Welsh Daffodil

"You've turned twelve, butterflies are flying above your head, soon they'll descend to your stomach, but for now they're chasing flies out of your nose so they don't get too carried away during the first school heartbeats. And the angels will sing to you, and the birds will stretch their throats, and your eyes will grow as big as saucers when you feel that shiver in your stomach and you'll know it's him... and love awaits you forever, and immeasurable joy awaits you, and you'll feel—"

Kick the bed. Again, and again. The mattress bulged noticeably in one spot, and immediately, just above the edge of my bed, Aza's head appeared, squinting at my surprised face.

"You were singing in your sleep. You were off-key.

" "Really?"—I can't remember. "What was I singing?

" "'If I were your sunshine in the sky,'" Julka sighed quietly. "Yes, yes. You should become independent, you know?

" "Me?"—complete surprise. "Why me?"

"You're eighteen and a bit old, and you're following me and Irys around like a dog, excuse me. Irys and I have had enough of you. Why don't you torment Prima or even Szemruś for a change?"

I sat up in bed, surprised, banging my head against the ceiling. I groaned.

"One, I'm not dragging you around, there are no fools, I'm just looking after you. Two, Shamrock and Primrose are ten, three, what's for breakfast, four, Rose and Szemruś are Irys's problem, six, that you and Irys are old enough to understand that..." My head ached.

"What?

" "That, damn it, it's your and Irys's turn to make breakfast today." I sank back onto the pillow, rubbing my head, which had been knocked against the ceiling. Right, as the oldest, I should have dutifully gone to the kitchen and prepared some edible breakfast for those little terrorists. But I didn't. Then I regretted it, because after only fifteen minutes, Rose climbed onto the bed and touched my face with her cold paws. I was terrified.

"Good heavens, Rose, put something warm on!"

"Fod, come quickly, Irys and Aza are arguing, and Shamrock won't eat what Aza and Irys made.

" "I'm coming down," I gave in. "Come on, come down. You have to go first, so I can too."

Rose grabbed the railing of the bunk bed and carefully climbed down, almost sliding down his leg. I climbed down, properly, using the ladder.

The kitchen was a disaster. Thursday, six in the morning, cold as a kennel, I'm shivering in my thin pajamas and asking what on earth my two beloved charges did.

"Fod, she started it!

" "No, she did!"

"True or not, let me get a handle on the situation," I tried to calm them down, but I might as well have been talking to a wall. Irys started rambling on about responsibility, and I lost my patience. Especially since Rock and Rose were listening.

"Shamrock, Primrose, to your room!" I commanded. "Hurry, one, two, three. Don't cry, Rose, I'll manage them both somehow."

The twins left, taking with them burnt milk and a rock-hard piece of bread. The last one, for good measure. A thought flashed through my mind as to why I hadn't replenished my supplies, but it must have been Aza's turn last time, or maybe mine?

"Okay, what happened?" I asked, seemingly calmly, though my soul was yawning from lack of sleep and I wanted to punch someone.

"The milk spilled from the pot," Irys replied in rhyme, and indeed, that was more or less the situation.

"Get dressed. You'll eat breakfast at school. Shamrock! Rose! Dressed?" I knocked on the door leading from the kitchen to the twins' room.

"No," Rock stuck his head out, "and neither is Rose. Something's happening." Her tights all became miniaturized.

"What are you talking about, Rock?" I panicked and burst into their room, where Rose was sitting in the middle of the carpet, numbly examining all her pairs of tights, now fit for a four-year-old.

"Oh, Rose, I'm sorry," I crouched down next to her, "will you forgive me? I had to do something with them... I don't know what, but it won't happen again, I promise.

" "I don't need your promises. I want to see Mom!" Rose looked at me with wide eyes. I had to keep my cool, but I couldn't.

"You know Mom won't be back until...

" "Yes, I know. Until I'm fifteen." Rose sniffed and began to fumble with the little tights.

"You boiled them," Shamrock tugged at another pair, "you washed them at too high a temperature. Mom never did that.

" "Don't be too smart, Rock. Pack your things, we're leaving soon. God, what will Rose do without tights?

" "Boil some of your own," Irys advised grimly, standing in the doorway.

"I won't make it," I panicked. "I have to be at school by eight. Rock, what time do you start?

" "Ten twenty. We finish after two." Rock stoically packed cream cheese into his backpacks. One for each of us. Whatever it was, we had plenty of cheese.

"Irys will pick you up," I looked at Irys, who was clearly displeased.

"I'll have to make the drive," she said coldly.

"It's not my fault your middle school is closer to home than theirs," I pointed out.

"I can't, I finish at three," Aza said.

"I finish at eight today," I complained, "and I have my final exams!"

Aza and Irys relented. They knew I had to pass, otherwise we'd have another crazy year ahead of us. More begging for evening hours at McDonald's, another whole day without Fod, who had to work and study. I already knew they'd somehow figure out who would pick up the little ones and why. We all got dressed as quickly as possible, I managed to shove my books into my bag and somehow manage not to forget anything. We started getting ready: Aza was supposed to take the kids to after-school club on the way to her technical school, Irys was supposed to run straight to school (lucky her, it's right around the corner), and I was supposed to get ready and run to the shack that was definitely the farthest away, the worst-looking, the most absorbing, and really, no one needed it, because what difference does it make where I take my final exams if I'm not going to university anyway? I was tempted to apply to Aza's technical school, but something always held me back.

I put on my faux leather boots, the only fake marbled combat boots I could find in town, and ran to the bus stop, where I caught the bus number 2 heading downtown at the last minute. Standing in the unforgiving crowd, I saw Aza and her children entering school. Very, very well. I arrived at my school just in time for English class. I stumbled into the hallway, panting, shed my jacket, and ran to the classroom waiting outside the language classroom. My comrades-in-arms caught me as I slumped to the floor against the wall.

"Trouble at home again?" asked Gośka, who isn't exactly beautiful but has a terribly sharp voice.

"Ugh." My legs gave way. I was exhausted. Someone helpfully grabbed them for me so the rest of the students wouldn't kill each other.

"Fod, give it up." I admire you for not dropping out of school, but you're taking on too much," the redheaded Aga pointed out. "The children can be placed in…

" "No," I cut him off, "no, I can't. In four years and eight months, everything will be back to normal. I can handle it.

" "That won't be normal!" Aga suddenly yelled at me. "That's not normal at all! The children will be without a mother for five years! How do you imagine their lives? You're not going to leave them. How are you going to start a family? Or maybe you'll just leave home and leave them at the mercy of your mother, huh? I thought you'd already experienced her motherly love. Where is your father when you're working your ass off, huh?

" "Agus, stop, I know you're right," I burst into tears. My friends pulled me to my feet. I was already fit to use myself. "Agus, but what can I do?" I won't give them up to foster families, we've always been together, I'm not important here…

"Don't be a tragedy and don't try to be some silent heroine," Gosia grabbed my hand. "Let me help you."

"I'll give it, Gosia, I'll give it," I smiled through my tears, adjusted my bag on my shoulder, and, feeling better now, I followed the others into the classroom.

***

Where's my father? Where's our father?

I last saw him seven years ago. I was a silly eleven, maybe twelve. He moved to America and now has a new family with new children. He decided his place was in the States, so now he lives the American way. He doesn't remember his former children.

There are five of us, two of them. Seven in total. We have a lot in common: we're all "half-bloods" (my father is British), we're named after flowers, and we don't have mothers. My dad's second wife died of cancer. My first was sentenced to five years in prison.

Daffodil means "jonquil" in English. Pretty, isn't it? It's a symbol. There are many symbols of Great Britain: red rose for England, daffodil or leek for Wales, thistle for Scotland, and shamrock for Ireland. As you can see, five.

Perhaps a little explanation of our names: mine is, of course, daffodil. Azalea is an azalea, Iris is an iris, Shamrock is a white clover, and Primrose is a primrose. Primrose was supposed to be Rose, plain and simple, but my mom had a bad association with it (with her own mother, whose name is Rose), so my sister is a primrose. Those two in America are Leek and Thistle. My dad had a bit of a mania. And that's a good thing – we're special.

***

I got home around eight-thirty. I smelled of grease. I quickly washed up and went to check on Rose and Rock, who, ever since Mom was arrested before their eyes, no longer want to be called Szemruś and Prima, but we keep blurting out that very name, which we'd used for almost ten years. Anyway, they were both sitting in bed, Rock reading something, and Rose slowly writing something in her notebook.

"Are you doing your homework?" I asked.

"No.

" "You'll be more comfortable at your desk," I remarked.

"It doesn't matter. They're writing to someone else. I'm writing something important."

"Aha," I nodded, my head wrapped in a towel, "fantastic. I'm going to Aza's. What did you have for dinner today?

" "Dumplings with butter and cucumber soup. Not good.

" "Which one?

" "Both," Rock muttered.

"Don't be too smart." I ruffled his hair over his forehead.

"You already said that today," he pointed out. "

I did say, I remember, but what can I do, that he's some kind of genius? I don't understand this phenomenon. He became like this in September, right after the holidays. Before, he always spoke nicely, interestingly, but you couldn't hear it... I don't know? Like he'd grown up too fast.

" "Shem, don't be angry, but sometimes you sound too grown up." I had my hand on the doorknob when his slipper hit me in the back.

"What are you supposed to call me?" the child asked menacingly, barely turning his head from the book, and only his hand, beyond the edge of the bed, testified to his guilt.

"Sorry, Rock." I'd lost my focus.

I left their room and walked over to the one occupied by the three older ones – Irys, Aza and me.

"What did you have for dinner?" I asked, climbing up the ladder to my bed.

"Dumplings and cucumber soup," Irys replied absently from her notebook. She glanced at Aza, who was mumbling under her breath.

"Aza, what are you predicting?" she said, genuinely surprised, because Aza usually studies quietly.

"English," Aza replied, and looked up at me. I froze halfway up the ladder.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, her gaze terrifying.

"Your panties are showing," she informed me with surprise.

"And?" I didn't see the connection between my underwear and her English.

"And nothing. You're demoralizing yourself. You're also a child from a broken and dysfunctional family. I shouldn't have said this morning that you should become independent.

" "How are the leaflets?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

It worked.

"Nothing. I threw half of them away at the bus stop." I put the money in the jar." Aza returned to her English, smiling slightly. "There were two of us now, responsible for the finances. Me and her.

Except she was running around in the freezing cold with flyers, and I was in the warm "restaurant," making hamburgers. And who had it better? Irys started with posters, but right after that, they hired her on the side as a hostess at a supermarket. And it was a bull's-eye.

I'm not cut out for being a hostess; my legs are too short. "

Rose came into our room, dragging the duvet behind her.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" she asked timidly.

"There's nowhere," Aza stated, "unless it's with Irys.

" "I don't advise it," Irys shook her head ominously. "No, no, no. I'm kicking.

" "That's right too," Aza nodded lazily, "but if you want, you can sleep in Fod's place, and we'll put her in your bed."

"I can go." I pulled my covers off the top, threw off my pillow, and padded over to Rock.

"Rose isn't feeling well," he whispered to me. "She kept calling for her mom last night. She's scared, but she won't say what.

" "She's just having bad days," I tried to dismiss it, but my conscience started to thrash back and forth. Something was wrong. Not for the first time. I couldn't sleep, so I was wide awake when Irys came into my room around one o'clock and, half-amused, half-surprised, said quietly to me,

"Rose has soaked the mattress.

" "Good heavens, what about Aza?" I was terrified. "

She's washing up, and so is Rose. The little one's crying.

" "I'm coming." I

went to the bathroom, knocked a few times, and barged in. Aza, already washed, was standing over the bathtub, scrubbing Rose, who was making a show of being swollen. Okay, we somehow managed to get the little one settled, put him in his own bed, and the three of us started to think about what to do with this thing.

We didn't do anything that night. The next day, Rose didn't want to go to school. She was sitting, scribbling in her notebook, when I came to remind her to pack her books. I couldn't handle it. Aza had a math test and had to leave. She took Shamrock with her. The mattress was still in the bathtub; I spent that night thinking about my younger siblings. Irys didn't go to school. Together, we persuaded Rose to eat something and took her to the counseling center. The psychological one.

"Good morning," smiled the young lady at the front desk. "Are you seeing Dr. X?

" "Yes, he's taking care of us.

" "Name?

" "Welsh. Primrose Welsh.

" "Excellent. Please wait."

We sat with an apathetic Rose for fifteen minutes.

***

Daffodil Welsh – how ironic. But that's my name, and that's how it has to be. We received psychological care when it turned out we were left without the care of a truly adult, not just an adult. On the other hand, I have to practically manage the entire household, five people in total. All from a broken home, without parents, each with their own problems, issues, broken psyche, and apparently broken lives.

"This will haunt you until the end. The fear that someone will abandon you again. Like a father. And that the person closest to you will let you down. Like a mother."

And that's why I can't let them, my sisters, and brother go to foster homes. I dreamed of my mother again. I don't know why that passage about butterflies and love has been haunting me for some time now. She told me this once, a long time ago, what, seven and a half years, maybe, when she was drunk. I shouldn't remember it and take it so seriously. And now I'm sad that I didn't feel butterflies and fall in love, because, honestly, I had no one to fall in love with and I didn't know when.

The windowsill in the clinic. A vase on the windowsill. A few green plants. Actually, I could start a family. On the windowpane, a few traces of summer flies—suicides. On the bench to my left, a long-legged iris; on my right, a fallen rose, and a primrose. And on the windowsill, an artificial daffodil in a red vase.