THE RAINS OF TAMARIND AND OTHER STORIES

THE WITCH IN STILETTOS

"Boss, I'm heading out. You?"
"Maybe a bit later. I'm working on the story. Monday, right?"
"Yes, Peterson wants the story on his desk Monday morning."
"Oh, okay then. Careful on your way home."
"I will. And, oh yeah, Tori is waiting for you in the lobby."
"Well, it looks like I got to finish this pronto."
"Goodbye. Happy writing, Ms. Capile"
"Bye."

The Witch in Stilettos
By A. Capile

At 26, she had everything her heart desires. A stable career in the most distinguished newspaper in New York, a huge flat and a Prius, a collection of designers fit for a career woman like herself, an undying passion for her craft and... a life with her love, her greatest love. Hard to believe that this woman, living this wonderful life now was once a young girl who had nothing. A Dorothy, living in a small town, with nothing but a pair of crooked shoes, a broken home and a shattered spirit.
Everything was lost in the fire. What was left was a pair of shoes her mother bought on her elementary graduation two years back. No one was left but her generous aunt who took her in to the small town which then became her safe haven.
Her dreams and and plans for the future were adrift as her youthful spirit and self-confidence diminishes amidst the crowd of strangers, her then new classmates. Until her pencil rolled off her vandalized armrest and rested at the well-polished black stiletto heels of another stranger who little did she knew would turn her life around.
"Class, this is Ms. Victoria Generoso. She will be handling your Science and Social Studies subject in the time being till Mrs. Salayo's recovery from her accident..."
She gracefully crouch down to pick up the pencil and graciously gave it to the young girl. She swore she never felt a hand as soft as hers. That was how she met 21-year-old, Miss Gene. She was 14 years old then, looking at the young teacher in awe.

The Wicked Witch from Emerald City.
It was what everyone called her. Her smart-casual, metropolitan work attire suggests that she is from the capital city. She is a woman of order, discipline, and perfection and is believed to have standards as high as her Prada heels. She implements discipline and order to a school full of slackers and ill-mannered delinquents no teacher has ever done before. No one dared to mess with her or even look at her despite being a very attractive, slender young woman. It was also the very first time the class ever used the Science laboratory, untouched for decades, to perform crazy experiments under her wing. Ergo, earning the monicker, the Wicked Witch.
Or so everybody thought she was.

The mocking, judgemental stares of her classmates has pinned her speechless and mortified to the podium where she stood. As snickers developed from the back of the room, she let her feet take her out of the room, running. She could hear the roaring laughter of the class as she left. She settled at the dark corner of the school library, curled up on the floor, sobbing in humiliation.
In the midst of the quiet solitude were footsteps approaching, heels clicking and ceased into a halt in front of the young girl.
"Hey."
It was Miss Gene. She sat beside her, gracefully slumping on the floor, legs folded to the side, a piece of paper at her hand.
"I read the piece you wrote. It was very good. Probably, the best I've read. And you know, an essay this brilliant deserves to be shared to everyone else. Through the sincere and truthful voice of its author."
"It nice that you thought it that way, Miss Gene but I never want to speak in public ever again. You don't know how it feels like when everybody's staring at you. It's like everyone is waiting for you to mess up everything. The whole thing is just scary."
"Oh, but I do. It's what I feel everyday every time I come in front of you in class. I feel like an accident waiting to happen with everyone looking. Can't you see me shaking?"
"Uh, no. Really? You actually feel that way? But... you're always so calm. How do you pull it off?"
"I'll tell you a secret. I use this."
She held out a click pen. And she continued.
"I click this pen a couple of times while speaking in front. In that way, the excess neural impulses we have whenever we're nervous or anxious is channeled through our fingertips to the pen until you can think and express thoughts clearly. Here, keep it."
She gave the pen to the girl. Then the school bell came on. The young teacher rose from her seat and offered her hand.
"It's time to get you to class."
She reached for her soft hand to stand.
"Do try again in Mr. Reyes' class. They say second times the charm, Angelica."
"Lyka."
She stretched her lips to a simple cordial smile as she uttered the girl's name once more.
"Lyka."
And for the first peculiar moment, Lyka's heart flutters.
For some reason, a plush of courage surged in her, that she tried again in Mr. Reyes' class the next day and stunned everyone with the eloquence not everyone has expected of her.