The Witches Kid

PENNYROYAL

When I think of September 15th I think of my father, it was his birthday, his favorite day. Each birthday Mom and I would get up early, right before the morning birds start twittering and singing their morning songs and when the fox mothers would go back to their kits, probably fussing over who gets to sleep where or who gets to lay closest to their mother. No matter where we were or what house we were in, we would get up and make Dad his favourite breakfast; pancakes from scratch with peanut butter and honey on them.

Over the years it had turned into my favourite breakfast food too, the salty peanut butter melted over the fluffy hot pancake Mother had made minutes before, drizzled with honey she had collected at the farmers market a few weeks before? It was heavenly. Ever since Father died Mother hadn't made the pancakes.

I looked down at my hands, picking at my already disgusting cuticles, my fingers were boney and long, looking like something trying to grab you from a horror movie. Mother had given me a rub to put on my cuticles to stop me from biting and picking at them, it was bitter and made my eyes water but I couldn't stop picking at them.

My fingers had become bloody and raw after Father died, the stress was too much for me, Mother found me on our bathroom floor screaming and trying to scrub the skin off my hands. She didn't like that very much. She had wrapped my hands up in bandages and basically put me on house arrest until I had shown I was sane enough to shit by myself. Stupid cunt. I looked back up at my counselor, her eyebrows were furrowed and she was gripping her notebook so hard her knuckles were turning white. Fuck.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I asked, my voice was hoarse and it was hard to speak but Mother still made me come to these stupid conferences. "After the incident I don't think it's healthy for you to bottle up your emotions like you do, you need to talk to somebody" Mother had said to me on the drive to my first session. My counselor was a small asian woman named Faith, she had the fashion sense of a 6 year old and had anger issues. "I had just asked you how you think your fathers death has impacted you over the last -- how long has it been? 3 months?" Faith said, her voice cracking a bit, making me cringe.

I let out a short sigh, my nails digging into the palm of my hand as I tried to calm myself down. The arrogant bitch. "Oh I don't know, imagine your father dying, watching him die right before your eyes. Imagine feeling the aching pain in your chest as you realize you couldn't save your father and now that he's gone you'll never see him again so you're stuck with your batshit crazy mom for the rest of your fucking life." By the end of my rant tears had formed in my eyes, making everything blurry. My face started to heat up as my chest clenched a little bit, I shouldn't have worn the sweater. I grip at my sleeves and wipe the tears away from my eyes, looking back down at my hands as I mutter a pitiful excuse of an apology. I hated it here.

Faith stood up, clearing her throat as she walked over to her small office door, "Well.. Then.. I think that's all for this session, I'll be emailing your mother. Have a great day." I let out a small grunt, standing up and walking out of the room quickly, almost hitting the small woman. "Go rot." I muttered as I passed. I hated her. I heard a small gasp and her gasping for words as she tried to come back with something, but I didn't give her the time. I stormed out of the office where she worked. Serenity Healing was the name of the place, in the lobby there were multiple large chairs, all with noise machines next to them playing the same monotone beach sound, or atleast that's what it was supposed to be. The machines were old and outdated, their once probably beautiful beach noises were now loud annoying gargles, interrupted by even louder cackles from seagulls. It was disgusting. "Same time next week Ms?" The clerk had asked me on my way out, I had only nodded and gave her the card Mother had told me to pay them with. Mother always sat outside in the car, she couldn't stand the machines. After I had paid I turned on my heel and walked out, my sleeves bundled up in my clenched fists as I walked to our car. A red Toyota, dads choice.

I opened the passenger door and sat down, the old seats groaning a bit as new weight came down on them. "How was it?" Mother asked, starting the car up, it had taken a few tries since the car was old and it needed to be spoiled a bit, but it started nonetheless. I let out a sharp exhale from my nose, turning to my mother, "It was shit. The people were shit the place was shit. It was all shit." As I said it I could basically see the toxic sludge pouring out of my mouth, thick black globs of goo, rolling down my chin and dropping into my lap with a sick slap. I blinked a few times and the sludge was gone, just my leggings, my clean sludge free leggings.

"Watch your mouth." She had said, her eyes had glazed over and she turned back infront of her. I bit down on my bottom lip, my ears heating up with anger as I watched her drive. She hadn't cried since Father died, not a single tear. She didn't care that her husband, the father to her child was gone. She was only worried with getting to somewhere new. She disgusted me. I turned forward, grabbing my earbuds and shoving them in my ears. One day she'll cry, and it'll make me laugh.

In the car I had drifted off to sleep, only realizing we were home when I felt my Mother's door slam shut and I heard her stomp into the house, also slamming that door behind her. I sighed and slowly got out of the car, shutting the door softly behind me. I looked at the beat up car, its paint was chipped and it needed a lot of work, but it was dads. I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the arch of the doorway, taking in a deep breath before letting it all out. Dad always told me to not be so hard on Mother, but gods was it hard. I laid a small kiss on the car before walking to our front door, gathering myself before I stepped in. I miss him, I miss him a lot.

My chest tightened as I opened the door and stepped inside. I held my breath as I closed the door behind me and run upstairs into my room. Suffocation is the only way I can describe what I feel when I enter my house, my only safe space is in my room, which is stupid. I shut and lock my door behind me, finally letting the air trapped in my lungs free. I looked around my room, the walls were still their starch white, not much decorated it since we moved so much. By house 4 I had given up trying to make myself comfortable in a room. By now I could probably be able to fall asleep in cow shit and not be able to tell the difference.

The only part of the room that was decorated was my window, Father helped me do it. He had nailed holes in the wall and helped me hang up my mosaic glass pieces, when the light shined the right way it could light up the whole room in colours, it was beautiful. I had a table in front of my window, dying plants littering the surface. Each plant had a hand panted pot with their names on them. I had named them after people I had met in each place I lived. There was Alfy, George, Luna, Bela, Frank, and Penny. They all were beautiful people, Penny had freckles while Alfy was as white and plain as my walls. But they were all still equally beautiful.

The pain in my chest started to fade as I looked at the glass pieces dancing in my windows, I used to think that faeries would fly around them, dancing and playing to make them spin. Or, that's what my mother had told me. Now I know it's because of the air vent blowing on the fragile glass, but that's ok. I sighed softly and struck a match, my hands trembling as i lit up an incense, putting it down as I inhaled the scent. I stripped from my leggings and crawled into bed, hugging my stuffed rabbit my dad had gotten me tightly to my chest. I hummed a lullaby we had all used to sing together to myself as I slowly fell asleep, my body going weightless and my eyelids going heavy as I drifted off. Thank gods for beds.