WEAVERS: A GothamX Story

1

When I was a little girl, my mother instilled an odd yet, comforting belief, one that she genuinely believed in; that our souls are balls of fiery light. She would say it often and with great elation, "We all have these tiny fires inside us!" Mom called herself a free spirit. Dad called her a silly hippie- not in a cruel, mean way, but in a way that only made her more vibrant, "No, James, I'm a ray of fucking sunshine!"

It's cold, dreary days like today, that I long for the warmth of them both, especially the golden light my mother radiated into every space she occupied. Lily Deveraux was perfect and I'm not just saying that because she was my mother. She was truly perfect; kind, loving, selfless, giving, and beautiful with her long, copper hair that favors dancing flames. Her earthy brown eyes could ease and relax those who peer into them.

I could use some of her presence right now- this coffee shop is in great need of her glow; it's dim and everything is a dull, muddy brown. The walls, furniture, and even the coffee- brown. I've never liked coffee, it's too bitter and it makes me twitchy. I'll be satisfied with a hot cup of tea.

Gotham City is cold, damp, and covered in ice and snow- all of my least favorite things. Mom once said her favorite thing above the city are the architecture and history but I don't think I'll be sightseeing until it warms up and the sun comes out. I'm waiting for someone; my mother's sister, my Aunt, Rose Deveraux. She took my mother under her wing when she was eight years and taught her how to read and write and everything else. She taught my mother how to braid hair, even my mother hated how confining braided hair felt.

I'm not found of braided hair either. Dad braided my hair once when I was little but I chopped it off with a pair kids' safety scissors. It was a complete hack job- a mess that Mom fixed without a fuss. Dad never made the mistake of braiding my hair again and for the longest time, I wasn't able to use scissors without supervision.

I wrote to my Aunt Rose two weeks ago. I told her that her baby sister was gone and that I wanted to meet her. She wrote me back and agreed to a time and place; Gotham City, Midtown Brews around noon. It's almost one now, it's okay through because I understand that these conditions are not the best for travel.

I think she will be happy to know that I'm not completely like my mother. Mom used to climbed trees in the garden they loved to visit. There are pictures in my bag of them together in the garden; massive magnolias in the background with their sweet white flowers. Mom used to drive her crazy with her climbing- Rose was terrified of her falling and even more afraid of te sight of blood and broken bones. Mom was fearless and that is something that I am not.

My tea is getting cold and my doubts are getting louder in the back of mind. I can't shake the feeling that she might have charged her mind about meeting me. I don't know her but of her, from stories Mom told me. But she doesn't know me- I'm a stranger.

I look up from the table where I sit just as a person walks by the front window wearing a thick navy blue hooded cape. They enter the shop and remove the hood to reveal themselves as a woman with long copper hair in a thick braid. I stand and give her a nervous smile, she smiles too, and strolls over to my corner table.

"Hi, I'm Alexa Deveraux." I introduce myself with the awkward confidence of a child.

She pulls me into a warm hug and holds me for a moment. I accept it because Rose Deveraux is my only living relative and I've been pretty much alone since my parents left this world. Aunt Rose smells of baked apple and cinnamon and gives me a sense of safety and welcoming.

"Oh, sweet girl, you look just like your mother." She purrs to me, her voice cracking near the end.

All I can say is, "I know.", as she releases me from her embrace before taking a seat across from me.