A Pot to Potion

The fact that the potion existed, that, in and of itself, was not a secret.  What happened to be in it, however, was not openly discussed in polite company.  There had been the occasional murmur of this spice or that, and someone had mentioned an eye of something, but none of the pets had taken to wearing patches and those suggestions were quickly tossed aside.

There were cupboards left open that shed suspicion.  Bottles had been found emptied when everyone knew they had recently held something that someone considered valuable. Scattered backwashes of day-old beer and forgotten drops of rainwater - surely, those made the cut.

A bit of mud was key.  It helped maintain consistency. Mud was a given.

They found cracker leavings in the back seat - the broken fossils of whole wheat Goldfish and the tasty grains of garlic Triscuits, these were among the things that floated.  The buoyancy of the unknown only confirmed that there was much to question.

I sat far from the action in my cell made from glass and watched the morning unfold over a cup of coffee and a needy keyboard.  My curiosity had been sated, not through feeding it, but by the simple default of apathy.  Things needed to be gathered.  Potions needed to be made. I get it.  As long as little hands stayed clear of my coffee we weren't asking and we weren't telling. 

What I don't know usually won't hurt me.

The little boy appeared somewhere on the peripheral. He was alone and gave every indication that he wished to remain that way.  His pants were around his knees and his butt was bare but for the light, red blush left by crisp, cool air.  He leaned against the wall and he waited.

I didn't.  I walked towards him.  Our eyes met.  He pointed at his pants and I noticed that they had been crying.  Or some such.

They were wet- on the outside, as if someone had shaken him at an inopportune moment.  Not that I would know about that sort of thing.

I asked him what had happened.

"The secret..." he whispered.

I thought briefly of my vision board.

"Secret what?" I asked.

"And pull up your pants," I added.

"I have to go poop."

That's not a very interesting secret I thought, and I sent him in for a change of clothes and a sit on the seat.

I know what some of you may be thinking, and it wasn't a fear that I had.  He was happy and playing and the pants pulled low reeked only of mischief not malice.

And pee, of course.

I decided to investigate.

Around the corner in what had previously been my blind spot I noticed our good sauce pan. 

Around the corner in what was clearly visible to anyone that cared to look I noticed a moat of trickling puddle.

And in said sauce pan was a mixture of collected spices and things that float and the warm memory of last weeks rain and the secret ingredient that my son had made.

The magic never looks good on this side of the curtain.

I threw the pan in the trash can and I walked inside. 

The potion ran down the driveway behind me - just another mystery wandering slowly to nowhere in particular.