Love and Magick, A Short Story Double Feature

by Andrew Michael Schwarz

  I fell into a deep depression and stayed there all weekend. I drank some, but more I just lay there, thinking. I thought about my whole life and how my failures had led me to this moment.

  I stayed like that all weekend long. Until Sunday night at eleven p.m.

  “Where is that thing?”

  Without really admitting to myself what I was doing, I milled through the various closets and cabinets, overturning boxes and upsetting shelves until I found it. I pulled it from its container and swept up the card that had dropped to the floor. "Once in a Blue Moon Monday," I read out loud, "when you wish for nothing more to do, touch the silken dragon and say a prayer for...yeah, yeah. This is stupid."

  And then I did it. I wished for it. I wished for the Blue Moon Monday until the picture of myself doing it struck me and I felt like a dupe. I flung it away and watched as the silk fluttered to the floor.

  The next morning I awoke and didn't notice the silken dragon face when I stepped over it on my way to the shower. I tightened my tie and pulled on my suite. My car purred when I turned the key and I arrived at the office.

  No one there, as usual. I was always the first to arrive. I used to pride myself on it. Now I despised myself for it.

  I began to work.

  Two hours passed when I realized, at ten to nine, that I was still the only one there. I emerged from my cubicle to find other empty cubicles. I visited the lunchroom to find empty coffee pots. I peered into every corporate nook. Nobody there. And just as I was about to pick up the phone and call my supervisor, I noticed an emailed memorandum from Friday. It had been sent to everyone.

  We will be closed this coming Monday in observance of Memorial Day.

  Somehow I had totally missed this. I went back to my seat and stared at the powder blue partition.

  Did the Blue Moon Monday just work? Then I laughed ridicule at myself. Did the Blue Moon Monday work? No, you idiot. It's a holiday!

  I left the office.

  The sun had not yet come through the clouds and it was doubtful if it would. I decided I would go to the beach and take a walk.

  Crashing waves and cold sand.

  I left the beach and began walking through town. There were plenty of crowds despite the weather. I wandered about aimlessly, pointlessly. I sat for a while and remembered my distress. I began to feel sorry for myself when I heard a voice.

  ”Excuse me, do you know which one goes to Heisler Park?" It was a woman, probably in her late twenties.

  "Ah, yes, I do," I said. She was pretty, but there was something odd. "You just go down the Pacific Coast Highway to Myrtle and--" She just stared at me. "You want directions, right?"

  "I was hoping you would know which bus line." She nodded to the bus stop sign next to me. "I thought it was the Eighty-Nine, but now I'm not sure."

  "Oh." I hadn't realized I was sitting so near a stop. "I don't know about that." I felt awkward but wanted to help her. Her eyes were wonderfully green and her skin a pretty, pale white. But she seemed frail and weak, contrasted by her eyes and the bright, floral wrap around her head. "I don't take the bus."

  She nodded and fidgeted with her bus pass. "I'm sorry to bother you."

  "No, it—it’s okay. Look if you want I'll give you a ride."

  She paused. "No, no I couldn't ask you --"

  "You didn’t ask. I offered. Let me take you."

  "Oh, okay then." She held out her hand. "I'm Jasmine."

  "Steven."

  Inside my car I noticed how the seat seemed to swallow her up. She was so thin under her dress.

  “You from around here?” she asked.

  “Kind of. Not really. I just had the day off.”

  “Oh me too,” she said.

  “You've been to Heisler Park before?”

  “Yes, years ago. One of my favorite places."

  “Me too.”

  “Really?”

  “No, actually, really.”

  The conversation came easy. The whole world seemed to agree between us. A “Hey that’s my favorite song?” was followed up with, “I saw them in concert” or, “I’ve never been to Spain” found the rejoinder of “I’ve always wanted to go!” Back and forth, we found common ground.

  Heisler Park with its palm trees and vast ocean views, offered us the best place to spend in each other’s company. The sun decided to show itself and made our day that much longer.

  Her frail demeanor utterly betrayed her beauty, which she possessed in abundance. I wondered what was wrong with her. After several hours I decided I could ask. At first I thought I had made her uncomfortable, but she just smiled and looked at me with those big, green eyes and said one word: "Leukemia".

  It was eating her alive.

  Finally, the night came as was inevitable.

  "I have to go." She said, "Can you take me?"

  "Of course. Where?"

  "The hospital."

  I felt a sudden rush of anxiety. I hadn't considered that she was an inpatient.

  "You live in the hospital?" I asked. "Won't they be wondering where you've been?"

  "No. It’s okay--honestly." She smiled and grabbed my hand. Her fingers curled inside mine. Her touch was warm, gentle. We walked, holding each other.

  An hour later I pulled in front of the hospital and parked the car.

  "Thank you for today," she said. "I wasn't expecting it."

  "You’re welcome and…neither was I. Look, you'd better go." I was feeling anxious about keeping her out. She was sick.

  "When will I see you again?" She asked, beautiful green eyes staring into mine.

  I hesitated. As much as I wanted to see her again, I knew I could never commit to anything. Not because of her, but because of me. "Jasmine, I don't know. I can't--"

  "I understand," she said. "I'd better go. Thank you again Steven. It meant a lot to me." She grabbed my hand and squeezed and then disappeared into white hallways.

  I sighed and went home.

  The following week was torture, but somehow I made it through. My despair and dismal state of mind was alleviated only because of the day I'd spent with Jasmine.

  I was changing. I appeared the same and pretended well, but felt as though something inside of me was about to burst and when it did I would…lose control, go insane. I didn’t know. And I wasn’t sure if that was fear I felt, or excitement.

  Not one day--no, not one hour, passed that I didn't think of Jasmine. But with the thought of her came the hopelessness that was the crux of her circumstance: she was dying, maybe already dead.

  What was the use?

  I lay there one Sunday night when that feeling crept over me: a total resistance to Monday. I pushed it aside, but just as I did, I remembered Jasmine's big, green eyes, her smile and the warmth of her touch. I toyed with the idea of seeing her again. I had imagined it a thousand times since we'd met and yet not until now did it seem to me that I might actually do it.

  I was going to do it.

  Suddenly I had to see her. Just like last time. I had to be with her. And so as unbelievable as it sounds, I without thought, but with full comprehension, pulled the Blue Moon Monday from its confinement.

  I fondled the fabric. I read the card and felt stupid all over again. A hoax? I didn't care. A fool? Yes. And then, just as I had done before, I wished for the Blue Moon Monday--over and over again I wished. And then I thought of Jasmine, her green eyes and white skin, her warm touch and beautiful smile.

  ***

  "You might as well go home," Anderson said the next morning.

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure. I.T. says it will be at least a day before they can get you back on line. It's just a glitch that seems to only be interested in your unit's machines."

  Of course, I was the only one in my unit.

  "Well," I said, "maybe I can use a…forget it."

  "Yeah, what's the difference? It's not like you won't get paid. Besides, when was the last time you had a day off?"

  As I drove I mused over the situat
ion. Did the Blue Moon Monday really work? Or was this just simple coincidence? Coincidence, maybe, but it stood that here I was off on a Monday after the Sunday that I had wished for "no more work to ensue". But then again we had been having computer problems for months and everyone was just waiting for a system crash.

  Did I believe in Chinese proverbs now?

  I pulled my vehicle up to the hospital where I had dropped Jasmine off. Anxiety stung. What if she were already gone? I unlocked the door. It was time to find out.

  The attendant at the front counter smiled with fake friendliness as I approached. Long red nails told me she had little else to do with her time. I leaned over the counter and tried not to notice her cleavage. "I'm here to see a woman named Jasmine, late twenties, green eyes, don't know the last name."

  "Inpatient or out?"

  "In."

  "What unit?"

  "I don't know. She has Leukemia."

  Fingertips bolted across the keyboard like painted spiders as she checked for the name. Then she stopped and stared into her screen.

  Did she die?

  Again the spiders marched to the sound of typing but fell silent within a moment. "Sir, I'm sorry, seems our system is down. You'll have to come back later."

  I was exasperated. Is the entire world having computer problems? The expression on the attendants face told me she wasn't going to do anything else to help me. I guess I hadn't acted like concerned family. Then, the phone rang and I might as well have disappeared.

  The leather seats in my car were hot to the touch. I engaged the ignition. I would find her.

  Heisler Park was always beautiful. And there were always crowds. I watched the Eighty-Nine bus come and go half a dozen times and she was never on it, but when she appeared out of the crowd in front of me I can't say I was surprised. Not really. But I was relieved.

  "How did you find me?" She smiled and her green eyes looked even brighter.

  "I think you found me."

  Her arms slinked around my neck and mine around her waist. The weight of her body pressed against me and for that instant I felt totally and utterly whole, my life fulfilled. There was nothing I wanted more than to hold her. She was alive. And I had her, at least for now in this finite and perfect moment. I pressed her close and felt a sudden shock of sadness at the image of a world without her.

  "Come here. I want to show you something." Her fingers were inside mine again and she pulled me to the beach. We took off our shoes and walked through the sand. "Come on."

  I followed without protest.

  "I found this. Isn't it wonderful?"

  A sea of black ovals over a smooth, wet slab glistened in the sunlight. It was a cluster of mussels covering a rock in a blanket of shells. I smiled.

  That day was long, but all too soon it came to an end. I parked the car in front of the hospital and the question came to me. Why did the hospital give her leave? I turned to her and opened my mouth, but before the words could be uttered, her lips found mine. I forgot about the question. I didn't care about anything but this moment, this touch with her.

  "I want to see you again," I said, my breath coming short. “I have to see you, Jasmine, I have to.”

  "Meet me, on Monday, at the beach. Not here." Her breath was hot on my lips.

  We kissed again and longer.

  The freeways were empty and the yellow glow from the city lights hovered like a thick fog.

  How could I keep this going? She was sick. She was going to die. This could only end one way.

  I shuttered at the thought of it, but even still, when my better judgment endeavored to instruct me most thoroughly, I remembered her touch, the press of her lips and her unequivocally beautiful spirit that, like a thief, had stolen me. I was in love. I could no more turn from the current path I stumbled down, than I could redirect the setting of the sun.

  This can only end one way. She is sick. She is dying...

  But if she was, then so was I. I would walk this path and follow it to the bitter end and use the Blue Moon Monday all the while.

  For six weeks following I used the Blue Moon Monday just as I had the first time. And each time the coincidence occurred. And each time I met her at the exact same place. And each night we made gentle and passionate love. Monday was our day, our sacred day. I never asked to meet any other time, I was just happy to be with her when I could. And for those weeks I almost believed that it would go on forever. Until the eighth week, the last week.

  ***

  "You okay? You've been coughing more lately."

  "I'm fine." She heaved for breath.

  I was silent. The sound of her coughing filled the gap. She heaved again and gripped the bed sheets as she gulped for air. I sat beside her and touched her back. I felt her muscles tighten as the convulsions took her. She covered her mouth, but when the next bout came, flecks of blood stained the white linens and smeared under her fingertips.

  A cold shiver shot down my back.

  What have I done? What am I doing? She's sick!

  I glanced around the hotel room and spotted a small cup near the sink. I filled it and shoved it into her hand. "Drink it."

  Her cough quelled. I choked back my own tears.

  "We need to get you back. I've kept you too long and you’re not feeling well."

  "No, Steven. No. I don't want to go back. Not yet."

  "No Jasmine. You're coughing up blood. I have to take you back."

  She shook her head. "Not yet."

  ***

  When I received the news that she’d died I didn't say anything. A different attendant sat at the desk that day.

  "I'm sorry sir, she passed last night. I really am sorry. Can I do anything for you?"

  "No. Thank you." I walked out of the hospital. The sun beat down on my head and the idea that she was gone forever stunned me. It seemed the news did not settle then. The numbness, the denial. She had but newly left the world and so it seemed she still walked in it. By the time evening fell, the reality had sunk in. Jasmine was gone.

  I sobbed, my grief knowing no respite. The weight of my agony stole over me and I bawled deep into the night. I woke at some dismal midnight hour, but instead of my grief, I felt something else. Acute rage.

  Something had done this to me. Something had made me the fool. And something was going to pay.

  I became possessed of a single intent: destroy the Blue Moon Monday. “Where are you?” I seethed. “Where the fuck are you?”

  I tore it from its hiding place. The card flung out and I crumpled it, but that wasn’t enough. I gnawed on it and spit it out in a wet and shapeless mass. I gripped the silk sheet with both hands and pulled. I wrenched it and tried to rip it down the middle, but the fabric held.

  I strained harder, longer, stronger, but the fabric held.

  "Impossible!"

  I tore, stretched and yanked. And still the fabric held!

  My furor exploded like atomic fission.

  Fumbling and enraged fingers found scissors tucked away in the back of a drawer. I stabbed at the fucking Blue Moon Monday. Not so much as the smallest incision ensued.

  I laughed out loud with a thick and haughty hoot. "I've got you yet, stained you red with my own blood!" But even as the last word flung from my tongue, my blood rolled off of the white silk and onto the floor, no stain left behind.

  It was terror then that held me. Pure, naked terror.

  I swaddled it into a ball and within fifteen minutes had it buried outside under the wet, black dirt. And then kneeling beside the grave, with mud soiling my hands and the taste of earth on my lips, I realized that no matter the source of my agony, no matter what trickery or superstition led me here, nothing could bring her back.

  Nothing.

  I knelt in the freshly dug earth, sobbing, my heart breaking.

  ***

  A week later, days after I’d unearthed the Blue Moon Monday, washed it—though it really wasn’t dirty—and stored it away, I received a phone call. The caller identif
ied herself as Chelsea, Jasmine's sister. I was surprised at first, then comforted at the familiar tone of voice.

  "I have something for you. We've been trying to find you."

  When I arrived, Chelsea came to the door and I was dumbfounded at the resemblance. Those same vibrantly green eyes met mine. She ushered me in.

  "Jasmine wanted you to have this. We haven't opened it." She handed me a white envelope, taken from a cardboard box on the kitchen table. It had my full name scrawled neatly across it.

  "Is it okay if I open it here?"

  "Be my guest. Take as much time as you need."

  Dear Steven, though we did not have much time together, what we did have meant more to me than words could ever express. I am grateful for you. The love you gave me, made me unafraid to die. And now, I feel I will be taken soon, to the next phase and its okay. I love you always and forever.

  Jas

  I took a deep breath.

  "Are you okay?" Chelsea called from the kitchen.

  "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. It’s--you know."

  "I understand. It's been hard for the whole family. Did you know my sister well?"

  "I did. Yes. We became close before she passed."

  She motioned to the box on the table. "We found this box in her room. I have no idea what to do with it. I wasn't sure if she meant the whole box to go to you, or just the card. You're welcome to take a look and see if you would like to keep anything from it."

  Inside the box I recognized a couple of souvenirs I had bought for Jasmine at the beach. And then my hand was drawn to a folded piece of white linen. I took it from the box and began to lay it out.

  "What is it?" Chelsea asked, standing next to me now.

  I unfolded the fabric, and as I did, appearing more with each motion was the familiar face of the Blue Moon Monday. I gasped. Then laughed.

  "It’s beautiful. Do you want it?" asked Chelsea.

  I almost didn't hear her as the realization of it all drowned out everything else. "No. No, you should keep it. I already have one."

  About the Authors

  Chelsea Morgan Clark lives in Marin County, California, in a small town called Sausalito. When not writing or reading she can usually be found on horseback. She began writing at the age of thirty-one when a radical change occurred in her life. She has never looked back.