Stagmother

Marilyn clutched the yellow charm as she waited for the next bus. She’d heard wonderful things about these healers. It was rare to hear criticism of any kind, but one learned to parse the language. People seemed genuinely satisfied with their services. She’d been to four other healers in the last two years. All perfectly capable, she trusted, but none able to cure Marilyn. They’d each come to the conclusion that she would simply have to shrink her antlers if she was to make any progress with her health, and they couldn’t do that for her. She had to do it for herself.

Only, Marilyn knew that her antlers weren’t the problem. They’d been roughly the same size for the last fifteen years. Her health problems had only started two and a half years ago. When they did shrink an inch or so last fall, she had no relief whatsoever from her ailments, and when they regrew, it didn’t come with any new or worsening symptoms. The healers she visited previously must not have seen a case like hers before. Her odds were better now. This clinic saw so many patients, it had taken six months just to get an appointment with them.

The bus came to a stop in front of her. Marilyn put away her phone and fished out her wallet as she stepped up- or, tried to step up. She came to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Her antlers wouldn’t let her through.

Marilyn blushed. She normally kept a keen eye on the space around her. She pulled back and turned her head, trying a few different angles, but the unusually narrow doorframe caught her antlers each time.

The bus driver looked on with pity and not a little panic. He wanted badly to help her out, but there was nothing he could do. Many city buses had been upgraded to be more accommodating, but plenty of the old models were still in circulation. He’d heard of this sort of thing happening. He’d never wanted to see it.

“I’m sorry,” Marilyn said at last, taking a step back. “Is there anything that can be done?”

At a loss, the driver shook his head. How big were her antlers, exactly? He was sure he’d never seen anything like them. “Has this happened to you before?”

Marilyn pushed past this question. “Do you know when the next one will be along?”

“Half an hour,” he answered.

Marilyn couldn’t ignore the passengers staring down at her. She took careful note of a young girl with larger than average antlers peering through the window in abject horror. Marilyn guessed, correctly, that the girl was imagining this happening to her one day.

“Thank you so much,” Marilyn rallied, wanting to set a good example for her. “I’ll walk! It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am.” He felt proud of her effort. “You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” She waited for the bus to round a corner before blotting her eyes on her sleeve. The little girl had seemed somewhat put at ease. Surely she wouldn’t ever have to go through what Marilyn went through— the city would continue retiring and replacing these old buses, and anyway, a child her age would be learning how to shrink her antlers any day now.

She retreated to the bus stop bench. Walking wouldn’t get her to the appointment on time, and even if she managed to fit on the next bus, she was still looking at arriving at least twenty minutes late. The clinic had strict rules about punctuality. She took out her phone and called their front desk.

“Good morning,” a sweet voice answered, “you’ve reached the Schoenberg Healing Clinic. This is Julienne speaking.”

“Good morning, Julienne. I have an appointment this morning, but I… ran into some trouble, and it looks like I’m going to be late.”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. But I won’t be able to make it on time.”

“First, let’s pull up your file.” The healer’s assistant asked for Marilyn's information, which she provided while standing and walking in the direction of the clinic. It would be faster, if only just.

“Here we are. You’re with Healer VanGaalen.”

“That’s right.”

“Ze’s very busy. You were warned that we can’t guarantee your place in line if you’re late, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I didn’t mean to be. It’s sometimes difficult, you see… That is, it can be challenging to get around.”

“How so?”

Marilyn felt something wet trickling down her neck. “My antlers, I mean.”

“Yes, I see you have a significantly large pair. I still don’t follow.”

“I couldn’t get through the bus door.” She wiped her neck and checked her fingers. Marilyn couldn’t remember getting a scratch. Where was the blood from?

The assistant asked briskly, “How late do you think you’ll be?”

“About twenty minutes,” Marilyn replied, trying to sound neither too desperate nor too nonchalant.

The assistant sucked in a breath. “We have a very delicate schedule here. A few minutes is always understandable, of course, but with anything over fifteen minutes, we almost always have to reschedule. Yes, no, I’m afraid we can’t accommodate that today.”

“Is there anything I can do?” She picked up the pace, but even at a dead sprint, she would never get there on time.

“Well— I’m looking through the day. It seems another healer just had an appointment cancelled for twelve fifteen this afternoon. The goddess must love you,” the assistant added.

“I’ll take it.” Otherwise, she would most likely have to wait another six months.

“All right.” Marilyn heard the sound of typing. “You’ll be seeing Healer Felton. And you watched the educational video?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.” The assistant went quiet for too long. Marilyn sensed what was coming. “I’d like to offer you some personal advice, Miss.”

Marilyn pressed her lips shut. She had the appointment. Nothing else mattered.

“I see in your file that you’ve struggled for a long time with antler growth. You know, the more you think of others, the easier it is to see real progress.”

“Of course,” Marilyn agreed pleasantly.

“I’m only saying this because it seems like you need to learn. This morning, for instance— well, you must be used to this kind of thing happening, right? With how long you’ve been at this size. It can’t be the first time a door wasn’t big enough for you. So, for next time, just think ahead. Leave a little earlier to account for that. Remember how it impacts other people when you’re running late. It’s easy, see?”

“Thank you,” Marilyn answered. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better in the future.”

“I’m sure you will, dear.” The assistant hung up.

She’d wanted to leave earlier, but Marilyn needed to wait for the clinic’s charm to arrive. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t get on their bad side this early. The assistant might decide that Marilyn was too difficult to work with and couldn’t be helped. People were quick to label her that way. In fact, they did so without realizing it, and rather than striving to make a good impression, Marilyn often found she had to spend most of her energy fixing the impression she’d already made by no choice of her own.

But she had the appointment. That was what mattered.

Marilyn checked the time. If she went into work now, she’d only be able to stay for about an hour before needing to leave again. The clinic might never let her reschedule if she ran late again. She took three steadying breaths and called her manager.

“Leland,” he answered.

“Good morning. It’s Marilyn.”

“On your way early?”

If the slight increase in her pace hadn’t already raised her heart rate to an unreasonable degree, Marilyn might have reconsidered even going to the Healer. It couldn’t be helped. She switched her phone to her other ear and used the few seconds it gained her to plead for courage.

“I ran into some trouble, and I had to do some rescheduling today. I’m sorry. I won’t be able to come in this morning. But I can be in by two.”

“Ah, Marilyn,” he sighed. “Look. I know things aren’t easy for you. We’ve already made so many accommodations.” In truth, they’d made none. The fact of the matter was, when the other employees took sick time, it was seen as simply part of their benefits; when Marilyn did the same, it became an accommodation. “We want to see you do well, of course.”

“I know. I really appreciate that.”

“Have you ever considered that this might be part of your, you know, problem?”

A songbird perched on Marilyn's left antler. Two others flew to her right antler. She focused on their pleasant chatter. The birds always approached her first.

“I’m sorry to ask for more time, Leland,” Marilyn said.

“Now, that’s exactly what I mean. It can’t be a net positive, can it? Asking other people for so much all the time? Look, it’s just something to think about. I’ll let the others know you’ll be late. See you when you get in.”

“Ok. Thank you.” She hung up and let the dizzy tide of emotions wash in, over, and away from her. She would get to her appointment. She would go in to work after, and do her best to make up for lost time. She would feel better soon, soon, soon.

Up ahead, a squirrel scurried along a tree with a seed in his mouth. He positioned himself just so. Marilyn recognized his body language and slowed her walk as she passed the tree; he leapt onto her shoulder and got to work on his seed there.

She felt a low hum in her antlers. It translated into something like worry and comfort combined, though Marilyn wasn’t sure how she knew that. She took out a small red notebook bound with twine, and she added to an ever growing list: antlers hum? If she didn’t remember to bring up a symptom until later, the healers assumed it was one that didn’t bother her much- not worth worrying over.

Marilyn maintained hope there was a secret, specific order and combination of symptoms she might discover that would spark recognition or at least interest from the healers. If she could only work out the code, they would finally understand that something wasn’t right, and they would help her fix it.

A white Persian cat with piercing green eyes slid out from a hedge several feet in front of her. The cat trotted up to Marilyn and rubbed her legs repeatedly, then positioned himself to calibrate a jump. Marilyn held her arms open. The cat sprang into them and cuddled her cheek on the side opposite the squirrel, purring.

The animals never fought when they were with her. Often they simply ignored one another; sometimes, they groomed or otherwise comforted each other.

“Dad!” A little boy stood pointing on his front porch. “Dad look!”

His father glanced up from his gardening and followed the boy’s finger to Marilyn.

“Look how much the animals love her.” It took every ounce of his six year old will to keep from running over to Marilyn.

His father laughed. “Of course the animals love her. She practically is one!”

Marilyn hugged the cat close as the father and son shared a belly laugh. Their own antlers were modest, so they couldn’t have meant anything bad by it. She liked animals. She’d have loved to be one. Maybe it was even a compliment, if you looked it that way.

She needed to consider her next move. Heading straight for the healers would get her there three hours early. They might assume she was trying to push her way in early and rebuke her.

Her next phone call eased the tension from her shoulders. “Penn!”

“Mariiiiiiiiiii!” Penn shouted so loud she held the phone away from her ear for the duration.

“How are you?”

“All right,” they answered. “I’m behind on my commissions, but too much work is a good problem to have.”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Yeah! How are you?”

Marilyn scratched the Persian cat’s chin. “I made some new friends.”

“Ooh, what do we have this time? Furry, scaly, or feathered?”

“No scales yet, but the day is young. Have you seen a white cat with green eyes around your neighborhood?”

“Mmm, I think I have…” Penn slapped their desk hard enough to be audible through the phone. “WAIT. Are you in my neighborhood right now?”

“I am.”

“I thought you had a doctor’s appointment?”

“It’s a long story. Actually, I have a couple of hours to kill. But I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“Come over! I’m putting on a pot of tea right now.”

Marilyn smiled. “You sure?”

“Positive. I’ve been working nonstop for five hours.” She could hear them tearing through their cabinets, doors slamming and cups clinking. “My hands are dying. You’re saving my life right now.”

“Ok. I’m about five minutes away.”

Penn made a half squealing, half cheering sound. “Door’s unlocked! Come right in when you get here.”

Animals came and left as Marilyn walked along. The cat retreated home at the end of the block; birds flitted around her antlers; the squirrel ran off in search of more food; a coyote came to her for a few head scratches, then slipped away between the houses; people stared. They always stared.

Marilyn gave the last of the birds a moment to fly off before stepping into Penn’s apartment. She tripped over her left foot and caught her antlers on the door frame, scraping them loudly.

From the back, Penn called, “Marilyn?”

“It’s me!” She locked the door behind her and slid her shoes off.

“I’m in the kitchen.”

And so they were, pouring cookies from a tin to a saucer set on the table between two steaming teacups. The teacups, like the rest of Penn’s modest, tidy kitchen, were pink and green with gold flourishes.

“Peppermint,” Penn said. Marilyn's favorite tea.

“You don’t know how badly I needed this.” She took a seat and folded her hands around the warm ceramic, leaning in for a deep breath of perfectly steeped tea.

“But I do know how much you deserve good things that make you happy.” Penn planted themself across the table and started doling out teaspoons of honey. “How are you feeling?”

“Like you’re the best friend anyone could ask for, and I’m the luckiest person in the world.”

Penn blushed a little- not from embarrassment, but from the rush of joy they got hearing this.

Marilyn always adored Penn’s blushing. Their antlers had grown over the past couple of years, however, and with that came extra scrutiny. She worried that Penn would one day grow self-conscious of their wonderful glow.

She’d just have to love them too much for that to happen.

“You look so cute today! I love your sweater,” Marilyn said.

“Thank you! I made it! Look!” Penn stood up and shoved their hands into deep pockets on the sweater’s sides. In their excitement, they knocked out a pencil and a thin, dry paintbrush.

“Amazing! Did you get the pockets enchanted?”

“Nah,” Penn giggled, giddy with pride. “That’s a pretty good idea for the next one, though.” They plopped down in their seat and did a double take at Marilyn. “What happened?”

She remembered the blood on her neck. “I was rushing around this morning.”

“Let’s clean you up,” Penn said as they hurried to the bathroom.

“I don’t even remember what I did.”

Penn returned with a damp washcloth, bandages, disinfectant, and a look of concern. “Oh, Marilyn. You really don’t remember what happened?”

“No, why?”

Giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, Penn set their supplies down and lifted a small crescent moon mirror off the wall. They handed it to Marilyn.

Marilyn held it out to see herself while Penn dabbed at her neck with the warm washcloth. Her shoulder was speckled with browning spots, and a thin streak of fresh blood ran from her hairline down to her collarbone. She shifted, tracing the path with her eyes until she found its source: her antlers. A strip of velvet hung from the lowest prong on her left side.

“It’s so red,” she whispered. “I hit it on the doorframe coming in, but that shouldn’t have…”

“It really doesn’t hurt?”

Still watching her reflection, Marilyn reached up and brushed the bloody prong with one finger. “Is it worse if it doesn’t hurt?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Penn whispered as they wrapped Marilyn in their careful arms. “It’ll be ok.” They willed this as they repeated it a few times more.

“It could help me.”

Penn drew back to hear her out. Marilyn explained, “My appointment with the healers today. They’ll see something’s wrong. They can’t ignore this.”

“Yes.” Penn blotted the blood from Marilyn's antler, watching her for signs of pain. “Maybe they’ll know what it is now.”

“They’ll have to. All my other symptoms are so vague, they could mean anything. But have you ever seen this before?”

Penn’s eyes watered and they shook their head.

“I’ll get some kind of answer today. I know it.” Marilyn finally treated herself to a drink, letting a sad but comfortable silence settle over them as Penn wrapped the exposed prong and its shedding velvet in gauze.

“You must be so tired,” they said at length.

“I think I could sleep for a month.”

“How about an hour?”

Marilyn's face broke into a deep smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Couch, bed, or beanbag?”

“Beanbag.”

Penn secured the gauze, squeezed Marilyn's shoulders, and said, “Bring your tea. I’ll bring the cookies.”

Marilyn and Penn made their way to the living room, where she pulled a beanbag the size of a small bed out of the corner while Penn plugged in the string lights hung in rows across the ceiling. Turning out the main light, Penn grabbed a throw from the back of the sofa and settled into the beanbag with Marilyn.

“Read you a story?” Penn offered.

“Let’s get back to our old friend Morris.” Marilyn produced a slim, glossy booklet from an inner pocket of her cardigan and handed it over to a squealing Penn. She pulled the blanket up to her shoulder, nestling her head into the beanbag at just the right angle to keep her antlers from poking it.

“A new edition!”

“It came in the mail last week along with my appointment reminder,” Marilyn reported, her voice already weighed down by the pull of sleep.

“Ooh, it looks like the intro has been updated. We’ll start from the beginning, then.” Penn cleared their throat and read aloud:

Hello. I’m Morris.

I want to start by saying that I’m not a certified life coach. I’m not a professional writer or a doctor, either. I’m just an ordinary person who’s trying his best to get by.

You see, I know what it’s like. I, too, have struggled to seem like someone who is functioning on even the most basic levels. In recent years, I’ve crafted many invaluable techniques to that end. Techniques that have helped me to appear to become a healthy, stable, and self-actualized person. Techniques that I want to share with you. I’ve written a simple and effective guide, free of judgment, so that you, too, can make it to the end of each and every day.

It is my hope that after reading this guide, you will join me in the lukewarm light of optimism. As anyone who has subsisted on the cold comfort of shadows and regrets will tell you, it is relatively glorious.

Penn gave an earnest, drawn out performance, only breaking character with a restrained laugh on the last line. They lowered the booklet and said, “I can’t believe they keep getting away with this. I mean, it’s funny, so it can’t be negative, right? But I’m shocked this hasn’t been confiscated.”

Marilyn didn’t answer. She had fallen into a deep sleep somewhere in the third paragraph. Penn studied the gauze on her antler and said a small prayer to the goddess for their friend, hoping the desperation that seeped in wouldn’t count against them. Was desperation negative, they wondered? It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t feel wrong, either. They closed their eyes and repeated their prayer.

***

The goddess listened well to all who prayed to her. Sometimes she did it to soothe her anger, sometimes to remember that anger. In rare cases, such as Penn’s prayer, she did both at once.

Her children had forgotten her. Though they spoke of the Stagmother often- sang songs to her, painted, sculpted, wrote of her, and yes, prayed to her at every hour- they would not recognize her if she appeared before them.

When she appeared before them.