Potion-making

Jayce is sprinting across the yard towards me, waving his arm high, triumphantly. “I found a feather, Mom! Look, it’s blue! It must be from a blue jay.”

I squat down to inspect it. “I think you’re right. Excellent job, sweetheart. Let’s put it in the jar.”

Jayce wastes no time, uncorking the tiny plastic jar before jamming the feather into it.

“Is that our last thing?” Jayce asks, still stuffing the feather with his index finger. Once it’s mostly in, a few stray strands of the feather are popping up out of the mouth of the container, Jayce pushes the cork into the mouth and holds it up to his eyes for a closer look at his collection of things, amazed.

I pull out the kit’s instructions. Running a finger across the paper, I read from our list. “We’ve got: a feather, something dry, a blade of grass, a pinch of your shadow, and… Looks like we still need a flower petal.”

“Oh, I know!” Jayce bolts across the yard, bee-lining for the bushes. “Come on, Mom, follow me.”

I trail behind him, my stride matching at least two of his. We found this potion-making scavenger hunt at the toy store downtown. It is the last thing on our end-of-summer list of activities, but it’s the one Jayce seems the most excited about. I watch him intently, my heart warming at his belief in the magic of nature. At least he still has that.

“I got it!” he exclaims, already working his jar open. Jayce plucks a rose bud from the bush, careful around the thorns. He holds it up to me as he peels a single red petal off, then rubs it between his fingers. I can feel its velvety texture just by watching him. I think of the flower shop back home, think of the charges on the bank account statements. A dozen roses I never received. My insides turn.

“Now what? It is done?”

“Yes! This one is done,” I tell him. “Oh, but don’t forget the most important part.” Jayce is briefly confused, then his face lights up.

“The magic star!” He reaches into his basket to retrieve a plastic bag full of tiny yellow plastic stars. As he works it into his jar, he asks, “What does this one do?”

I check the instructions again. “This is the….”

“ – Dewdrop Potion!”

“Right, yes, the Dewdrop Potion… This says it will bring more wildlife to our yard. But first you have to find a sunny patch, spin around three times, and whisper the name of the kind of animal you wish to come here,” I tell him, reading off the description. “What animal do you want to visit us?”

Jayce considers for a moment, then darts off towards one of the last remaining sunny patches in our yard. I watch him spin in circles before bringing the tiny jar up to his lips and whispering softly to it. “I can’t tell you my wish or it won’t come true,” he announces.

“Ah, smart boy,” I say, patting his head once he returns to my side.

“What potion can we make next?” Jayce tucks his jar into his basket and starts bouncing up and down, ready for more magic.

“I think we’ve made them all, sweetie.” I review the list. “We’ve made the Sunshine Potion, the Flower Potion, the Rain Potion, the Greener Grass Potion,” – my favorite, because we could certainly use the extra financial fortune – “and the Birdsong Potion. I think that’s all of them, dear. It’s getting pretty late. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. We ought to start thinking about getting ready for dinner and jammies.”

Jayce looks close to pouting. “But there’s one more jar!” He pulls out an empty, unlabeled container as proof. “See! Please, can we do one more, Mom? Please!”

I study his face, his freckled cheeks, his green eyes, his blonde hair hovering over his eyebrows. He looks so much like his father, something I used to love about him.

“OK, fine. One more,” I surrender. I open up the pamphlet to its full length. “It says here that the extra jar is so you can create your own magic potion. You get to pick out your own ingredients and determine what your potion can do. It says, ‘Don’t forget to add your magic star before making your wish.’”

Jayce’s eyes light up when I read that to him. It feels like forever since I’ve seen them do that. Since the day before I told him we had to leave. I feel the ache in my chest soften, though my stomach tightens a little.

“I know exactly what I need,” he says, grabbing his last jar and running off towards the perimeter of bushes in our yard. I love how sure of himself he is, despite everything. Children really are the most resilient creatures on the planet.

I watch him as he collects odd-shaped rocks, twigs, and flower petals and shoves them into his jar. I snap some photos of him catching sunrays, admiring the back drop that is our new landscape, at least for now. We’ve been in the new house for just two weeks, but as for how long we will stay here depends on how soon I can secure a job. And how the school year goes for Jayce. At least tomorrow will offer a glimpse of that, I hope.

“I need a strand of your hair, Mom,” Jayce holds his hand out.

“What?” I laugh. “My hair? What for?”

“It’s for my potion. It won’t work without it, Mom, I need it! Pleeease,” Jayce wiggles his fingers.

I don’t have it in me to deny him much of anything anymore, but with the stress of everything recently, my hair’s been coming out in locks. “Go grab my hairbrush from the bathroom,” I relent with a playful sigh. I catch a glint of a smile before he’s gone, darting to the house. When he comes back, he’s sprinting, his potion bottle high above his head.

“It’s ready!” he cries, but he doesn’t stop when he gets to me. Instead, he runs past me, towards the large oak tree that marks the end of our property. I snap more pictures of him as he hops on one foot, then another, does one jumping jack, and then spins around in more circles, the sunset splashing orange, red, and yellow through the branches behind him. When I look at the photo I’ve captured, I’m stunned by its beauty. I know I’ll remember this moment as the first time I’ve felt any sense of appreciation for being here in this new town. It’s the first time I feel like we might actually be OK.

The thought brings me back to reality. The reason I’ve had to spend so much time worrying we ever wouldn’t be OK again. I open my text messages and prepare to send the photo to Andrew. I promised him I would send him frequent photos and keep him updated on our daily life as long as he didn’t fight for custody. It was part of our deal, the deal that included not telling Jayce just how close his father and his kindergarten teacher really are.

I type: Potion-making before dinner. School starts tomorrow.

I hate how texting him now feels both familiar and foreign. I hit send, then tuck my phone in my back pocket.

Jayce whines the whole two minutes it takes us to get inside from the yard, and barely touches his dinner. I try to ask him how he is feeling about starting his new school tomorrow, but he just shrugs while scooping up his green peas one by one with his spoon and watching them drop back onto his plate.

“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” he finally voices once he’s showered and tucked into bed, one story already read.

I stroke my hand over his hair. “I know, baby. It’s hard to start a new school. But I’m sure you’ll make new friends in no time. Plus, did I ever tell you that first grade was my favorite grade ever?” I grin, tickling his chin.

He giggles because he can’t help it. “Mom, you said that about kindergarten.”

I laugh. “But this time, I mean it.”

This doesn’t elicit the smile I hope for. Instead, Jayce presses his chin into his chest and wraps his fingers around mine, holding them in place. “I wished for bunnies to visit us,” he says.

The sadness looming in his eyes has become normal these days, but it still worries me. I try to redirect. Faking horror, I gasp. “You’re not supposed to tell me!”

My joke doesn’t faze him. “It’s the only animal I never got to see back home.” He’s twiddling with my fingers, careful not to look me in the eyes when he continues. “And I wished for you and Daddy to get back together.”

Those are the words I’ve known I would hear sooner or later, but the expectation of them does nothing for the pain they unload. I feel like the bowling ball in my chest finally dropped into my stomach. I have to catch my breath.

Jayce finally meets my eyes, but this time, I turn my head away. “Is that why you asked for a strand of my hair?”

I feel him nodding, scraping his nail slowly against mine. “Dad always said how much he loved your hair,” he whispers.

Tears roll past my eyelids, streaming down my cheeks. I close my eyes in an attempt to catch them, but it's a failed attempt. All I see are Andrew’s hands, Ms. Kelly’s red hair clutched between his fingers. I have to bite my lower lip to keep the dam from breaking. Like I teach Jayce, I count to ten and then swallow hard before inhaling.

“You’ve got a big day tomorrow, sweetie. Better get some sleep.” I rub his tummy then plant a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m sorry for making you sad, Mommy,” Jayce says as I am closing his door. I am too choked up to tell him that he did nothing wrong. I don't make it to my room before I'm pressed against a wall, sliding down it as the tears unleash, wishing there were enough magic in the world to make them stop.

In the morning, before the rush of breakfast-making and getting ready for school, Jayce and I watch silently through my bedroom window as squirrels and blue jays and a single cottontail bunny scurry across the yard, thankful that at least one of his potions worked.