The Art of Practicing Magic Alone

One- A Little Death, A Lot of Angst

When Ellis Fisher's mom died, the entire town cried.
I remember the day that she passed, the color of the sky was a murky blue and my mom sat in her room for hours on end and didn't make breakfast. Besides my own grandmother, I had never known someone who died and instead of crying, I sat on the back porch and pictured her soul passing up above the trees, beyond the sky. On the day that the funeral was held, my mother sat me in between her legs like when I was a child and brushed my hair.
She said: "She was a real stand up lady. You take care and be kind to that poor boy, Ernessa Jones."
At the funeral, Ellis wore a suit that was too big for him in the arms and cried like a baby against his father's chest. I tried not to stare but I couldn't help it- I had never seen a guy cry before. When he saw me, he nodded and wiped at his face furiously as though he could erase all evidence that he was crying. He couldn't. The next week, when he returned to school just in time for the beginning of sophomore year, Ellis laughed very loudly in the halls and didn't look me in the eye.
That was the year the Gadsby twins decided that I was an untouchable. Not to say my social life was gleaming before, but people seemed rather indifferent to me in earlier years rather than straight up vindictive. Penelope Gadsby, the twin with the platinum highlights and blue eyeshadow, scrunched up her nose at the sight of me on the first day of school and elbowed her other half.
"It's like, she doesn't even try." Her voice was high pitched and abrasive. Penelope's twin, Paisley smiled deviously and pointed one manicured nail at me and whispered something indiscernible, my face growing hot as they exchanged gossip. Finally someone said loud enough for me to hear, "That whole family is weird. My momma says that her grandma was some kind of devil worshipper."
"I thought agents of Satan were supposed to be hot." Paisley laughed and the growing number of people listening followed suit. I rolled my eyes and scribbled on the cover of my notebook. I didn't say anything to defend myself, it would only make things worse. Instead, I watched from the corner of my eye as my entire class distanced themselves from me and clung to bits of rumors.
My mother was no stranger to gossip and upon hearing of my troubles, offered to take me to buy a real bra, a new wardrobe, "New clothes can do wonders." She said with pleading eyes. I didn't look into her eyes though and shook my head.
"They said Grandma was a devil worshipper."
"Do people in this town have nothing better to do than gossip?"
"Apparently not. It transcends generations."
She sat back in her chair and bit at her bottom lip, "Are you sure some new clothes wouldn't make you feel better?"
"I like the clothes I have now." And although I knew she wanted more than anything to change the situation for me in the only way she knew how, she nodded and let it go.
Admittedly, I had become quite the loner by the time second semester started which was partly my doing as I refused to wear push-up bras and sticky lipgloss, and didn't feed into the rumor mill that was constantly churning up more and more absurd theories. Another girl had joined my place in the caste of untouchables, which bonded us together in a way that only two exiled people can be bonded. She approached me one day during lunch, plopping her tray down in front of me in an exaggerated manner.
"Is this where the poor unfortunate souls go?" She teased. Her eyes were large behind thick prescription glasses and her hair was red and large.
"I suppose it is." I looked at her with an eyebrow raised.
"I'm Goldie." She stuck out her hand, "Not like a dog."
I had seen her before in classes. Technically we had known each other since kindergarten, but had never spoken.
"Ernessa," I replied, "Not a satan worshipper."
"That's disappointing, I love the occult." When she smiled, her whole face shifted, unlike the coy smiles I had seen the girls in my class flash boys they admired. Goldie's outfit was ridiculous- a yellow and red striped sweater peaked out from beneath her jean overalls. Her earrings were small plastic bananas. But I immediately felt relieved in her presence, because it was clear she had no one to impress either.
"Where do you usually eat lunch?" I inquired. I had never seen her in the lunchroom before although admittedly I had never looked.
"Mr. Peters, the english teacher, usually lets me eat in there. When he's not around, I eat in the bathroom."
"The bathroom?" I said with disgust, "Doesn't that take your appetite away completely?"
"Not really, not anymore. It's quiet in there and I don't have to deal with the teasing. There's no one to call for me like I'm a dog." She stabbed a piece of chicken with a fork and doused it in ketchup.
"I like the name Goldie. I don't think it sounds like a pet name at all."
Goldie shrugged, "Any name can be a pet's name. Paisley says I have the mane of one of those shepherd dogs they use for hunting."
"Paisley says that my hair is the color of shit."
"Paisley's a bitch." We both laughed until we were red in the face.
Goldie very quickly established her role in my life. She had no other friends as well and the prospect of having one made her very eager. The first day we met, she asked if she could come over. I was less eager, not for reasons of disdain, but because I didn't want to overstep any boundaries. These thoughts must not have crossed her mind and upon seeing my mother working on dinner in kitchen, Goldie threw her arms around her and introduced herself.
"It's very nice to meet a friend of Ernessa's," my mother said with full sincerity. She glanced at the pair of us and smiled larger than I had ever seen.
"Well don't gawk mom, I'm not a complete loser."
She rolled her eyes and refocused her attention on Goldie, "Will you be joining us for dinner?"
"Only if you have enough. I wouldn't want to impose." She replied. I snorted- the girl had practically invited herself over.
Goldie, I learned, came from a long line of taxidermists and was a self proclaimed, "taxidermy prodigy". I squirmed at the thought of cutting open a dead animal and removing all of its insides but Goldie talked about it as though it was just the way things worked. If you asked her, things are born, then they die, and then they become furniture in some old lady's house.
"If you ever need something stuffed, I'll do it myself. I'll even throw in a discount." Goldie offered.
"If I ever ask you to stuff one of my dead animals, commit me." I said.
She was good at talking about herself and at some point in the night asked me if she could stay over since it was a weekend. I told her she could because frankly, it was nice not having to spend all night alone. It was even more nice not having to think about myself. When the sun began to set, we sat on my back porch and drank lemonade. Next door, Ellis was cutting up wood and when he saw my face, he turned and waved hello.
"Is that like your boyfriend or something?" Goldie said a little too loudly.
"What about today convinced you I was capable of having a boyfriend?"
She smiled, "He is kinda hot though, isn't he?" Goldie gestured at the woods that lay beyond our property line, "You could have some hot rendezvous in the forest."
I scrunched up my face and took a long sip of my lemonade.
***
The woods behind our house would become something of a comfort to me in those early years. After school, when the girls in my class had ceased their taunting about my lack of highlights and overall allure, I would run home carrying the pack on my back and swing it onto the porch. The backyard was fenced in by white picket that my mom said was essential to fitting in. On the long summer days when she'd wake before me and begin her gardening, I often found her standing at the edge of brightly colored peonies, admiring the fresh white paint. The fencing was plain and boring though, and since I had deemed the act of fitting in as unimportant, I went through a phase where I'd peel a strip of paint off every time I passed it. My mother repainted the fence in spite of my peeling, almost robotically. Jones women were often the talk of the town despite my mother's precautions and covering up my bad habits were one of her specialties.
Tall, thin trees with curved tips folded inwards created the illusion of a large arch above the entryway to the forest. The branches had become warped, twisting into each other as if God himself had declared it to be the true entrance. Beneath these trees was a dirt path that led straight into the heart of the woods. Off the path were small clusters of indistinguishable green plants and three leafed large plants that grew rashes up the sides of your legs. In the spring, rose buds sprouted from the bushes to the left and to the right dandelions grew up in between the greenery. On most days though, large roots penetrated the earth and made it difficult to walk the path with ease. If I wasn't careful, by the time I left the safety of the underbrush, the skin on my knees would be torn apart. My favorite time in the woods was when the sun would break through the tops of the trees and stream in onto the forest floor. I'd stand in those patches of light and let the energy radiate through me. I could feel the warmth settling on my skin, depositing into my veins and when I felt as though I was truly alone, I did what Jones women do best: magic.
"I felt it from time that I was pregnant with you. You can ask your father, he'll tell you." I was eight at the time and my father was still in the picture. My mother sat on the edge of my bed with a worried look on her face. "You're around the age I was when I discovered my own abilities."
My teacher, Mrs. Green, had called earlier that day to report that the kids in my class were afraid of me. During show and tell, one of my classmates had brought in an old family heirloom that had been in his family for ages. We all passed the broach around, "Remember to use nice hands," my teacher had said. Except, when I held it in my hands, I could feel that it was more than just a broach even if I didn't have the words to say so. I closed my eyes and felt it warm between my fingers. A girl who sat beside me screamed, startling me and scaring away the warm. She told the teacher she had seen my hands glow.
"Kids are always getting fancy notions in their head," Mrs. Green had assured my mother, "It's a mix of imagination and gossip they hear in their own homes. You tell Ernessa not to pay them no mind." But my mother knew better and promptly sat me down for a talk about what was appropriate behavior in front of other people.
"You can't go around showing off in front of people."
"I wasn't showing off, mom." I insisted.
She raised an eyebrow, "Well, you can't do what you did today in front of anyone. Ever." My mother paused, "I wish you had told me you were experiencing these things earlier. I'm your mother and I'd like it if we didn't keep secrets from each other."
I looked up at her, "Okay." I didn't realize I had been keeping a secret from her. The glow that the children had seen had only happened once or twice before and I had believed I was making it up in my head. My mother's green eyes reflected the light off my nightlight. She took my hands into her own and smiled.
"Us Jones girls have magic in our bones. You know that right?" She raised an eyebrow, "We come from a long line of strong, powerful women that dates back further than this town even." My mother was an exceptionally good storyteller and you could tell when she was about to spin a good one when her eyes widened and her voice got sweet and slow. "Grandma taught me how to use my magic for good. She taught me that women like us are what keeps balance in the world."
"Like a witch?" I chirped.
"Exactly." She smiled, "She taught me how to heal small animals and minor injuries on people. She even showed me how to sway the luck of things in my favor. I learned to be a very good witch from her. But your grandma was a special kind of magic! Grandma Jones could pull her magic from all sorts of things- churches, old houses filled with secrets, sacred books. Hell, she could even pull magic from me!"
"I want to be like Grandma Jones."
"No need for wants, my dear. You are a true reflection of her. But you must be careful," She warned, "Your magic isn't lingering inside of you, like my own but waiting on your fingertips to be awakened. You have to be very careful not to siphon magic in front of others."
"Why not?"
"Because they cannot do magic and would be very jealous of a special girl like you," She brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, her eyebrows pinched with worry, "It is very important that you promise me this."
And although I was only eight at the time, I felt her words had much deeper meaning and sought to relieve her of her anxiety. I stuck out my pinky and said, "I promise." To which she held out her own and looped it into mine.
The next day at the bus stop, Ellis turned to me and declared, "My daddy says hands don't glow," and that was that.
At first, I only practiced small spells. My mother lent me a small notebook that she had filled with things that worked for her when she was coming into her own and recommended that I start there. It took awhile to get used to the sensation, as I had only felt it in passing and on accident through the years. Feeling it when you are in control is something completely different, I learned. The small glow when my hands connected with something of value, mimicked the glow that a firefly gives off in the summer night. In school, where I was strictly forbidden from practicing, I'd test certain items out of curiosity. Being careful that no one was around, I'd press my hand into the face of a book or the handle of an artifact and watch as my hand presented its' strange glow.
The forest provided a space for longer experiments as I didn't have to worry much that someone would stumble upon me and call for the officer's to string me up or put stones in my pockets. I could only assume that's what my mother meant by impending danger from those around me finding out about my ability. Sometimes I spent hours in the forest and would emerge covered in bites but completely inspired.
Once, while leaving the woods during my junior year I found someone there waiting for me. Ellis was sat against the part of his fence that propped right up against our own and when he saw me, he perked up. "What do you do in there, Ernessa?" His face was sort of scrunched up and one of his eyes was nearly black.
"I like to go for walks." I replied curtly. He hadn't talked to me since that day at his mother's funeral and the sight of him outside of school, although we were neighbors, surprised me.
"Not one of the girls at school would go for a walk in there. They'd find it scary."
"Well, I do. So that makes one." We stared at each other for a minute then before I opened my mouth again, "What happened to your eye?"
He looked at me as though he didn't remember the large bruise taking up space on his face. "Ah you know my old man, he likes for me to be his sparring partner."
I nodded. I didn't feel the need to pry as I had often heard his father's drunken yelling coming in through my bedroom window and had lived to hear about it the next morning at the breakfast table. "Such a shame," my mom would say, "That boy has one good parent and she's in the ground."I didn't repeat these things to Ellis as I felt they'd do him no good.
Instead, I said, "You know, if you ever want to come over for dinner some night, I'm sure my mother would love to see you. She was very good friends with..." I trailed off.
"Ah, yes, my mother held Ms. Jones in very high regard." Ellis smiled in a way that looked like a fish hook was pulling up one side of his mouth. "I'll keep that in mind."
***
Later that night, when my mom was fast asleep I pulled out the candles that she kept in our living room cabinet and lit them on the floor of my room. I took the necklace that belonged to my great grandmother from the mantle and clasped it around my neck. It was what my mother called a talisman and it held ancestral powers within. When I had drawn out what I intended to do in the notebook, I set it down before me and closed my eyes. Putting my fingers on the necklace, I let the energy run through the tips of them and into my hands, repeating the words on paper. As soon as I felt settled in what I had set out to do, I opened my eyes, blew out the candles, and went to bed.

The following day, I was glad to find that I hadn't woken in the night to screaming and was even more pleased at the bus stop when Ellis appeared but the bruise did not. I knew that I could not keep his father at bay forever, but one night would be appreciated by all in the neighborhood. The bruise, on the other-hand, was purely a favor for Ellis. People in small towns talk and the last thing Ellis needed was to explain why his father chose him for a sparring partner. Upon seeing me a curious expression crossed his face but he didn't say anything, only winked at me when we got on the bus.