The Stranger

Chapter 4

One of the perks of being an English teacher is that you have time to write, research and reflect, and so I take up the study of sorcery with a passion.  I look up the history of magic, the theory of spells, and I even watch every movie I can find on the subject.  I watch the Bewitched, Witches of Eastwick, The Craft, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and God Forbid, even Harry Fucking Potter, but so far as I can tell, after all of the smoke and mirrors have cleared, witchcraft is about manipulating the world through words, rituals, and deeds, and so in this way, even I, as a writer, am kind of a witch, weaving my words into a spell that might counter my lonliness, and somehow bring you back to me.

A curse, as you told me so many years ago, is believing there is a curse, and the best example I have to show you this comes from an old episode of Kung Fu, where an evil Shaman was wrecking havoc upon a village full of superstitious townspeople who all believed in his black magic, until Kung Fu himself had to come out and show that he wasn't afraid, and was therefore not bound by his magic.   But with you, there is no way I can think of to show you that I am unfraid, and maybe that is because I am afraid, afraid that I will lose you for good, afraid that nobody will ever live up to your image, an image that you keep telling me isn't real, but ay dios mio, mi amor, you are still as real to me as rain.  You standing there beside me in this black and white photo taken as Seattle Center, after riding a roller coaster.  We had just had sex in the photo booth, and you told me if there was anyone in the world you could love, it was me.  It was the only time you said the word love in English, and for some reason it sounded different, less true, as if some how amor was something more sustainable over time and space.

I have a woman friend, a colleage named Suzan.  She is a professor of psychology, and a licensed therapist, and consequently undaunted by my ranting.  I got to her office to tell her what happened with Jacob, Poetry Boy, and You.  She laughs out loud and says, You're Crazy.

I want to laugh to, but I can't.   This is the second time I've had this word applied to me in the past week.  When she sees I'm serious she says, No really Anna, you can't mean this magic stuff.  I mean you know you're just projecting, right? 

Projecting, what you mean like Freud?

Yes, honey, you're projecting all of your fears on to Jacob and all of your hopes on this mystery man who you stalked in college and now believe is some kind of handsome warlock who hangs out around town, throwing sexual temptations your way, as he waits for you to figure out how to break a spell, so you two can be together at last.

It's true.

Well maybe true metaphorically, but not true true.

No Suzan, he actually told me he was a sorecerer and that his bloodline goes back to the middle ages, and that his father is one of Ancient Ones, who hold places of high power, and control the world.

Suzan laughs.  What like Illuminati or something?

Yeah, that's what he said.

Well, then maybe you should be greatful because you're not going to have to work another day in your life.

But that's just it, Suzan.  That's what he says he wants.  I should go to Spain and live with him in his mansion there, only I've never seen it.

Why haven't you seen it?

Because he says it's not ready.  He says it has to be perfect.

Hah, that BS. He's got another woman, I bet.  Why don't you call him on his bluff and go see him? Then make your decision.  All you have now is what is in your imagination.

***

I call you, and tell you that I want to come to Spain as soon as possible to see where I'd be living.  You tell me that it's not a good time, that they are still working on the second swimming pool.  I you I don't care about the swimming pools, and that what I really want to see is you.  You agree to fly me to Madrid, and as I'm packing my bags to go, I get a sick feeling in my stomach as if I am going to meet my fate.

You pick me up in a limosine, and are wearing a suit and tie, the first time I've seen you in anything other than jeans and sweaters.  You look like a different person than the one I met in the cafe, and I don't know if I'm attracted more to you sexually or just afraid of the unknown.  You kiss me, offer me a drink, but I say no.  We have to stop at the office you say, and we go to a modern building in downtown with your last name on the sign. 

I want you to meet my father, you say, but do not say anything of magic, your book or anything I told you. 

I don't ask you why, because I can already feel it.

You father is an older version of you, but holds a more powerful gaze, and I can hear his voice before he opens his mouth, so this is the little American woman you've been wasting your time with...

Anne so charming meet you.  My son has been going on about you for years and now I finally have the pleasure to meet you.  You're every bit as lovely as he described you.

The pleasure is all mine, I say, suprised that he has a British accent instead of an American one like you because he studied at Oxford.

Well, I have a meeting with the Prime Minister this afternoon and I need to prepare some briefings, but I hope to see you at the Villa this afternoon.

I shake your fathers hand, and he gazes into my eyes searching for what you see in me. I don't know what he finds, but he says, "I hear you know something of the craft."

Excuse me, sir?

Writing.  My sons says you are a writer.  What do you write?

Oh, just silly things.  Poetry mostly.

I could never read poetry after reading Don Quixote, you say. It just seemed kind of redundant.

I don't know what this means, but I smile as if I do, and I'm happy when you take me by the hand to go see your office, the one facing the other side of the city. 

I'm sorry about my father, you say.  He can be...

Penetrating?

Yes, well.

I don't like lying.

One thing you will have to learn about this busness Anna is that lying just comes with the territory.

So, what kind of law do you do, I ask.  Only the dark stuff, you say, mergers and aquistions, that kind of thing.

You come closer, put your hands around my neck, then work them down the back of blouse, unbuttoning me in front of the entire city, and you must have used the same spell you used in Paris, the one that makes it impossible for me to move, because I let you have all of me, and the only thing I could say was, No.

Note to anyone reading this: It's a big rough because I haven't had time to revise to make it better so sorry.  Let me know if you like this so far and I'll keep working on it.