Ogres and Hibiscus

It was a little out of spite that Halle encouraged her daughter’s overactive imagination so fervently. Her mother hardly let her watch The Wizard of Oz or check out a book with the word “magic” or “fairy” in the title as a child. The best childhood memories Halle had were of playing pretend in her friend’s treehouse and woods every summer, all day, only taking breaks to eat lunch or sneak a can of Sprite. Halle wanted that for Kacey, too. More than that, Halle wanted to share that with Kacey, as she never could share with her mom.

Sometimes, they were witches, trying to convince their sisters to be good, creating potions to trick them into being good out of mashed flowers and seeds (mashed raspberries and mint leaves, until Halle could trust Kacey wouldn’t stuff her mouth with the ‘potion’ as soon as she turned her back).

Sometimes, they were fairies, assigned a very important task to grow as big as humans and find the Queen’s lost objects in the woods and return them to her for a reward–sometimes a jewel, sometimes a prince. 

Whether witch, fairy, sprite, or toad (yep, one day Kacey wanted them to be toads), their biggest obstacle was always some form of mystical monster–dragon, hydra, minotaur, gremlin, or, worst of all, the ogre. The ogre was the scariest because it was the ugliest (not Halle’s idea, but a lecture on pretty privilege probably wouldn’t get through to a toddler). Halle had another idea of why the ogre was the scariest: it was the most human. Ogres had the most human-like qualities out of all the other creatures–they would be in the same taxonomic order and even family–while having none of the empathetic, gentle, or composed qualities.

One Monday afternoon, as Halle repotted her hibiscus tree, Kacey, three years old at the time, played with her water table in her adorable strawberry bathing suit and matching sunglasses. She promised Kacey she’d play fairies and ogres this afternoon, though she was starting to realize she had more work cut out for her than expected. She always forgot how long it actually took to transition the backyard from spring to summer, cleaning all the furniture and lugging her bundled plants out of the garage.

The sun was hot even at ten in the morning. Baking her, solidifying her blood, it slowed Halle’s movements and encouraged sweat to roll down her chest and through her scalp. 

She decided after finishing with the hibiscus she’d go inside and put on sunscreen—did she put enough on Kacey, or should she reapply? She was considering this, lifting the ceramic pot that weighed half a baby elephant to bring it closer to the shade, when her damp hands slipped up the sides of the pot. Instead of cracking into the concrete with a giant thud as Halle would’ve anticipated had she had time to process that she was dropping it, there was only a dull thud and snap, like a stick breaking under a floor of soggy leaves.

It was true that pain came in waves. When she gave birth to Kacey, whenever she thought she was getting used to pain, or that maybe it was subsiding, a whole new kind–pain’s bigger, meaner cousin–rushed in to take its place. 

The pain Halle experienced now shivered up and down her body like a toy groan tube, starting in her leg as her nerves frantically hastened to locate the injury and send the message of its whereabouts to her brain. And then, when they reported it, her complete attention was drawn to her foot. She held her breath, shifting all her weight to her right side. 

Kacey noticed Halle’s weird dance and approached her. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

Halle opened her mouth to talk, but, afraid dirt would roll out, ignored her daughter. Not only would that be a big parenting flop, but it would be one that the neighbors were sure to hear, just on the other side of the fence and a tree. Obviously, she had her backup cuss words. Holy mackerel! Woo doggie! Holy cannoli, holy macaroni, holy cow! Swiss cheese! Shakin’ bacon! Shakira! Forty-niners, foosball, fig tree, frittatas! But Halle was beyond foosball. No way if she opened her mouth now Swiss cheese would come out.

If she twisted her face in too much agony, it would scare Kacey, so she tried to iron out some of the wrinkles, hoping it just looked like she was squinting behind the sunlight, and hoping that the tears in the corners of her eyes looked like sweat. She wasn’t herself right now. The pain had taken over Halle and replaced her with something else, though she did everything in her control to remain calm on the outside. Which meant the inside looked something like an Evil Dead movie.

The cardinals, hammock swaying in the sweet summer breeze, and bees flitting over the glittering concrete patio mocked her, losing all their zeal.

She had to sit down. She could do that. That was something small, it wouldn’t alarm Kacey, and then she could–well, she didn’t know, but she had to sit down. She hobbled to the table and lowered herself into a chair, letting out a small groan.

Kacey walked around her, placing her little hands on Halle’s thighs and poking her head in her face.

“Did you get a boo-boo?”

Sweet mother of God, Halle thought, holding her foot like a broken wine glass. I can’t do it. I’m going to have to cry. I’m going to cry. 

She couldn't even walk two feet to the door to go inside–that would be riskier than staying in the chair, because the pain was so deep now she couldn’t imagine how it would feel if she walked on her foot again.

“Yeah, a boo-boo,” she said, sucking in her breath. Kacey’s hand moved down to Halle’s knee, and, panicking, Halle snapped, “Honey!” Then, recovering: “Will you go get Mama’s phone?”

“Where?”

Good Lord, just get my freaking phone, kid. “On the bench in the garage.”

“Okay.” Kacey hurried through the door as much as her chunky legs could hurry, and as soon as the door closed, Halle buried her mouth in her arm and let out a haggard sigh. 

She told Kacey to go back to playing with her water toys before calling her mother.

“Can you come over? Now? I think I broke my foot.”

“I’m in line at T.J. Maxx. How’d you break your toe?”

“No, my foot.”

“Well, how’d that happen?”

Halle opened her mouth and let out a silent scream. “It doesn’t matter. Will you just come watch Kacey while I go…get it checked out?” She didn’t want to say “to the hospital,” because she felt her mom’s freak out and interrogation starting and did not want to be on the phone any longer.

“Okay, leaving the store now.”

It felt like hours before she got there. The pain didn’t subside, though Halle’s body did adjust enough so she could at least take a few deep breaths and actually look up to check that Kacey was still in the yard. She saw the pot, upright–she must’ve turned it after it fell on her, just before the real pain started.

When she got curious, bored, impatient, or all of the above, she looked at her foot, and instantly regretted it. Already three different shades of purple and green, vein bulging and the color of her least favorite wine, it looked like something a family of crows would hang around in the middle of the road. It wasn’t so much the pain that got to her now as the wave of nausea, and now the fear that she would pass out, leaving her daughter either unattended or scared to death when she saw her mother slumped in a patio chair with an ogre’s foot.

“Mommy, wake up! Mommy, the bad fairy’s turning you into an ogre! Help!”

She knew how Kacey’s overactive imagination worked, because she encouraged it. Playing pretend, having Alice in Wonderland tea parties in the woods, making houses and gardens for the fairies, searching for hidden treasure and elf footprints. She couldn’t wait until Kacey was old enough to have the attention span to listen to Halle read her the Harry Potter books. The mystery behind magic made it cross-generationally, timelessly fun. Halle wished she could cast a spell and reverse her broken foot, or at least shoot some Vicodin in her arm.

Finally, her mother pulled into the driveway and kissed Kacey before approaching Halle. And now, Halle had no idea what to do next.

“Let me see it.”

“You’re going to freak out.”

Her mom rolled her eyes. “Halle.” And when Halle took her hands away from her foot, her mom gasped. “Halle, oh my God! What happened?”

“I dropped that pot on it. But–” she said through her teeth, jerking her head towards Kacey, “it’s–fine–Mom.”

“Can you walk?”

She hesitated. “Take Kacey inside and I’ll hop to my car.” Thankfully, her right foot was functional enough to drive.

“No way. I’m driving you.”

“No, you’re staying here with Kacey while I go.”

“Halle.”

“Mom.”

Her mom sighed sharply, glaring at Halle. “Let me help you get in the car, at least. Kacey, go inside and Grandma will be right in to make you a snack.”

“I’m wet!” Kacey protested. Mom grabbed a towel and wiped her down in one swoop. 

“Dry now. Go inside, sweetie.” She did as she was told, and Halle let her head fall back to her shoulder blades.

“Slowly,” Mom said, and Halle rolled her eyes. Obviously.

She got up on her right leg, and everything seemed fine–the pain remained at the same throbbing level, her mom held her arm for balance, and they made it over the step into the garage. Until she opened the car door and it bumped her foot, and the bump felt more like a shovel swung at a Zombie’s head.

The next thing happened before she could think about it–like a hand drawing back from a hot pan, or an eyelid flicking closed during that annoying air-puff test at the optometrist, her mouth formed the word. It happened before she realized Kacey was standing behind the screen door, watching, and before her mother could clamp a hand over her mouth or even shout something to muffle Halle’s exclamation. 

And that was how Kacey learned the bad word that ogres use.