Love in Lavender

  Lavender.

It fills the air around me on the busy New York City street outside my office.

Its scent floods my nose and seizes my lungs.

My feet stop.

My mind stops.

Then, memories charge in.

"Caleb, breakfast is ready!" My mom's gentle yet firm voice calls up the stairs.

I stumble out of my room with my baby blanket wrapped around my shoulders. She can never resist how young and frail I look with it.

I stand at the top of the steps, the smell of eggs and fruit wafting towards me.

"Baby, what's wrong?" She asks when she sees my fragile being.

"I don't wanna go to school." It comes out as a whine, perhaps a bit childish for a fourth-grader.

She meets me where I stand and wraps her strong arms around me. The smell of her signature Chanel No. 5 perfume comforts me almost as much as her embrace.

"Is it an outside icky or an inside icky?" She asks, clearly having been through this charade before.

"Inside," I mutter into her chest.

Her fingers run through my hair. "Do you wanna tell me about it?"

"I have a math test. I'm bad at math."

"Oh, honey," she pulls me back to look in my eyes, "even if you don't take it now, you're going to have to take it eventually." I consider sticking my bottom lip out and pouting but decide I am definitely too old for that. Instead, my gaze falls defeatedly to the floor.

She lifts my chin with her hand, "How about I work my mommy magic to make sure you do great on your math test."

Intrigued, I nod. She takes my hand and guides me to her office on the far side of the upstairs hallway. She guides me to a hanging chair in the corner behind her desk before disappearing into the closet. She hums gently as she returns with a small glass bottle. She kneels in front of me and opens the bottle. The top has an extended cylindric point with a small circular opening. She turns it upside down and dabs a small amount of liquid onto her finger before rubbing it onto either side of my neck. She closes the bottle, sets it aside, and takes my hands.

"Alright, now that we have the magic potion, we have to activate it," she gives a mischievous smile. I nod excitedly.

"Take a deep breath in," she inhales for a few seconds and I follow suit. A deep floral scent fills my nostrils. "Hold it," a few more seconds, "now breathe out," we exhale into each other's faces.

"Now, to make sure it really works, we have to do it two more times, okay?" I nod again.

We follow this sequence two more times, each inhale revealing the botanical smell until I feel almost sleepy.

"Okay, now you're definitely going to do great on your test. How about we get you some breakfast now?"

I earned a "B" on my math test, and every time I had another one, I'd ask my mom to work her magic and every time I passed.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of my childhood room. I memorized the patterns and shapes in the texture from countless restless nights. Only this time, it is around noon.

I so desperately want to leave my bed and help my mom with chores around the house. After all, she was so willing to let me move back in after only a semester in college. Yet, my body cannot move. It feels like weights are tied to my wrists and ankles, forcing me to lie dormant. 

I'm so useless. She deserves a better son, one that can get out of bed. One that can survive more than a measly semester at college. One that--A soft knock on the door breaks me free of my thoughts.

"Honey, can I come in?" My mother's muffled voice questions from the other side of the door.

"Mhmm," I weakly reply.

She gently opens the door and steps in, her face immediately filling with concern.

"Baby, what's wrong?" A question I'd heard countless times before. Yet, it is only when she asks that I notice the tears streaming down my face and the quick rise and fall of my chest.

I attempt to answer but a sob stifles my voice.

"Oh, sweetheart," she rushes to my side and sits beside me on the bed. One of her hands takes mine and the other finds its way to my hair. Her jasmine scent soothes me. "Have you been taking your meds?" Her voice is so soft it's almost a whisper.

I nod, but the tears only come harder. They are frustrated and angry. It's exhausting when one of your only solutions for your sick mind fails to do its one function.

My mother notices my increased distress and softly shushes me before reaching into the drawer of the nightstand and pulling out a small bottle of lavender essential oil.

As she's done countless times by now, she dabs some on her fingers and rubs it on either side of my neck. With no instruction, she locks her eyes with mine and begins the breathing exercise we have practiced almost religiously. Four seconds to inhale, hold for seven seconds, exhale for eight. Repeat three or as many times as needed. This time, we required nine cycles.

Afterwards, my chest feels lighter and my mind clearer.

"Alright, what do you want to say?" She asks.

"I feel bad that all I do is lay here all day instead of helping you."

Her gaze softens, "Honey, don't worry about that. Sometimes the only thing you're able to do is keep yourself alive, and that's okay. Besides, I'm an independent woman, who said I needed your help," she smirks.

If it weren't for her, I fear I'd still be lying in that bed, staring helplessly at the ceiling.

"Hey, Caleb," Amy, the receptionist, says when she sees me.

"Hope you're not working too hard, Amy," I smile at her as I sign in on the clipboard on the counter.

"Someone's gotta keep this place running," she says, as she does nearly once a week.

"Absolutely," I respond as I turn to walk away.

"Tell your mom I say hi!" She calls to me.

"You know I will!"

I step into the elevator and press the button for the fourth floor. At the chime, I walk down the white hall to a door on the left.

When I enter, my mother sees me and her whole face lights up. Her youthful smile overcomes her sunken eyes and age lines.

"There's my favorite boy!" Her arms reach out towards me.

I bend down to hug her in her bed, the bed that I know is uncomfortable yet she never complains about. Although her body has weakened significantly, she still gives a warm, tight hug. And even after five months in the hospital, she still wears her signature perfume every day.

"How are you feeling today?" I ask as I switch out the flowers in her vase to a bunch I purchased on my way here.

"A four," she says, knowing I understand it is on a scale of ten.

"Is it an inside icky or an outside icky?" I ask, to which she spurts out a weak chuckle.

"Both."

"I think I know what you need." I walk over and sit down on her bed. I grab a small bottle of lavender essential oil out of my pocket, which I carry anywhere and everywhere, and dab some on my finger before rubbing it into either side of her grayed neck. I take her hands and meet her gaze. I lead the exercise we adjusted to compensate for her weakened lungs. Inhale for two, hold for three, exhale for six. Repeat three or as many times as needed. Today, we could only do three.

Afterwards, she looks at me with sad eyes.

"Don't worry, my Caleb magic will make you feel all better," I smile at her, which she returns, although we both know it is not the truth.

The memories stop, and only then do I see a small flower vendor with several sprigs of lavender closest to me. I purchase a decent-sized bundle and make a mental note that I need to travel home soon to visit Mom.

I make my way up to my office and place the bouquet of lavender in a small vase. I put it on my desk, next to a picture of me and my late mother. I take a couple of the petals and mash them between my fingers, rubbing the fragrant juice on either side of my neck. I close my eyes. Inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight. Repeat.