While he was doing all he could to make my body his, I gave over my time and space.
During my time with Tariq, I went through more changes than I liked. We were both stubborn, independent. I told myself after those first few months of living together we were moving past our honeymoon phase.
I had never been one to be in a relationship with a cheater but I started to see the classic signs. He kept coming home late and taking extra showers. The way he drew back from me, how we didn’t touch as often, and sometimes when he did, the lovemaking seemed like it was angry, even though we hadn’t had a fight. It was like he was trying to decide if his life was at home with me or someplace else.
Mama used to say when you have sex with a man, you carry bits of his energy inside your aura, and he carries part of yours.
The longer you’re intimate, the more of each other’s energy you draw into yourself. Some people damn near empty out what they were born with in place of all the different people they have sexed, bits of partners come and gone, spirit energy which won’t let them go. You remain connected to a person long after they are gone, bound by some remnant of life energy that weaves itself through your skin and hair, sinking down into the marrow of your bones.
Mama used to tell me these things. She is a romantic. Never let someone so deep into your heart they threaten to tear you asunder, she said.
I have always been able to sense auras. Whatever this other woman was giving Tariq was adding something unpleasant to his energy. I didn’t want to lay down in bed anymore, because this energy was blue-violet and cold, altogether unhealthy. I didn’t want whatever energy he dragged home from her. He could wash and clean and put on whatever clothes he wanted, but to me his aura was as bad as being soaked in animal blood, filthy and full of decay.
And of course he lied to me. I didn’t like the idea of being used.
At the same time, I had spent just enough time, and poured out enough emotion into our relationship that I imagined the situation could be changed. Love potions, spells, what have you, were common back home, and my thought was this: rather than throw away the last year over a dalliance which might have been all but two weeks, why not try something? The right words, a spell, a combination of the right roots, whatever was used to make such problems go away. I knew this kind of magic worked before with others. I’d seen marriages healed, much less relationships.
And if it didn’t work, after all, I was free to go my way knowing I had gone above and beyond to make sure I wasn’t tossing the man without giving him a chance.
#
I could not go to my own family seeking magic.
Among my mother’s kin, it would be considered an embarrassment. All of us had some sort of ability. My mother made a living telling fortunes and making potions for people. Most were love spells, but for the right price, she concocted things for darker purposes. I knew my cousins wouldn’t do it because everyone in the family knew my mother didn’t want me using magic.
My father died in the oilfields before he turned forty years old. Other than the small pension the insurance company doled out on the fifteenth of every month, Mama’s potions and spells were our sole source of income. My brother and I were raised on the bounty of magic, promises, and untimely death.
Mama was set on me going away and getting an education and she refused to teach me magic, even though I was her only daughter. She told me if I learned magic it would tie me to small places, or forever engender suspicion. I was better off pretending not to know the realms of spirits, the Shapeshifters and the walking demons which were a part of our folklore. It was bad enough my skin would make me forever other: no need to add being tied to old ways that no longer had a place in a modern world. What an old way of thinking! Why should I have to adapt myself for people who wouldn’t accept me anyway? But I could not blame her. We all survive the best we can, however we see fit.
There were some things I picked up, but what power I had never seemed channeled properly. I could twine together tree roots and successfully bind an enemy. I even chanted for rain once and woke to find it snowing.
My ability to discern auras was the only magic which could be depended upon.
I use that word because I don’t exactly see them. Or at least, not all the time. Sometimes an aura is felt like heat. Similar to the waves coming off an open oven. You can’t see them, but you feel the prickle against your skin. Other times, they are visible to me.
The cleanest of auras, most often surrounding children, were a pale, filmy gray. Many adults have a deeper shade of gray, like unpolished steel. I have seen sparkling, shimmering silver surrounding the likes of psychopaths, who have no feelings of their own, yet feed off the energy and pain of every human they come into contact with. I have seen red, when a person was lit with hatred or bloodshed or a passion for something unholy. And I have seen the pale, pinkish, room filling aura of those who love unselfishly.
#
I had heard Memna’s name on and off through my childhood from my mother’s customers, but I had never met her.
My mother warned her clients that Memna could get anything people asked for, but her brand of magic should be a solution of last resort. Some took her advice, others assumed she was watching her own bottom line. There was an edge in her voice, fear, or reverence, when she spoke of this woman.
#
I didn’t take going to see Memna lightly.
I drove my car and parked it a mile up the road to where she lives. The roads are really more an idea than the real in certain places, because they are not all paved. You can see the path of other vehicles, the shoulders of the road overgrown with grass, weeds, and stubborn daffodils. I maneuvered my car where the strip of gray concrete was supposed to be.
It was a warm day, but clouds were boiling, threatening the kind of spit and shine rain that would come with little result except to wet the ground and make it sizzle in the heat of late afternoon sun.
Part of me was expecting a hovel, a black cabin with crumbling rafters, something out of a long gone tale about things creatures who moved through darkness. It was nothing like that. It was a humble, ranch style, maybe two bedrooms from my guess. It was painted a light green. There were chimes hanging by the door, a ceramic pot full of red, pungent flowers with curly petals on either side of the steps.
I rang the doorbell and waited. I heard a gentle rustle of movement before the door cracked open.
“Can I help you?”
The woman who stood in the doorway was beautiful. I was taken back by it really. Her brown, deeply toned skin had a lovely sheen. She had high cheekbones and wide, slanted eyes. Her hair was cut into a short, wavy style. She looked only in her mid-thirties, possibly younger. I always admired women who could wear their hair so short and still look pretty, because I didn’t think I could pull off.
Most of all, I was surprised because I’d expected Memna would be a person of my mother’s generation if not older.
“I… I am looking for someone by the name of Memna,” I stuttered. “If I am in the wrong place, I apologize…”
“Oh no,” she interrupted, stepping aside. “You are in the right place. Come in.”
The inside of the house was pleasingly cool and slightly dim after the glare of bright sunshine. I followed her towards the kitchen. The woman wore a blue floral dress of gauzy fabric which swirled all the way down to her ankles. I caught the shine of a golden anklet as she lifted her dress to walk across the wood floor.
“Just so you know,” she continued in her lovely voice. “My name is Ashlyn. People come looking for Memna, but the woman they are referring to was my grandmother. It’s more a title than a name anyway. All the women in our family answer to it.”
At this point, I was ready to turn and leave.
“I can help you,” Ashlyn said, waving me towards a seat at her kitchen table. “I was taught everything she knew.”
I sat down. Ashlyn busied herself filling a kettle of water at the sink. “I am curious though,
why you would come out here, Naomi,” she said softly. “Since your mama knows the arts.”
I started to hear her call my name but stopped myself from commenting on it. I knew this trick. My mother used it on her clients. It took just a little push to get a name out of someone’s head, something even I could have accomplished if I’d really tried. A small bit of magic that impressed people without abilities far too easily.
“I doubt she would help me. Besides, there are some things you don’t want to talk to your mother about.”
“Hmmm,” she said. I wasn’t sure if she was agreeing with me or not. She set the kettle onto the stove. She struck a match, and I heard the gentle hiss of the gas flame licking up. Ashlyn turned to me, crossing her arms. “Why don’t you tell me about the auras first?”
“First? Is this an exchange then? I brought cash with me, though I wasn’t sure how much you would charge.”
Ashlyn pulled out a drawer, and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. She tapped the package against her thigh.
“I quit a long time ago,” she said with a dreamy smile. “But I find that I still love to handle them. Just to have something to do with my hands. It relaxes me. Naomi, don’t worry about the money right now, I am sure that whatever you’ve got on you is just fine.
You’re interesting. A girl who reads auras and seeks out psychic advice. Kind of like a mechanic seeking someone to change a tire.”
“I’m not looking for advice, or fortune reading.” “Oh?”
“No. You knew about the auras. You have to be strong. I came for something else,” I said.
“Oh, I see.”
Ashlyn stood there with her arms crossed, reading me with her dark eyes. Finally I spoke again, because she seemed prepared to stand there the rest of the afternoon in silence if I didn’t.
“Okay, so I have seen them since I was little, and when I told my mother they brought me to the doctor. They even got me glasses. It took a while for my mother to understand when I told her what I was seeing, but that might have been my fault. I was only four or five. Or maybe Mama didn’t want to think I had Sight.”
“Probably,” Ashlyn said. “These kinds of things can be a mixed blessing. Did they scare you?”
“No. Not until later.”
“Well, I don’t know if they told you, but this gift is quite rare.
You’ll more likely find a mind reader than someone with that ability.”
“It’s utterly useless though,” I told her. “Auras can change with mood. It’s no more telling than one of those dime store rings which changes colors.”
“If you say so. Tell me about this man.”
The kettle whistled, and Ashlyn prepared tea. I told her what I thought she would want to hear. Tariq’s first name, his major in school. How long we had been together. How he had not been faithful to me.
“You can stop with that,” Ashlyn said. “I am not looking for things all the rest of the world knows about him.”
Ashlyn put a ceramic bowl filled with hot water on the table between us. She had a cup of tea for herself, but she didn’t give me anything to drink. She tossed a handful of herbs: dried stalks, leaves and something resembling cloves… into the bowl.
There was a weird scent I had never smelled before and never since. Something at once sweet and salty that made my tongue tingle the moment I inhaled the first whiff. I watched whatever was in the water fizz and sizzle, sending up vapors, turning the water gold green.
“Give me your hand, sweetheart,” she said.
I looked at Ashlyn. She had retrieved a pocket knife from the folds of her dress. This part I was familiar with. Anything she could do for me first required a little of my blood.
“You’re going to sit here and tell me about your man. Don’t talk to me about what career he wants for himself. Tell me about from his flesh to his marrow. The deepest things you fear about him.”
She cut my palm, and I saw drops of blood fall into the water. I started swaying. And talking.
The only thing I could compare it to was being drunk, and knowing I was talking without knowing what I was saying. I might have been screaming because after a time my throat was constricting. There were tears in my eyes. I was shaking.
“Stop it. Stop!” she yelled.
Ashlyn slapped me so hard I fell to the floor. I looked at her.
I was wet. Somehow the contents of the bowl had been dumped on me, but the water wasn’t hot. It felt cold.
“Bitch, what’s wrong with you?” I yelled.
She laughed. “I should ask that question! That’s never happened before.” She reached a hand out to me. “Naomi, don’t be mad, come on.”
I let her help me up but quickly pulled away. “How did you know you weren’t going to burn me with the water? It was boiling….”
“It was boiling over an hour ago, sweetheart,” Ashlyn said quietly. “You’ve been talking a long time. You got so deep in the trance, I couldn’t see what else to do to bring you out of it. Don’t be mad. Magic is not meant for everybody, and maybe it’s not meant for you.”
I grabbed my purse.
Heading out towards the living room, I saw the curtains were pulled back, revealing the sky beyond the windows. The sun was setting. I had arrived at the house a little after two. I had been unconscious for longer than a few minutes. If night were coming on, it had to be well past seven thirty.
I grabbed my phone and looked at the time: 7:58PM.
“I don’t know what you did to me,” I said. “I didn’t even get a chance to ask for what I wanted.”
Ashlyn chuckled. “Sweetheart, yes you did. That, and then some.”
I turned. She was right behind me. I backed up.
“You don’t worry now, okay?” she patted my shoulder as my hand closed over the doorknob. “You will be just fine.”
#
I ran all the way back to my car. I drove home through the dark, high beams on, only half recognizing the roads that I’d come on. I got so nervous I must have missed the turn which would take me back to town twice. I had to make a U-turn and drive back around to get myself onto the right road. When I got home, Mama wasn’t there. Despite being a grown woman and without a curfew, she would have asked questions about me coming home so late. It was poker night at Finny’s which meant she would come home late, happy, and with some money in her pockets. People with sense knew not to go against her, but there was always some show off who tried it.
I showered and got ready for bed.
As I laid down and closed my eyes, I could still see that gold, green water. The thought of it made me a sick. I don’t know what kind of trance I fell into or what I had said. What could I have gone on about for so long?
I leaned over and grabbed my purse from where I dropped it onto the chair beside my bed. I wanted to see if Ashlyn had ripped me off while I was out of it.
All my cash was there. Not a penny missing. So were my ID’s and driver’s license, all untouched.
Inside was a piece of paper, a page snatched from a spiral notebook, the crumpled edges still attached. I turned my lamp on to read the looping cursive writing:
May you find the gift you spoke of.
#
The rest of my time at home passed without incident. After a few days, I was feeling better, more centered, and as if I had never went to see Ashlyn in the first place. It was like a dream, slipping away until it was almost nothing. Within five days I was back to my regular life in Atlanta.
My first day back in the apartment, Tariq got home.
He’d gone to Florida to visit his brother and some friends. I hadn’t expected him back for another week. He came in the doorway with his luggage, and smiled at me. Tariq has smooth, cinnamon skin and the widest grin ever, perfect teeth. His big, dark eyes fastened on me.
“Baby, you’re home!” he said. “I thought you’d still be at your Mom’s.”
I tilted my head, looking at him.
His aura was clean; no deep, soul sick blue. It was a
regular gray tone and as he looked at me, I could see the change of energy to pink.
“Oh?” I said coolly. “I missed Mom but there wasn’t much to do there, so I thought I would head back.”
Maybe this meant he didn’t take whomever he was seeing on vacation with him. Which was a good thing all the way around, but still the idea didn’t put me at great ease. It had been enough time to clear his aura of whomever she was. Maybe.
He put down his luggage, closed the door with his foot, and crossed the living room towards me. “You know, I was wondering about you. You didn’t answer my texts,” he said.
“Oh, that,” I said. Hell no I didn’t answer you, you cheating mother….. “Either way, I am so glad you’re here, and glad to be back.
I was seriously thinking of going out there and bringing you back myself,” he said.
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. If I felt stiff in his arms, he didn’t seem to notice. He held me so tight I found myself relaxing in his embrace. Tariq ran track, and every part of him was hard and toned. His hands slipped up my back. He sighed deeply, and I knew any moment those fingers would be pulling at my bra strap.
“Don’t get me wrong, it was nice seeing everybody again, but I missed you,” he said against my ear. “I feel stupid.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t realize how much I was going to miss you. I should have taken you with me.”
True to form, I felt the closure of my bra snap open. By the time his lips brushed mine, I was up on my toes to reach him better.
“I love you baby,” he said. “How about a real welcome home?”
#
“Wait. You’re back with him now?” Janelle asked, moving her laptop.
We were sitting at a coffee shop, with a pile of books between us. My friend was slurping her favorite iced drink through a thick green straw. There was studying going on, but when we were together, the amount of how much got done was questionable.
“We never broke up,” I said lightly, brushing away bits of eraser scattered across my notebook.
“You said he was cheating,” she hissed.
“I said I thought he was cheating. There’s a difference.”
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