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Oct 7, 2021 23:40
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| # ¿ May 10, 2024 04:27 |
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If you'd like to follow my writing process in real time, here is the link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1TnIWhlxDDkHU2qGJw-_s-F7UNWrNCwJ2YzOFcaCnL3k/edit?usp=drivesdk
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Oct 8, 2021 20:30
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maybe it is 1521 words My dead wife is not happy with me. At all. I’m glad I at least used the old hand mirror to summon her because she keeps trying to walk out of frame and dissipate. Fortunately, I was smart enough to also close all the doors. “Stop turning the glass,” Nia snaps. She crosses her arms and glares at me through the reflection. “Let me go!” “Honey,” I say. “Honey. Honey. Please. I need your help here.” “You need to listen to me. You needed to listen to me. I told you not to invade Channing’s dreams. I told you to give her space. I just died! That’s going to be traumatic for anyone! Let alone a teenage girl. Let alone a teenage girl with my heritage whose powers still haven’t kicked in and is undoubtedly worried that they never will and who I am one hundred percent confident would like to talk to her mother. I told you to take her to a loving therapist!” “But... you’re a witch?” I say. “You don’t believe in therapy.” Nia presses her translucent palms against her eyes. “Ryan,” she says. “That’s like saying I don’t believe in the moon. That I don’t think birds are real. That, I don’t know, loving magnets are magical. It’s a profession and it’s helpful. It’s not a loving prayer request at white woman’s Baptist Bible study group.” Her reflection sits down on the bed. She sighs. “If you’re going to trap me in this conversation, can you at least light a cigarette for me?” “Yeah,” I say. “Sure.” I open her old pack and place one between my lips. I have to inhale to get it to light and I end up coughing. I never understood the appeal. I hold it out in the air and watch the mirror as she takes a deep drag. “Thanks.” “Yeah,” I say. “Sure. How’s, uh, how’s being dead?” “I don’t know. Fine, I guess. Your mom found me somehow. Says, ‘hi.’ Wanted to know if you became a doctor.” “What did you tell her?” “I lied, of course. You’re welcome.” “Thank you.” “You can come clean with her on your own when you cross over. Just don’t bring me into it. That bitch is loving crazy.” I laugh. “You’re not wrong.” The cigarette burns quickly as she smokes. I can smell it. Even if I can’t see it. We sit in silence. When the first one dies, I light another. Nia wipes a tear from her eye. “Did I,” she asks, “or did I not specifically tell you to not enter her dreams?” “You did,” I say. “But… she’s so distant. She’s totally shut down. She’s totally shut me out. She won’t talk to me. She barely comes out of her room. I didn’t know what to do!” “So you, what, thought you should engage with her subconscious? What the gently caress did you even see in there?” “Well,” I say. “I, uh.” I take a deep breath. “She was… she was having a threesome with two guys. I think they were on the baseball team at her school. I’m not totally sure. You know how dreams are.” Nia just stares at me. “Un-loving-believable,” she says. “I know, right? She’s only fifteen. Like, how do I even approach that conversation?” “No,” she says. “Ryan, shut the gently caress up.” “But-” “Shut the gently caress up. That’s why you don’t go into dreams. You see weird poo poo that you shouldn’t see and is, ultimately, mostly loving meaningless.” She exhales. “I mean, I don’t care what she does anyway. As long as she’s safe. Make sure her birth control is getting refilled on time.” Nia purses her lips. “Oh, relatedly, a seer friend of mine over here says polyamory is about to come back in a big way so have fun with that. You and your stupid Southern conservative upbringing, gently caress me. I still have no idea how you seduced me.” I shrug. “Just good ol’ fashioned romance, I guess.” “I guess,” she says. “How quickly did she notice you?” “Pretty much immediately.” “And she woke up and saw you standing over her bed?” “Yup.” “What did you say? About knowing how to do that?” “I told her that you broke the rules. That you taught me the ritual when she was a baby. To help sooth her when you were exhausted.” Nia nods. “Does she know you can summon me?” I shake my head. “Good. Good. I know she wants to talk to me but… poo poo… if we do it now, before she gets her powers, it’ll gently caress up the connection. You’ll always have to be conduit.” “I’m aware,” I say. “I didn’t tell her.” “I should have taught her the ritual. I just... I thought we had more time, you know? And it’s better, stronger, if she does it the right way. Ritual poo poo is weak. I thought we had more time.” “You couldn’t have known you were going to have an aneurysm,” I say. Nia starts crying. I desperately wish I could hold her. Comfort her. Kiss her. But all I can do is watch. After a moment, she wipes her face with her hands. She motions for me to light another cigarette and I do. “What if she doesn’t get powers?” I ask. “She’ll get powers.” “What if she doesn’t?” “She will. It just takes time. It’s different for everyone. It’s normally around puberty. I mean, I happened to be ten but my sister didn’t get hers until she was twenty-two. My great-aunt until she was almost forty.” “Your grandmother didn’t get them at all.” “We don’t know that for sure,” Nia says. “She converted to Catholicism. You know how they are.” “What if she doesn’t, though?” Nia shrugs. “I don’t know. Can I go, please? I’m getting tired.” “Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Just… please… tell me what to do. I hosed up.” “I already told you,” she says. “Take Channing to a therapist.” “Like.. a… witch therapist? How- how would I even find one of those?” “ Just a normal loving human therapist. Specifically one that deals with trauma in adolescents. If you took her to a witch and she tells her that you know how to do rituals, even something as mind-bogglingly stupid as dream hopping, her coven will literally dismember you. And if you think I’m going to spend even one loving minute of my afterlife sewing your body back together you are dead loving wrong.” Nia pauses. “I mean, I would. Eventually. But I’d let you lie like that for a long time.” “Deservedly so,” I say. She smiles. “Can I go now?” “Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry. I love you.” Nia rolls her eyes. “I love you, too.” I put my hand over the small mirror. When I pull it back, my wife is gone. *** Channing is silent when she gets into the car. “So,” I say. “How did it go? Did you like her? What did you talk about?” She puts her head against the window and doesn’t respond. “Right. Therapy. Personal. Forget I said anything.” We don’t speak as I drive home. “Are you hungry?” I ask. Channing shakes her head. “Do you want to get something to eat? Fast food? McDonald’s?” She doesn’t look at. But she does speak! “Mom said McDonald’s serves literal garbage and, as a corporation, is partially responsible for the destruction of our planet.” “Yeah,” I say. “It’s somehow really gross and really, really good at the same time.” “Mom would hate it.” “Yeah, well, Mom’s also dead.” Channing laughs. “That’s hella dark, Dad.” “Mhm.” She runs her tongue over her teeth. “Have you ever had a McGriddle?” I say. “It’s like a sausage biscuit but between these greasy pancakes. You’ll love it and you’ll hate it. It’s amazing. And disgusting. You have to try it. You want to try it?” She shrugs. “Okay?” “Okay, Dad. Fine. Whatever.” We sit in silence in the tiny orange booth. Neither one of us saying a word. On the way home, she finally speaks up again. “You were right,” she says. “I loved it and I hated it.” I nod. That night, as I’m walking to my bedroom, I pass her open door. She’s sitting criss-cross in the dark, surrounded by candles, her makeup mirror on the floor in front of her. And she’s talking to my wife. Her mom. “I just miss you a lot,” she says. “It’s been really hard.” She stops when notices me. I give her a weak wave. “They come?” I ask. “Your powers?” She shakes her head. “My therapist told me it was okay to pretend like I was having a conversation with her. That it would help. Just to, like, get my thoughts out of my head.” “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Channing shrugs. She bites her thumb nail. Then she pats the floor beside her. “Do you… do you want to say hi to Mom?” I step inside and get down on my knees in front of the mirror. There’s a slight, ever-so-slight, ever so subtle ripple in the air behind us. So small I’m not even sure that it’s real. But… well… maybe it is. Maybe it is. “Hi, honey,” I say. “I miss you.” Channing waves. “We love you, Mom.”
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Oct 9, 2021 03:56
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