Ball Mason Preserves
Kou K. Nelson
(May, 2013)
Maddy used both hands to push the step ladder against the broken dryer.
Eight.
That’s one more than yesterday, she thought, gazing up at the row of mason jars on the shelf, the pink shelf she and her mother had painted together, a heart cut out in the center.
She climbed the step ladder and hesitantly placed a knee on top of the cool metal of the dryer. Even seen this closely, the jars looked empty.
She glanced out the window at her mother’s back bowed over the laundry basket. The tip of Maddy’s tongue peeped out from the corner of her mouth as she reached, one foot still on the ladder, almost touching, then brought up her other knee and reached again.
Her hand encircled a jar, not touching, almost touching, but not really.
She looked out the window again. Her mother pulled and snapped the sheets as she hung them on the line to dry in the sun.
That night, that time, when it was really really late and dark, when Maddy had to pee so badly but actually woke up before she dreamt of going to the bathroom, Maddy’s mom’s nightgown glowed purple-white in the darkness as she stood in the laundry room, a mason jar to her lips.
“What’re you doing?” Maddy asked.
Her mother firmly screwed the lid onto the jar and shrugged, smiling with only half her mouth like she did when she was only telling some of the truth. “Capturing my dream,” she said and set the jar carefully on the shelf, the same way Maddy put her favorite Sally Sleep-away doll in her crib before she left for school.
“A good dream or a scary dream?”
Her mother shrugged. “A little of both.”
“Were there monsters?” Maddy asked, looking warily at the partially opened closet doors.
“Not that kind of dream,” her mother said with a full smile this time and guided Maddy towards the kitchen. “Thirsty?”
Then Maddy felt the warmth and wetness on her legs and feet, heard the splash of water on the cracked linoleum.
“Oh, Maddy,” her mother had sighed, shoulders and neck drooping like flowers on a hot August day.
She had pulled off Maddie’s nightie and wiped up the pee with a bath towel from the hamper, but she hadn’t scolded. Just that sigh.
The curtains on the window lifted again. Maddy’s mother shook out a shirt and pinned it to the line.
How could a dream be good and scary? Maddy wondered as she grasped the first jar and sat back on her heels.
She turned it in her hands, hoping something might catch the sunlight like the sparkle of gold in wet sand.
Maddy opened the jar and looked inside, put her hand in and felt around.
Nothing.
Maybe it fell out?
She set the jar aside and took down another one. She held out the bottom of her shirt like her mother had shown her to carry tomatoes and poured the jar into it, certain she would catch anything, no matter how small.
Still nothing.
She took down the third jar, opened it, put her ear to it and heard the dulled hum of the fridge. The fourth she pressed against her nose, smelling cold glass.
She opened them all, surrounding herself with the jars as she watched and listened.
“Maddy?” her mother called from the garden.
Maddy felt sick. They were empty. All of the jars, empty. A trickle of sweat trailed along her hairline. Were they empty before?
Careful. Don’t break.
Maddy quickly closed the jars and arranged them on the shelf so that they were evenly spaced, “Ball Mason” eight times facing out at her. She climbed down the step ladder and quietly put it away.
“Just a minute,” Maddy called.
She was shaking, her feet already running, although she didn’t move.
What would her mother think when she opened those jars?
A horrible knot grew in Maddy’s chest. Her ears hurt with a pounding noise.
What she had done was Bad. Badbadbad.
She was too scared to cry, even though her eyes burned and everything looked watery.
She was sad, too. Kind of. Like when her mom brought home the kitten, but it was white, not grey with tiger stripes, like what Maddy really wanted.
But she still loved Snowflake.
Maddy gazed up at the shelf.
No matter what, Maddy must never tell.
Not even to Katie, her best friend.
No one must ever know.
Maddy swallowed hard, the knot sticking, choking her, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Badbadbad.
“Maddy!” her mother called, impatient.
Maddy’s mouth opened and shut. Words couldn’t get past the knot.
She had to fix it. Make it better.
How?
What kinds of dreams did her mother have?
Maddy glanced at the jars once more, tidy and orderly, just as her mother had left them. Then Maddy leapt against the dryer, pulling herself up with a strength that made her shoulders ache.
She knelt on the dryer and grabbed the last jar. She opened it, her breath fogging the glass.
She shut her eyes tight, trying to picture her mother’s smile, hear her laughter, picture what kind of dream she wanted her mother to have.
“Be happy,” Maddy whispered, into the crescent opening just big enough for her lips, the knot still in her throat, but smaller. “Be happy.”
She twisted the top closed, twisted it extra hard to make sure it stuck. She tilted the jar and studied it to see if anything caught the light. Nothing. Just like before she had opened it. She placed the jar back on the shelf, “Ball Mason” only partially showing, placed it carefully, like she was putting Sally Sleep-away back in her crib.
“Maddy!” Her mother’s voice snapped crisp as celery from outside.
Maddy jumped down, her bare feet slapping on the linoleum, making them sting.
“Coming,” she replied and skipped to her mother.
Kou K. Nelson is a writer of bizarre and sometimes hysterical or historical fiction. Her work has appeared in several publications, most recently in the upcoming mystery and crime anthology Plan B: Volume I. Her short story, "Safe Upon the Shore" appears in Specter Spectacular: 13 Ghostly Tales and was mentioned in Tangent Online's "Recommended Reading List" for 2013. Her website, http://www.kouknelson.com/, includes her Cranky Cow blog, which reflects on midlife inanities.