The Potion

The Potion--Chapter 1

 It was one of those hot California days where sweat seeped from every surface of his skin. Places he never knew existed were becoming increasingly soggy. Futilely, he covered his eyes with one hand and tugged at his button-up blue shirt with the other, attempting to keep it from clinging anymore than it already had (it would be awful if he showed up at work covered in sweat stains). It was impossible. The itchy fabric was like saran wrap.  He knocked on the door for the fifth time, once again wondering if Toby Turner was home.

            To be fair, he hadn't spoken to Toby in years. They had grown up on the same street together, thus sharing the same friend circle. But Toby was so odd, odder than him even, so they never got along. The young, dark haired boy was always playing with cards. Not playing cards, baseball cards, or even Yu-Gi-Oh, either. Tarot cards. And studied palm reading as a hobby as apposed to playing video games or playing kickball. Ian just had nothing in common with him. He was too busy reading comic books and blowing up shit via his gaming consoles to be bothered with the smelly weirdo with big, brown eyes that lived down the street.

            He shook his head in recollection of the one (and only) time he was invited to Toby’s tree house. It stank of incense (really, what child enjoys incense?), was covered in mismatched carpets of various lengths and colors, had beads hanging from the unevenly carved spaces that were supposed to windows, and in the middle of the room, surrounded by stained bean bag chairs was a short wooden table, which had a dented green bowling ball precariously placed in the center. Toby was using this as a “crystal ball”.

            He hadn’t even heard Toby’s name mentioned in years and years. It wasn't until he happened to stroll into a break room at work and interrupt a conversation with Sam Hardy (a classmate from high school; the company he worked for seemed to attract all his old high school’s past students) and some dark haired dude. The one with the dark hair mentioned Toby Turner, something about him running a Psychic business out of his parent’s old home. They spoke in whispered voice but Ian was sure they had been right.

            As he was bringing his hand up for a sixth and final knock, sunlight glinted in his eyes as the door knocker flew at his head. He was too slow to step back and received a face full of door. The black paint stung as it hit his face. The color had soaked in every bit of the harsh California sun, he surmised, holding a hand to his nose and praying it wasn’t bleeding.

            “Quite sorry, yes!” came a cheerful voice. “Didn’t hear anyone knocking. The spirits have been rather chatty this morning.” The oblivious man continued to prattle about the alignment of the stars, the aura emitting from “nosy neighbors”, all the while, he was blinking back tears and holding his face as the stinging pain radiated from his nose.

            A blurry version of Toby smiled at him. Finally, recognition dawned on his dumb face.

            “Did I hit you with the door?”

            “Yes, you idiot! I guess you didn’t see this in the clouds?” he barked, checking his nose for extra moisture. Nothing but sweat.

            “Sorry about that. Figured you had waited long enough and I wanted to get you inside, in the air conditioner, as fast as possible….Wait! Ian? Ian Hecox? Is that you?”

            “Yeah, now can we get inside?”

            “Yes, yes, or course. Yes! What a pleasure! What an absolute surprise! This morning,” he gripped Ian’s wrists with surprisingly strong fingers and dragged him inside, “my cards told me I would have a surprise today. I never guessed it was an old friend. So…do you need water? Ice for your nose? Maybe you’d like some tea. I just put on a pot while my spirit friend, Alex was-“