarcastically.

All the local people were headed towards the cemetery, where their loved ones were laid to rest. From the entrance, Catrina could see hundreds of twinkling candles, pictures of loved ones, and hundreds upon hundreds of marigolds, the Day of the Dead flower. The people crouched at the tombs of their loved ones and laid down their offerings. The things their deceased had enjoyed in life. She headed towards a secluded corner where the light of the candles was the dimmest. There were tombs here too, but no loved ones. Perhaps the tombs of families that had gone extinct, or emigrated to other parts of the world. Catrina ground the marigold petals and added them to the cup of holy water, she then added the cumin and agave syrup. She then closed her eyes and remembered that one December. The memory was still raw and pierced her as sharply as ever. She lifted the cup and caught the first tear which slipped out of her left eye. Mixing the drink, she murmured “Salud” (Cheers) as she gulped it down. After a minute, she gasped as she was enveloped in golden light. There was a warm feeling on her side, where she had gotten her tattoo. She lifted her shirt and saw that the golden light was coming from within, outlining the marigolds tattooed there.

A crumbling archway decorated with moss loomed out of the darkness. A cascade of marigold petals floated down the entrance, the golden glow was now coming from within the archway. Catrina slowly took a step, placing her hand on the stone she was surprised it was warm to the touch. As she stepped through the archway, the golden light glowed even more bright that she had to close her eyes. When she opened her eyes, she saw that she was standing in a circular pine tree grove. Except, they couldn't be regular trees she thought. The trunks seemed to be flowing with a strange movement. Upon closer inspection, Catrina realized that the movement was due to the gentle opening and closing of thousands upon thousands of monarch butterfly wings. She imagined she could hear a slow rhythmic sigh, the breath of the forest. As Catrina observed the butterflies, one took flight and landed on her outstretched finger. Instantly, all the others took flight creating a curtain of orange wings and golden light. The butterflies returned to their respective places upon the tree trunks, only the golden light remained. The light twisting and forming until she saw it take a human shape. Suddenly, the transformation was complete. Standing in front of her was the young man with the dark curls from her locket.

It had been six years, and yet he didn't look a day over nineteen. Catrina searched his face, determined to find a change. While physically she hadn't changed much either, she knew there were differences in the way her lips set and the way her eyes echoed. After all, she had been completely destroyed into sharp jagged fragments that no longer fit together. Fragments that were scraping and stabbing into her with increasing pain the longer she stared into her little brother's face. The tears began to fill and soon overflow. She had always wished to be able to tell him all the things she hadn't said to him in life, but now that she had him in front of her the words were lost. He formed an understanding smile and embraced her. His embrace transmitting the peace of the pine grove. With a smile on his face and laughter in his eyes he stepped back and became enveloped by the golden light, he transformed back into a butterfly . The butterfly flew and landed on Catrina's side, causing the blinding golden light. When Catrina opened her eyes she saw she was back in the candlelit graveyard, marigold petals falling from her hair. She lifted her shirt to look at her side and smiled at the addition of the monarch butterfly perfectly perched on the marigold flowers.