Mother May

By SK Marre

It was just another Tuesday. Or maybe it’s Saturday? I wondered, rubbing my stubbled cheek.

Frank sat across from me, pushing mashed potatoes around his plate. His trembling hand barely restrained the fork. Ira slumped in his wheelchair, staring at a speck of nothing on the floor. Or sleeping. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Ira. None of the guards were looking, so I slipped a bottle of fairy dust from my terrycloth robe and sprinkled the contents over my meal.

“Mr. Green!” a banshee cried. I tensed. The nurse’s aide, Sarah, glared at the glass shaker in my hand. “Did you steal the salt again? You’re not supposed to eat that with your high blood pressure.”

I tried to tuck the fairy dust back into my pocket, but she was too quick. She snatched it away, plopping the shaker and my lunch onto her cart with a resounding thunk.

“I’ll bring you a new plate,” she said. “Behave yourself while I’m gone, okay?”

“Banshees.” I frowned.

Frank cupped a liver-spotted hand to his ear. “What’s that now?”

Leaning closer, I said quiet-loudly, “She’s a banshee.”

“What’s a banshee?”

I searched for the answer in my foggy mind. “They’re like Sarah, I think.”

Our conversation settled into silence. Well, except for Ira’s gentle snoring and the incessant buzz of the dining room’s fluorescent lights. The banshee deposited another mound of spuds in front of me, but I’d lost my appetite.

“You want to play some cards, Frank?” I asked.

“Uno?”

I nodded, pushing back my chair. With some effort, I heaved myself up and leaned on my cane. Faded carvings, which began on the cane’s handle and twined down the wood, pressed into my palm.

“Mr. Green?” Sarah called.

“Frank and I are gonna play cards,” I said.

Frank smacked his lips. “Uno,” he said, turning a gummy smile the banshee’s way.

Sarah gestured to one of the hulking orderlies. “Mind helping them? We’ve got a new resident coming today, and I haven’t finished setting up her room.”

The ogre, Joe, nodded and stomped over to us. He pulled Frank’s wheelchair away from the table. Trusting that they’d follow, I hobbled through the dining room’s open double doors and into the hallway beyond. The smells of old wallpaper glue and incontinence assailed me.

“You’re going to the game room?” the ogrely asked.

I paused to look over my shoulder. “Uno it.”

Frank wheezed a laugh.

Pleased with my cleverness, I limped down the yellowed hallway to the game room, which doubled as the library and tripled as the dance hall.

“Where would you like to sit?” Joe asked.

A plush wingback in the center of the room was cozied up to a large side table. I pointed to it. “We’ll play there.” The ogrely deposited Frank beside it.

“Can you grab the deck before you go?” I asked as I eased myself into the purple paisley chair’s embrace. Its arms were worn and bore the stains of use—just like me. By the time I’d shifted positions and shushed the old ache in my knee, the cards had appeared.

“Thanks, Joe,” Frank said.

The ogrely bobbed his head once before leaving the room.

I shuffled the deck, dealt out the cards, and gestured for Frank to begin. Chivalry isn’t dead, I thought. Just retired.

“Red seven,” he said, leaning forward to place it on the table.

Fanning my cards, I squinted at each in turn. I countered with a red two.

“Ha!” Frank wedged his tongue between the gap where his dentures usually sat and grinned like a madman. “Draw four!”

“Crowing like a cockatrice,” I snorted. “And more short-sighted than a cyclops.”

Frank paused, still holding the card out. “What’s a cockatrice?”

I blew out a long breath, sorting through my scattered memories. “A rooster-headed snake. They stun people with a look.”

The card dropped from Frank’s retreating fingers. “What does their crow do?”

“Nothing,” I said. “But cyclopes only have one eye. That saying stands.”

“That only affects depth perception.”

“Precisely. They can only see short depths with any accuracy.”

Frank huffed and started to reply, but the squeal of a rollator interrupted him. He looked up. Agnes stood beside him.

“How’s it going, guys?”

I smiled at her. “Pull up your seat, m’lady. I was just telling Frank why cyclopes don’t do well with card games.”

Agnes tittered. “You and your stories.”

“I’ve seen a lot in my time.”

Agnes reversed the trollator with slow, halting steps that jiggled each one of her prodigious curves. She plopped down to face me. “Do tell.”

Lillian dragged a chair up and sat beside Agnes. “What’re you all talking about?”

Agnes waved her question off. “Don’t interrupt, Lil.”

Indignation stained Lil’s cheeks, matching the red of her permed, pixie-cut. Rather than wait for the inevitable retort—Lil wasn’t one to take any guff—I held up my hands.

“What sort of story should I tell?” I asked.

Frank sighed and folded his cards on the table. Lil glared at Agnes. But Agnes leaned forward, which I found encouraging.

“Sherry fell?” she asked.

I found that less encouraging. “Turn your hearing aid up, Agnes,” I reminded her. Then I paused. “Did Sherry really fall?”

Frank nodded. “Pulled a hip. Said a physical therapist is helping her with balance exercises.”

“Lucky she didn’t break it,” Lil added.

“Senior folks ought to take more care,” I said.

The other three mumbled in agreement. I mean, we were all old. But not Sherry-old.

A comfortable quiet fell over us, and my mind drifted a bit. A slow, lazy drift, like cotton clouds on a summer day.

Frank prodded me with a bony finger. “So, what’s your story?”

I blinked at him for a moment or three. “Should I tell you about unicorns?”

“What about ‘em?” Lil asked.

“They’re pricks.”

Frank guffawed.

“And what do you think of when I say dragons?”

“Ferocious,” Agnes said.

“Hoarding riches,” Lil offered.

“Fire-breath?” Frank asked.

“Foul breath is more like it.” I waved a hand in front of my snout, then hesitated, sifting through my muddy thoughts. “Not the dragon-king of course. Too refined for that. And funny. People always said, ‘Gus, the dragon-king, he’s got great jokes.’”

Lil’s scowl seemed skeptical. I ignored it.

“A talking dragon?” Agnes asked.

“Don’t be absurd. Dragons don’t have the lips for it.” I gestured to Lil’s fiery lipstick. “King of the lizards. Not a lizard who was king. Well, most of the time, anyway.”

Agnes stared at me.

“Shapeshifting, is what I’m saying.”

“Oh.”

I opened my mouth to explain more, but my train of thought fell off the tracks. Whatever I meant to dazzle them with had disappeared.

“That’s not much of a tale,” Agnes observed.

I grumbled. “I suppose not.”

Frank’s eyes darted to the nearly forgotten card game. “Maybe we should—”

“May!” I exclaimed.

The others gave me quizzical looks—raised eyebrows and the like. It wasn’t the first time.

“May was a fairy godmother. Had her hands in everything and knew everybody. A sweet soul to those who knew her, and a sweeter friend. A real hoot, she was.” I rapped a knuckle on the side table. “They even named that romp after her, Mother May I.”

Lil smiled. The web of wrinkles around her eyes deepened to crevasses. “I always loved that game as a girl.”

“May told me once about this pair of star-crossed lovers she’d been assigned to look after. Could have been a real conflict of interests, what with them being so different and all. The princess was a harpy. Not your typical harpy, mind you. She had a beautiful singing voice. And she was obsessed with cleanliness—a rare thing in the harpy world, let me tell you.” I leaned forward, a satisfied smirk tugging at my lips, and lowered my voice. “I always called her a preen-cess.”

No one laughed.

“A preen-cess,” I repeated. “Because harpies are half-bird.”

Frank narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment.

Can’t win them all, I guess. “Anyway, a merman captivated her. She’d spend hours perched on the rocky shore visiting with him. Pining for him. She told her family, but they called her a fool. ‘Don’t play with your food,’ they said.”

“Because harpies are half-bird,” Agnes extrapolated, finger tapping her bulbous nose. “And some birds eat fish.”

“Exactly,” I said. “The princess begged Mother May to turn her into a mermaid, but that sort of magic is no small thing. Harpies spend their whole life in the sky. What if she missed soaring the updrafts? What if she changed everything for him, and he fell out of love? The merman was known to be a bit…”

“Fickle?” Agnes volunteered.

“Wishy-washy.”

Agnes acknowledged my wordplay with an unconvincing chuckle.

Lil shook her head. “No man’s worth that risk.”

“Well, May developed a test. They each had one day to court the other, in hopes of garnering a proposal. For one full day, she’d turn each of them into something more compatible. If they revealed their true identity, the spell would break and they’d be apart forever.”

Frank propped an elbow on the arm of his wheelchair and leaned a cheek against his fist. His eyes drooped shut. I gave the ladies my full attention instead.

“We took bets on if they’d get together, May and I. Had a bit of fun with it. See, the rub was this: while incognito, if one of them convinced the other to marry, then their love couldn’t be true. If they won, they really lost.”

Agnes scratched her head.

“You’ll see what I mean,” I assured her. “Anyway, May bet on love. She saw the best in people. Fairy godmothers always do.”

“But you didn’t?” Agnes asked.

“Always pick the underfish, as they say.”

Lil sighed. “No one says that.”

“First, the merman became a magnificent roc,” I said, pretending not to hear her. “He wheeled, and dove, and flirted—but the harpy’s eyes never wandered.”

“Why would they? Her soul’s mate lived in the ocean,” Lil said, sounding a bit ruffled on the harpy’s behalf.

“The next day, the princess exchanged her feathers for fins. Mother May turned her into a shimmering hippocampus.”

“A hippo-what-us?” Lil asked.

“A seahorse.” I hitched a shoulder. “Kind of.”

Lil’s brows furrowed, but she didn’t ask any other questions.

“There are a lot of fish in the sea, but none so fine as a harpy turned hippocampus. The merman was cordial, of course. He was no savage. His heart belonged in the skies above, though. He wouldn’t trade the princess for chum.”

Agnes clapped. “May won the bet! How did those two end up together?” Always the romantic, Agnes was.

“Mother May transformed them into a fisherman and his fisherwife. They had a cottage by the sea. She learned to play the harp.”

“The fairy godmother?”

“No. The harpy.”

Both Agnes and Lil settled back into their respective seats, their lips curling at the corners.

“What happened to Mother May?” Agnes asked.

“After that?” I waded through murky memories, trying to recall more of the fairy godmother’s adventures. “Well, next she…” The rest of the tale—of all of the tales, it seemed—suddenly slipped away, hiding somewhere in my foggy thoughts. I should remember this. Why can’t I? She was important, I know she was.

Lil prompted, “Another princess, you suppose?”

“She faded, I think.”

Agnes’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

“Sometimes, as we age, the mind does funny things.”

Lil cocked her head. “Dementia?”

“Sometimes, we get old and our magic fails us. It’s there one day. And then it’s gone.” I grimaced. “I remember the world being so vivid. Anything was possible. There were love spells, and talking cats, and wardrobes….”

“You’ve got a wardrobe in your room,” Lil said.

“But it can’t fit all of my stuff.” I slumped back in my chair. “Now, everything is so ordinary.”

“What a depressing story,” Agnes said.

A dark cloud hovered over us, and we each sank into our thoughts. Well, not Frank. He dozed. But the rest of us stewed, chewing our lips and sniffing back tears.

Joe’s voice boomed beside me, startling me from my reverie. “You spinning sad yarns again?”

I turned to see the ogre, wondering when he’d come back in the room. His hairy ham-fist rested on the back of my paisley throne. I gave him a weak smile. “I’ve seen some things in my time.”

“I’m sure of it. But those are just stories. Not memories. I know sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.” Joe patted my shoulder.

I harrumphed but didn’t fight him on the point. Ogres weren’t always terrors, but they also weren’t great at listening.

“It’s time for your next dose of medicine.”

As was often the case when speaking with my guards, the harrumph turned full scowl.

“Hey now,” Joe said. “Everyone takes something around here, Mr. Green.”

“I don’t—”

Joe sighed. “I know you think you don’t need them.”

“I don’t like them,” I snapped. “And they don’t help with the…” I wiggled my fingers next to my head.

“Dementia?” Lil offered a second time.

I shot her a look.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“I know you don’t believe me,” I said. “But these things happened. I’m sure of it. I don’t know how, but I am.”

The ogrely shook his head. He opened his mouth to say more, but Sarah and a woman in a wheelchair—the newest inmate, I guessed—appeared in the doorway.

“Joe, can you help move some bags?” the banshee asked and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. The woman in the wheelchair waved at us, her drooping underarms swaying dangerously with each flutter. As the pair rolled away, some forgotten memory tickled the back of my skull, but I couldn’t quite drag it into the light.

“Do you want a cup of water with your medicine?” Joe asked, making me jump a second time. Stealthy for an ogre, that one.

“Water? You aren’t going to help them?”

He conjured a tiny disposable cup seemingly from thin air. “First things first,” he said firmly, shaking my pills like maracas.

That’s the sound of defeat. I sighed. “Fine. Water, meds, then a nap.” With Joe’s help, I wobbled to my feet.

“Bye,” Agnes and Lil chorused.

“See ya at dinner, ladies.” I paused. “And you too, Frank.”

He gave me a snoring send off as I shuffled away down the next hall to my room. Once I was back in my cell, I collapsed into my bed. After taking my pills, of course.

“Enjoy your nap, Mr. Green,” Joe said, tugging the portcullis shut as he left.

“That’s not how napping works. You don’t even remember sleep; you just enjoy the results.” Not that Joe heard me. Terrible hearing, ogres had. Bad listeners.

Tired but unable to sleep, I stared at the ceiling for a while. Contemplated the water-stained tiles above me. Ignored, best I could, my itchy blanket; it was tan now, but I was pretty sure it had been gold once. Listened to the tick of the clock marching forward. Always marching. Wished for the relief of dreams.

“At least if I were asleep,” I muttered, “I wouldn’t be…” Frustrated? Bored?

I frowned at that. I’d had such grand adventures when I was young. At least, I thought I had. Exotic foods. Dancing and whirling under ruby-red sunsets and star-dusted skies. Exploring the nooks and crannies of the world. Laughing at punny jokes. I remember telling myself the memories would last, even when my body gave out. That stuff didn’t matter. That it was about the relationships I built, the experiences I had. The people I’d loved. Those were the things that made life worth living.

And yet, here I am. My mind ashambles. With only a handful of acquaintances, forced by proximity.

I rubbed a scaly knuckle across my eyes. It came away damp.

“Augustus?” a voice called, muffled through the walls.

I tensed under my blanket.

A gentle knock on the door followed.

I cleared my throat. “…Yes?”

“I’d like to come in, if you don’t mind.”

The voice seemed familiar. Sort’ve. Then again, ogres could be sneaky. Maybe it was one of Joe’s friends with more pills.

But what if it isn’t?

Something stirred inside of me. A feeling of warmth I couldn’t explain. “Just a minute,” I called, rolling on an elbow.

Or five minutes. Or ten. But who’s counting? I wasn’t fit for company, but curiosity dragged the cat out of bed, as they say. Well, really more like rocked the cat upright, swinging stiff legs to the floor with monumental effort.

I dug my handkerchief out of a robe pocket, dabbed my eyes, and blew my nose. Then I dabbed my eyes a second time. Next came my slippers. Finally, I levered myself to my feet with the help of my cane, its mysterious carvings—a bit like flames in the right light—just as dogged as I was. Grunted a little. Grimaced at my knee pain, but stood, triumphant.

Leaning back with narrowed eyes, I hauled my door open, revealing the woman I’d seen with Sarah in her wheelchair. Somewhere between when she passed the game room and now, she had acquired a pair of gauzy, costume butterfly wings. Just had them sitting, sparkling, on her lap.

“Hello,” I said.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” the woman said.

“I suppose I am.” That feeling—maybe a bit of curiosity with a dollop of hope—grew as I shuffled to one side.

The electric motor on her chair whirred as she wheeled her way through the door. “Chivalry’s not dead, I see.”

“Just retired,” I chuckled. That joke will never get old.

“Oh, Augustus.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. Something about the way she leaned into her syllables tickled that dusty, forgotten memory again. The one buried in my mind that I couldn’t seem to unearth. She tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear. “I saw you holding court earlier.”

I nodded. “Just spinning some tales.”

She glanced around my sparse room with a furrowed brow. “You like it here?”

“I, um, it’s okay. Food is mostly edible. Guards can be a little strict, but the other inmates—”

The petite woman’s tinkling laugh filled the air. “Inmates?”

“Residents,” I conceded. “They’re not bad. Lil’s a sassy one, so you’ll want to watch out for her.”

“Pixies always are.” The woman nodded her head thoughtfully.

I did a double take, breath catching. Pixies?

“Frank and Ira sleep a lot,” I continued, not knowing what else to say. “But when Frank’s awake, he’ll play cards. Oh, and sometimes Agnes can get grumpy. She’s harmless, though.”

The woman’s face puckered. “Trolls and their never-ending ‘tudes.” She paused to shoot me a sly wink. “Troll-tudes, if you will.”

She knows about trolls, too? Wisps of excitement curled through me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. You know mine, though.” It wasn’t a question, exactly, but it was close enough.

A smile brightened the woman’s face, and finally, that warmth, that hope blossomed in my chest. Like the feeling of sunshine after a long rainstorm. Or the relief of a burden finally removed. No. The joy of seeing an old friend, for I knew that’s who she must be. I smiled back.

“Of course I know you. You’re my oldest, dearest pal: Augustus Greenscale, King of the Dragons.” She reached out and squeezed my arm. “I can’t believe I finally found you!”

Her excitement was both infectious and confusing. “Greenscale?”

The woman talked over me, guilt plain in her voice. “When I stopped by your castle, they said you were gone. Poof. That your magic, your mind, had finally failed. ‘Leave him be,’ they said. ‘He’s better off now,’ they said.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that anyone could tell me where you were. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe when we age, we’re just forgotten.” Her voice cracked. “Not by me, though. Never by me. I hate that you were here, alone, for so long. But I found you, Augustus. And now, I’m never leaving your side.”

“I’m Augustus Greenscale….” The stubborn, forgotten memory broke free, blazing bright in my mind. I gasped. “And you’re May.”

“Mother May. Fairy godmother extraordinaire.” She twirled her hand with a flourish.

“I told them about you.” I pointed at the wall. “About that time with the harpy and the merman. How you bet on love. They didn’t believe me. Said my stories weren’t real.”

She scoffed. “What do ogres know anyway?”

“Our adventures were real,” I whispered to myself.

“Of course they were real,” May said sharply. “They’re not over yet, either.”

“They’re not?”

“Don’t you see?” She tittered and swept an arm around the room. “Sure, this place is no castle. More ordinary than we’re used to, far less enchanted.”

“More faded,” I said, thinking of my itchy, once-gold blanket. Thinking of my magic.

She brushed the comment away. “But faded doesn’t mean gone. We don’t need dragons or harpies or mermen. We’ve got each other. Best friends forever.” May grinned again, her smile full of joy and sunshine, laughter, and love. Full of all of the things I’d been missing. “And now that we’re here, together,” she continued, “our next adventure awaits.”

Her blue eyes, so vibrant and bright, twinkled with mischief. I was certain mine sparkled with excitement. Who needed pixie dust when May was around?

May turned her wheelchair to face the hallway, then squeezed my hand. “You ready, Augustus?”

I glanced down at her petite fingers wrapped around my arthritic claws and returned her squeeze. “Aye, May-lady,” I said with a wink.

Gallant and strong, I felt like a king. I straightened my shoulders. No— a dragon.

SK Marre is a Connecticut-based author and photographer. When she isn’t writing magazine articles about the best shutter speeds to capture a sunset, she’s probably mountain biking, being bossed around by the cat (the dog has better manners), or working on her fiction. SK has short stories and flash fiction in the Northern Connecticut Writers Workshop: Anthology 2020 and Havok Publishing (previously Havok Magazine). You can find SK on Twitter @skmarre, Instagram @skmarre_author, or through her website, http://www.skmarre.com/.

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Why we chose this piece: We love the humor and premise of this story. It’s a wholesome piece yet also a thoughtful exploration of getting older. The fairytale worldbuilding is fascinating, and Augustus’s puns are also a delight.