Writing Prompt: Mushrooms

"If it's a fungus, how come it doesn't have a smell?"

Margot fingered the mushroom from the stem and sniffed it for the millionth time. She held it up to the sunlight and peered under the white curved head as if staring at it would set the funk free. Holding it up over her head like that reminded me of the clown we saw on that TV show who tried to shield himself from a downpour with the tiniest umbrella. The thought of it made me burst out laughing, clutching my stomach and gasping for air. Of course, Little Miss Sensitive took offense to my antics. She whined that I was making fun of her for asking a stupid question then threw the mushroom at my head. It landed in a thud at her feet–exactly what happened to that poor clown–which made me laugh even harder. As the baby of the family Margot thought everything was all about her. When she began to pout, I straightened up. We were having fun outside being together in the garden, trying to get along for Mom's sake.

"It's a different kind of fungus," I explained. "Not like Joe's athlete's foot that grows because he doesn't change his stinky sweaty socks or that gross stuff living in the nasty showers up at Camp Winnatonka. Most mushrooms are edible."

"Edible? What's that?"

"It means they are fit for human consumption, or in words that a fifth grader would understand, it means you can eat them."

"Oh I get it," Margot said "If mushrooms had a bad smell, we wouldn't eat them."

"Exactly."

Margot picked up another mushroom from the ground, twirled it between her fingers, sniffed at it, peered under the brim and then set it back down.

"So cancer must be a fungus like mushrooms. If it had a smell, maybe Mom would have known it was there."

I pulled my little sister close to me and said, "Maybe, Margot. Maybe."