My mother grew berries in our backyard.

She grew mostly blueberries and raspberries. The raspberries started as tiny hard green blobs, then would expand and darken in color. Those were my favorites. When they were ripe, you could pluck them right off the bush with no effort at all.

The blueberries would ripen a month after the raspberries. They would start out pale, then get fat and turn blue. The blueberries tasted good, but I avoided them. Because of the nightshade.

My mother grew deadly nightshade in our backyard.

The name of the plant is atropa belladonna. It’s part of the nightshade family, generally found in Europe, North Africa, and western Asia. But you can find it in some parts of America too.

Belladonna berries look very much like blueberries. They’re shiny black, about half an inch in size, and they’re sweet.

The berries are highly toxic. They cause delirium and hallucinations, and they disrupt the body’s ability to regulate sweating, heart rate, and breathing. Eventually, seizures and cardiovascular failure will occur. Early humans made poisonous arrows using belladonna. In an adult, fifteen to twenty berries are enough to kill you. A child could die from two or three.

My mother grew the deadly nightshade because she wanted to discourage anyone from sneaking into our backyard and stealing berries. She secretly hoped to find a child lying dead in the backyard, a handful of berries clutched in their hand.

When I was in the backyard, I could tell the difference. I knew what the plant looked like. But in a bowl, belladonna and blueberries look almost identical.

When I was about seven years old, my dad returned from a business trip to Chicago in the early hours of Sunday morning. My mom always spent forever getting dressed up when he was returning from a trip—she was in a pink sundress and her white-blond hair was all loose and curled

instead of limp and oily. When she made an effort, my mother could be very beautiful.

We spent ages cleaning the house top to bottom. My fingers ached from scrubbing and my eyes still burned from the cleaning fluid fumes. She even spent twenty minutes brushing our cat Snowball until her white fur was gleaming. Snowball looked better than I did, but that was often the case.

The three of us were waiting at the front door when my dad walked in with his luggage, slight circles under his brown eyes. “What a greeting!” he exclaimed. He had a big, loud voice and a bigger smile. It made everyone like him. He was a good salesman.

My mother smiled at him with her bright red painted lips. “And I made you a big breakfast of bacon and eggs.”

“I can’t wait!”

But instead of following my mom into the kitchen like she wanted, he started rifling around in his bag. She frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Come on, John. The food will be cold.”

“Hang on.” He dug around for another few seconds, then pulled out a Bulls baseball cap. The angry red bull stared at me from the jet black cap. “Here you go, sport.”

My dad traveled a lot, and for every city he went to, he brought me back a baseball hat. I had a big collection now. I took the cap and stuck it on my head. “Wow! Thanks!”

“And I got some other stuff for you,” he said.

“John.” My mother’s voice was tight. “Why don’t we do this after we eat?”

“It’ll just be a minute, Helen.”

It was great when he brought me back stuff from his trip. It didn’t make up for not seeing him for days or even a week at a time, but it was something to look forward to. My mom didn’t like it though. She stormed off while he gave me my presents.

It was a few minutes later when we got to the kitchen table. My father’s eggs and bacon were laid out on a white ceramic plate with a heaping glass of orange juice. And there was also a bowl of cereal on the table that hadn’t been there before.

My mother beamed at us. “I made breakfast for both of you.”

I sat down in front of the bowl of cereal. It was corn flakes, like I had for breakfast most days, but usually I made it myself. My mom never offered to make me breakfast before, but today she had done it without being asked. I looked down at the bowl—she had poured in too much milk and the cornflakes would be soggy. She had also sprinkled in a handful of berries.

“I put in some blueberries from the garden,” she said.

I pulled the Bulls cap low on my forehead as I stared down at the bowl of cereal. The berries were dark blue. They looked like blueberries.

I pushed the berries around the bowl with my spoon. My mom watched me. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating?”

My dad was already digging into his plate of food. “Eat up, sport. It’s good for you.”

I pushed my spoon around a little more until one of the berries rolled right out of my bowl. It teetered on the edge of the table then finally dropped to the floor. Within a second, Snowball was nosing at the berry. She sniffed at it and her little pink tongue was poised to take a lick.

“No!” my mother snapped at the cat. Quick as a flash, she scooped the berry up before Snowball could attempt to eat it. “Bad cat. That’s not for cats.”

My mother loved Snowball. She stroked the cat’s white fur gently. She would never let anything happen to Snowball.

Snowball was not allowed to eat the berries.

I took a bite of cornflakes, carefully avoiding the berries. Some of the juice leaked into the milk, but just a tiny amount. I took another bite of cornflakes.

I ate most of the cornflakes, leaving the berries behind. As I pushed my plate away, my mom frowned. “Why didn’t you eat the blueberries?”

“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled.

“Fruit is good for you,” she said. “You have to eat it.”

My dad nodded. He had no idea. “Your mother is right. Eat the blueberries.”

I looked up at my mom. She had a smile on her lips just for me. When she looked at me that way, I got scared. She told me once that she never wanted to have me. My dad’s condom broke. I was a mistake. People correct mistakes.

I pressed my lips closed, afraid if I opened them somebody would stuff deadly nightshade inside.

“Listen,” my father said, “if you don’t do what your mother says and finish your breakfast, I’m taking the baseball hat back.”

I wanted to tell him the truth—the berries were poison. But he wouldn’t believe it. And I would be in even worse trouble.

So I took off the Bulls hat and threw it on the table. Then I ran up to my room.

I got in trouble that day. But I didn’t die.

Thanks to my mom, I know everything there is to know about poison berries.