At First Sight

One

I fucking hate moving.

It's the one constant I could count on; not my mom's boyfriends, or our houses, or even our cell phone numbers! I never knew where we'd go, what abode we'd live in when we got there, or if I'd even attend a school; I only knew we'd eventually move on.

I knew better than to try to lay down roots, because they'd be sheared at the root the minute my mom got a call from a far off land that needed her help. From state to state, coast to coast, we'd move and then move again. Going where the business was, since the business was my mother and her '97 VW Van, carpet and all.

At least it was a nice deep plum purple rather than something gaudy like burnt orange, I'd actually cringe.

I shook my head and released another sigh as my duffle continued to burst at the seams, not allowing the stupid, flimsy zipper to go any further.

"I told you to get rid of a few more clothes Vivvy." My mothers voice lilts at me; all airy and perfect, but her tone was knowing and sarcastic.

"You're a lot of help, thanks." I answered just as sarcastically but with more snark.

She just laughed at me before tossing a string bag at my head, I huffed before succumbing to the obvious answer.

I opened the duffle and grabbed all my swimsuits, shorts, and tank tops before rolling them up small and stuffing as many as I could in the extra bag. With the other clothes removed I was able to just barely get the duffel zipper to it's end goal. I sighed in relief.

I heard my mothers laughter at the hood of the van and rolled my eyes for the hundredth time that day.

I HATE moving day. It was always the same, mom buttered me up with an amazing breakfast and then broke the news that we were headed to her next cross country client.

At this point I'd rather her give me a red bull and some homemade jerky so I could eat and pack, because it ALWAYS takes the longest.

Sometimes we lived out of the wagon - as I lovingly called my moms first and only car - and sometimes we lived in an apartment or too big of a house while running our apothecary from the wagon.

So when we lived and worked out of the wagon, it was a nightmare. But alls well at the end of the day and my mom keeps me feed, clothed, warm, and most importantly enlightened.

I was always in and out of schools, naturally with all the moving there were tons and tons of schools on my record. And when there wasn't a school near enough, my mom and other members of her coven would homeschool me.

My mom was the head of a coven as she calls it, to me it's just a traveling community. Essentially we're modern day gypsy's; we just didn't call ourselves that because according to mom 'that's a whole different kind of magic baby'.

Queue the eye-roll; I loved my mother and I loved being a witch, but it was just like being Christian or Muslim. I followed the holidays and traditions and learned from this ancient text and that witch's grimoire, and I could delve into any 'specialty' I wanted. I chose herbology or as my mother would say, potion creating.

We sold a ton of different potions in the apothecary, usually something medicinal as most of the people and places we went to were further from the beaten path if you know what I mean. That's why there was only a slight chance I might be enrolling into another school.

Speaking of which... I pulled out my phone and dialed the local school I'd been attending, we were in the middle of Massachusetts and the school had almost four hundred students total. The receptionist seemed a bit bummed that they were losing a senior, bringing the class total down to a whopping 87 students.