IRIS
The first snow of the year falls on the anniversary of my arrival in the hollow. It’s not a heavy snow, just enough to leave a dusting of white across the grass and a few pale flakes clinging to Sol’s hair when he comes in from a morning deer hunt.
I’m sitting on the living room floor, leaning back against Lily’s legs while she perches on the couch behind me, artfully arranging my long hair into a braided crown.
Poppy and Zinnia are sitting on either side of her, bickering while Little Women plays on the TV.
It’s the nineties version, with Winona Ryder as Jo, one of the four DVDs we have in the cabin, so it’s on regular rotation along with Elf, Titanic, and Pulp Fiction.
“There she is!” Sol says as he comes in from outside. He bends down to unlace his boots. “Happy anniversary! How does it feel?”
I smile at him. “Not much different, if I’m honest.”
“Fair enough, but it’s a big milestone!” Sol yanks off his boots and puts them neatly by the door. “But today’s about celebration. We can worry about what it all means another day. We’ll talk about it in a Growth Session soon, but there’s no rush. For now, let’s just celebrate you. Sound good?”
I nod, both relieved and disappointed that whatever the next steps are in my journey won’t be laid out before me today.
The only thing the older girls have told me is that, after being here for a year, Sol would give me more responsibility.
That the next phase of my blooming would take place.
They aren’t supposed to say any more than that.
But Sol’s hinted to me that there are some tasks he has planned, ways to test my progress with everything he’s taught me in our Growth Sessions.
The idea of being tested is nerve-wracking, but Sol has assured me he’d never ask me to do anything I wasn’t capable of. Beyond that, he’s stayed pretty quiet on the subject.
Whatever these trials are, it sounds like I won’t be finding out today. So I try to do as Sol suggests and not worry about it too much.
“Where are the others?” Sol asks.
“Rose volunteered to wash the dishes, so she’s in the kitchen,” I say.
It’s actually meant to be my turn to clean up after breakfast, but when Rose heard that, she practically chased me out of the kitchen.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “Everyone’s made it clear this is a big day for you! So I’ll take care of it.”
I tried to protest, but she was having none of it.
And after a few minutes of back and forth, in which I discovered that Rose might be even more stubborn than Violet, I admitted defeat and slinked into the living room, where Lily was already waiting with the brush and a few hair ties scavenged from around the cabin.
“Violet’s in the shower,” Lily says. “Been in there a while, actually.”
Zinnia scowls. “She’s gonna use up all the hot water again.”
Sol places a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll talk to Violet,” he says. “For now, let’s enjoy ourselves, all right?”
Zinnia looks up at him and nods. “Yeah. Sorry, Sol. Sorry, Iris. It ain’t the time to complain.”
“How was the hunt?” Poppy asks. “You get anything?”
“No,” Sol says. “Didn’t spot a single deer.”
We all exchange a look, but no one says what we’re each thinking.
Because there’s no need. We are aware that this is the third unsuccessful hunt this week, and that our supply of deer jerky is running low.
That tonight’s dinner is likely going to have to be small and carefully rationed among the seven of us.
The silence is broken when Lily, ever the encouraging optimist, says, “That’s all right. It’ll go better next time.”
“We’ll make it work,” Sol says with his usual unshakable confidence. “We always do, don’t we?”
It’s true. In the year since Lily brought me to the cabin, we’ve had some rough patches, where food was scarce and the sharp pain of hunger started to pierce our bellies.
But Sol always finds something—an odd job to do or a thing to sell—and one way or another, food ends up on the table. I know this time will be no different.
It’s not long after Lily finishes with my braid that the other girls join us. Rose has pruned hands that smell faintly of dish soap, and Violet’s hair is damp as they both move to sit near the fire.
Violet is a girl made of ice. Everything about her is pale and cold.
Her skin is as white as Rose’s, and her straight, chin-length hair is light blond with undertones that are so cool it almost has a silver sheen.
Her eyes are the same frosty blue as Sol’s but without the kindness.
Where his are gentle, Violet’s are as sharp as icicles.
I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her thin lips curl into a smile. And I’ll still have fingers to spare.
“Good morning, everyone,” Sol says when all of our eyes are on him.
He stands in the middle of the living room—Little Women now muted—and looks around at us with a gleaming smile.
“As you all know, today is a special day for one of our own.” His eyes meet mine, and he reaches a large hand down to where I sit. “Iris?”
I take his hand, feeling each of his calluses as he pulls me to my feet. I let him sling an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.
“Today is a big milestone for Iris. One year of hard work here in our garden is something to be proud of.” He looks down at me then, tucked safely beneath his arm.
“You’ve come such a long way in the last twelve months, Iris.
I’ve seen you make so much progress. And while there are still challenges ahead, I just want you to know that I’m so proud of the young woman you’re becoming. ”
“Thank you,” I say. “I have no idea where I’d be if Lily hadn’t found me and brought me here. Probably nowhere good. You saved me, Sol.”
“Aw, shucks,” he says. “You’re going to make me blush!”
“I mean it, though.” And I do. The words don’t even feel like enough. The gratitude I feel to him, to all the girls here, is immeasurable. Saying I appreciate what he’s done for me is like saying infinity is a big number; technically true but vastly understated.
He chuckles and gives my shoulders a squeeze before letting his arm fall away from me.
“Well, as you know, I don’t believe in traditional gift giving.
Our society puts far too much emphasis on material goods, but you and I both see through all that.
However, I do have something for you. Something of more value than anything that could come in a box. ”
I watch with curiosity as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a folded slip of paper. I open it as soon as he passes it to me, but I don’t expect the words I see written in black ink.
It’s my name. First and last. The name I came here with before Sol called me Iris. I haven’t heard it spoken or seen it written in a year.
I look up at Sol, uncertain of what this means, and find him beaming at me. Shining like the sun he’s named for. “It’s time to burn it,” he says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He gestures to the fireplace and the crackling flames dancing behind Rose and Violet.
“Burn it. Because that’s not you anymore.
The girl who wore that name is gone. She’s been replaced by a wiser and stronger young woman.
You’re Iris now.” He pauses, his smile turning sheepish as he shrugs his shoulders.
“I know it probably seems like a silly, symbolic thing. But symbols have power. So … how about it? Are you ready to say goodbye?”
I look down at the paper again. My eyes trace the familiar, curving letters.
I remember learning to write them when I was little.
Practicing each letter over and over on a sheet of notebook paper until I could string them all together into a real name.
My first successful, legible attempt at writing the name ended up stuck to the refrigerator for a solid year.
Until it got replaced by a spelling test with a big A+ written at the top in red ink.
I feel a lump forming in my throat and the familiar burning of tears in my eyes at the memory.
I’ve heard that name spoken with love, with amusement, with exasperation, with rage, with disappointment. And now not at all.
Sol’s right. That girl, the one who carried this name, is long gone.
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
I shuffle over to the fireplace. Rose and Violet both stand, moving away to make room for me to position myself at the hearth. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I look down at my old name one last time.
I fold the paper up neatly, pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, and then toss it right into the flames.
I hear Lily give a little reassuring cheer followed by Poppy and Zinnia clapping with enthusiasm.
Sol puts his arm around me, while somewhere off to my right I can hear Violet say a dry, “Congratulations.”
And I can feel Rose watching me, but I can’t see her face to know what she’s thinking.
Because my gaze never leaves the fire as I watch the girl I used to be turn to ash.
The attic is empty when I go upstairs to get ready for bed. The snow has begun to fall in earnest, and through the slightly open window I can hear Poppy and Zinnia laughing as they make snow angels while Lily begs them to put on more layers, “Before y’all freeze to death!”
But there are two pieces of paper waiting for me on my pillow. The top sheet is a note, written in pencil.
Iris,
I know we’re not really supposed to give gifts. But I think this is probably okay. And if not, I won’t tell if you won’t. Congrats on your anniversary! Can’t wait until it’s my turn.
—Zinnia
A little heart replaces the dot over the second i in my name, while stars float above the i’s in Zinnia. I laugh to myself as I set the note aside and look at the second sheet of paper.
And I immediately stop laughing.
It’s a stunningly detailed pencil drawing of a girl. Her beautiful long, gently wavy hair blows behind her in a soft breeze as she looks up at what appears to be a full moon. Even in shadow, I recognize the mouth, with its sharply arched Cupid’s bow and the sleepy, down-turned eyes.
Because those are the same eyes that look back at me from the mirror every day.
“What do you have there?”
I’m so transfixed by the drawing that I don’t even hear Rose come in, and it takes me a second to register her question.
“Uh … Zinnia. She made me something.”
“Oh yeah? Can I see?” She plops down on my mattress and leans in to look over my shoulder.
I adjust how I’m holding the paper to give her a better view. But I still don’t really have words.
“Hey, it’s you,” she says. “Wow. Zinnia drew this?”
“Yeah. I knew she liked to sketch, but …”
“She’s good. She even got your eyes right.”
I watch as she reaches out and traces the shape of an eye with her fingertip. I feel that same pleasant tingling in my scalp as I track the movement. I don’t know how to feel about the fact that Rose has thought about my eyes or why it makes my cheeks feel warm.
“It’s a gorgeous drawing,” Rose says as her finger drifts away from the paper. “Definitely the sort of thing you want to hold on to and keep safe.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
Rose stands up and starts to get ready for bed, changing out of the faded jeans and teal sweater that I think once belonged to Violet before they joined the communal collection of clothes we all share now.
I keep my back to her, respectful of her privacy, and focus on carefully tucking the drawing under the mattress, where I know it will be safe.
That night, I dream of a full moon and the ashes of a forgotten name carried off on a cool breeze.