MOUNTAIN ASH
Iris was determined. She would stay here until her fingers froze and her lips turned blue. A nine-year-old popsicle. She remembered reading a story about people who died from hypothermia. In the end, you feel hot. Often, people who died were found naked, frozen in place, trying to cool off. Maybe she should undress now and speed up the process.
Iris lay under a Mountain Ash tree, layered in heavy piles of snow. Its red berries were shrunken heads. As she positions her head to see the blue sky, spotted with cirrostrati, chickadees landed on the branches, bobbing on the delicate stems. A heavy pack of wet snow landed on her face, steaming her glasses. But, of course, she knew she couldn’t get hypothermia out here. It was early March and the snow had begun to melt. Not deathly temperatures until tonight.
The wet ground began to sop Iris’s pants and back. The branches were white, sun beaming, but the base was mud, damp earth. The hard parts were softening all around her, but Iris still felt cold. A month ago, she learned that the pleasant smell of mud after it rained or when the snow melts were because of bacteria. The bacteria made something called geosmin, but Iris couldn’t remember how. She learned that from her friend Addie. Addie was so much smarter than her. But Addie died last week, and Iris couldn’t think about her inside the house. When she did, her thoughts bounced back on top of her. They didn’t have anywhere to go. Out here, under the sky, at least they didn’t jump back right away.
Iris liked thinking about all the life under her back as she lay here. She pictured the tiny micro-organisms under her, creating thousands of infinitesimal lines and homes. Like sometimes, when you close your eyes, you can see squiggles. It helped Iris remember she was alive too.
Addie and Iris had studied bacteria in science and presented different bacteria they had grown for the class. Addie had done Is a dog’s mouth cleaner than a human’s? And Iris did Do antibacterial soaps really kill bacteria? She missed the day they spent in Addie’s mom’s basement, clinking together beakers and test tubes like mad scientists.
Iris had run outside because she got mad at her mom. She hadn’t been doing her math homework because she hated it, and she didn’t see the point. Times tables. The grief counsellors had been at school all week, making Iris uncomfortable. Itchy. When people asked Iris questions, she could feel her throat tighten up. Iris’s tears felt like vomit. Poison.
Thinking about this made Iris feel even sicker. She was mean and rotten. She wished it had been her instead of Addie. Addie, who was so kind. Iris would never say it out loud, but she was sure it was her fault Addie was dead. A week before the accident, Addie and Sarah had stopped hanging out with Iris. Iris had introduced Addie and Sarah, and then they didn’t want to hang out with her anymore. Before that, it was just Addie and Iris. It hurt Iris’s feelings so bad. When she went to bed, she thought, “I wish Addie was dead.” And then, a week later, it happened.
Iris picked off some of the mountain ash berries and began to crush them in her palm. Her mom had told her she should never eat mountain ash berries because they were poisonous. That never made sense. The chickadees were so tiny, and they could eat them. Now Iris thought maybe she should try. This was all her fault. Iris had run out of the house because she hated how her mom was looking at her. Her mouth turned sad and thin, like everything was this big distraction for Iris, like the whole family was putting on a show. Like it was mom’s heart that had been broken with Addie dying. Iris couldn’t even think about Addie’s mom. Iris was always the mean one. It should have been Iris.
The mountain ash berries were crushed up in her hand now. The outer skin looked orange, and the inside flesh was soft and white like fresh snow. Sticky berry juice dripped down Iris’s fingers. She licked the juice and gagged. It tasted like the water that you keep olives in. Addie had dared her last year to drink some when Iris’s mom wasn’t looking.
Iris shifted her head on the mushy ground and thought about the book Tuck Everlasting. She and Addie loved it, and, a few weeks ago, they sat at the library and re-read the ending together. In the book, the characters live forever.
Iris heard a twig snap and sat up. It was Iris’s mom. The sun was setting, and the frizzy bits around mom’s ponytail were lit by the light behind her. Mom looked so tired. And sad. And scared. Iris burst into tears, and her mom ran to her, kneeling in the mud.
“I’m so sorry.” Iris was sobbing. She couldn’t breathe, and her shoulders were shaking.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Mom was crying too.
“It’s all my fault.” Iris wasn’t sure she needed the berries anymore. It sure felt like she was dying.
“No, it isn’t your fault. But it isn’t fair. None of this is.” Mom pulled a hair from Iris’s face, arms wrapped tightly around her.
Iris’s mom held her until she stopped crying. Iris was still sad, but now she felt all carved out.
It was almost dark now, but they kept sitting outside. Iris laid back down in the mud, and her mom did too. She could see their breath as nighttime drew nearer. She had forgotten about the berries, but there they were in her hand, mostly orange husks now. Looking at them, Iris felt so tired. Her mom noticed the berries and said,
“Careful – those will make your stomach really upset,” and peeled the sticky flesh from her hand.
