Potion Perfect

by Billie Dale

  “You know my girl, Ten?” Ronnie asks, rubbing her hand where she was hit.

  “I’ve been waiting for her,” she says, placing Ronnie’s books into a bag.

  Ronnie looks to me with UFO size eyes, mouthing “What the hell?”

  “I told you we needed to leave,” I whisper through the side of my closed lips.

  “The potion is Dragoste Potion. Love Potion,” the lady continues pushing the vial back in my direction.

  “I-I don’t need a love potion,” I respond shaking my head. “Nope, no potion; just these books.” My fight or flight instinct is telling me to run like the wind but my feet are rooted to the floor.

  “’Tis different kind of love, yous need. You must have. De’ Mulo shows me yous, yous is zee one zee potion belongs to.” Her broken English is hard to understand as she places the vial in my hand.

  Rolling the vial around in my palm, my eyes catch on a shimmer, locking my gaze, a warmth builds from my fingertips up to my elbow, I question dazed, “What is a mule?” Still staring at the bottle, the warmth traveling over my shoulders, settling in my chest.

  “A Mulo, child ’tis de spirit of the dead. Ven it speaks, yous listen. Yes, girl?”

  I look to Ronnie for help, she shrugs her shoulders and returns her eyes to the bottle I’m still rolling around in my palm.

  Setting the bottle back on the counter, “I don’t have the money to buy this,” I say, smiling, though I’m not sure she can see it through the film over her eyes.

  “No, girl. No, money. Mulo says yous have zee potion, yous have zee potion. I have one more for yous, wait here,” she commands, grabbing her walker once again and slowing moving to the back of the store.

  A warm breeze smelling of roses, skates across my skin bringing a twinkle of chimes in my ears, raising the hairs on my arms and sending a chill along my spine. My hand yearns to hold the bottle again.

  “What the fuck, Ronnie. We need to go. Forget the books. Let’s go before she gets back,”

  I whisper yell.

  Ronnie opens her lips to respond, stopping with her mouth gaping, the frightening gypsy lady is back. Damn, she’s spry for an old lady. I swear she must be pushing a hundred, her skin’s wrinkled like a prune, her hunched posture, she looks so frail and small but utterly terrifying.

  “Here is other potion de Mulo say yous need. An Adevăr Potion, truth potion,” she says placing another old looking vial, this one red with black lace, on the counter.

  I’m ready to get out of the store, away from this maddening old lady. She wants to give us these potion’s, fine; I’ll indulge her if we can get the hell out of here.

  “Alright, we’ll take your potions. What do we owe you for the books?”

  “No” she yells. Slamming her hands on the counter, causing both Ronnie and I to jump back. “If yous do not believe, potion’s not work. Yous must believe.”

  “I’m not Romany, Ma’am. I don’t believe in magic potions.”

  “Yous believe in zee mind, yes? Yous study zee psycho side of zee brain?” she asks. Causing Ronnie to snicker.

  How does she know this? Do I know this woman? This is crazy, we need to leave but my feet won’t move toward the door, I’m rooted in place. “Not exactly the ‘psycho’ side, but yes I study the cognitive psychology side of the brain. Why?”

  “Believe in zee mind of over matter, belief in magic potion not necessary. Believe in zee possibility zat there is something more powerful zan yous. That there is better for yous. If you believe dis’ then potions vill vork.”

  I don’t believe a word of this shit but I want to leave and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get the hell out here. I say what I’m hoping will appease her, “Fine, how do we use them?”

  “Ze Dragoste potion is only for yous, Tensanne Craig. Two drops each day in yous mornin’ drink is all yous need. But yous must use every day. Zee truth potion is for both of yous. If yous vant to know if someone is being truthful with yous, add a drop to their drink. If they are dishonest, yous vill know,” she replies with her English and Romany overlapping each other.

  “Sometimes, Tensanne Craig, yous think too much and believe too little. Now ’tis time to believe. Yous come see me again, yous will know when zee time is right,” she says placing the vials in my hand, cupping it in both of hers, her skin feeling like tissue paper, thin and fragile, “Just believe, girl. Anything can happen if yous jus’ believe.”

  “Puri Daj Esmeralda? Are you in here?” a female voice calls, as a lady makes her way to the counter. The old lady slumping back on her stool. Noticing Ronnie and I she says, “Oh, hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the bell on the door ring. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “We were wanting to purchase some books and having an interesting conversation with this lovely lady,” Ronnie says, gesturing to the bag on the counter.

  The lady’s dark eyebrows draw to a severe V, her eyes question our sanity, “You were talking to my Grandmother?”

  “Yes,” I respond.

  “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. My Puri Daj, my grandmother, hasn’t been able to speak since she had a stroke a month ago,” she says glancing from the old lady to us waiting for a response.

  I’m not sure what to say. The old lady was talking to us. I look to Esmeralda and she winks one cloudy eye at me. She’s bluffing her family. Unbelievable. I’m not going to be the one to explain to this woman that she is being snowballed by her grandmother. My feet no longer feel like they’re stuck to the floor, it’s time for us to leave.

  “Right, well. What do we owe for the books?”

  Giving us our total, Ronnie pays for her books. An obscene amount of money for paperbacks that will take up more space in our dorm room.

  “Will that be all?” the lady asks.

  “Yes, that’s all. Thank you. Goodbye Esmeralda,” I call, waiting a second for a response but getting none.

  Taking the bag full books and stuffing the potions in my pocket, we quickly rush out of the store. When our feet hit the sidewalk, we look at each other and burst out laughing. All the tension from moments before leaving with our chuckles.

  Gasping for air in between laughs, I ask, “Do you have any idea what the hell just happened in there?”

  Holding her side with tears of laughter streaming down her face, Ronnie says, with a mock Romany accent dipped in a southern drawl, “I have no idea. But ‘yous must believe’.” Making me laugh harder.

  “Are you going to try the potion?” she asks, tapping on her phone, signaling an Uber to come pick us up.

  Sobering some at her question, “The analytical part of me says there is no way anything like this could work but the hopeful little girl in me who still believes in fairy tales wants to give it a try. But that lady was a con man, she’s lying to her family so I’m not inclined to believe anything she said.”

  “She knew things about you, though. That wasn’t a con. I don’t think it could hurt. I mean it may give you a case of raging diarrhea or something like that but I don’t think she would give you anything that would do ya any real harm. Can you bypass your brain enough to give it a chance to work?”

  “You believe in magic potions?”

  “I don’t not believe in them. I mean, if all you need is some belief to make life a little better, than yes. I would believe.”

  “You’re right. What do I have to lose?” I ask looking at her smiling face. Feeling a warmth coming from the pocket I placed the vials in.

  “Fine, I believe this tiny magic love potion will work. Starting tomorrow, I will test it out. Worst case scenario, I end up being able to write a paper on the negative effects of believing in magic or I’m glued to the toilet with Montezuma’s Revenge,” I say, patting my pocket.

  We’re silent on our ride back to campus. Exhaustion from the day settles over my body, my brain works double-time to digest it all. Once we’re back in our room, I set the vials on my organized desk, place my new underwear in my dresser, take my hair
out of its hair tie and slip into my favorite purple fuzzy pajamas.

  Ronnie slides into her bed next to mine, her face clean of makeup in her tank top and sleep shorts with her hair pulled up in a ponytail. I slip into my bed, under the covers while she turns off the lights. Staring up at the poster of Jean Piaget, the pioneer in child cognitive development, on my ceiling glowing in the moonlight filtering in from the window.

  Realizing I haven’t looked at social media the entire time we were out, nor have I thought about the mess that is my life right now. For several hours, I put the whole SnapTalk incident behind me, forgetting the drama that consumes my world. I wasn’t ridiculed by students on campus. I didn’t care what they had to say. Yes, there was bullshit at the restaurant and then more with the old men but I’m out of fucks to give about that. A warmth blooms in my chest, dare I say I feel happy right now, maybe even hopeful. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I want the potion to work. I want to believe in a better me. I want to find love.

  Drifting to sleep with a goofy grin on my face, curled up with my Mom’s favorite quilt wrapped around me, I think back to the stories she used to read me before bed. The time before I could read for myself. The tales of Princes and Princesses, of happily ever after’s. A time before social media made my world harsh and cold. A time of innocence.

  Tapping into that little girl, I believe as I drift off to sleep dreaming of a faceless man with mesmerizing sea colored eyes.

  Chapter Five

  Chocolate comes from a bean, a bean is a vegetable, therefore chocolate is healthy.

  —Tensanne’s logic on dieting

  Tensanne

  “I’M WALKING ON sunshine, woohoo. It’s time to wake up, Tennie Girl,” sings from my phone signaling it’s time to wake up. The song Mom used to sing to me while we danced around the kitchen along with her recorded voice, makes me smile as I wake. Clicking the home button on my phone, I silence the song. Saddened a little that I force myself to wait until the next day to hear it again. I miss my mom but if I allow myself to wallow in my grief I won’t be able to make it through the day.

  Rubbing my eyes, I squint to Ronnie’s bed. Through my blurry vision, I think her bed is empty. Putting my glasses on confirms she is already up and out of bed. Probably out running off all those calories she ate yesterday. I envy her dedication. That envy still isn’t enough to pry my ass out of bed to exercise though. Maybe she’ll exercise enough for the both of us; I can lose weight through osmosis. She does all the work, I reap the benefits. That would be my definition of perfect.

  Sighing, I wrench myself from the bed, shuffling across the room to our little counter kitchenette consisting of a Keurig coffee maker and a microwave. Essentials for every college student. Popping the Carmel flavored k-cup in the brewer, slipping my mug under the spout, I press the brew button and enjoy the coffee aroma that fills the room as the hot nectar fills my cup. Adding cream and sweetener when it’s done, yawning, I plop in my high back, heated with vibrating rollers, office chair. If there is a God, he sits in one of these chairs. A congratulations gift from Ronnie’s parents for being a seventeen-year-old college sophomore. I could live in this chair, and I do on most days, spending long hours writing papers and studying.

  Sipping my coffee, I feel it’s welcome burn all the way to my belly. Should I bother checking out social media today? A glinting shimmer in my peripheral vision catches my attention, looking to my left I see the little black bottle with the vintage lace.

  “Oh, I forgot about you, my precious,” I purr to the bottle. Twisting the top, I hear a release of air, the smell of cinnamon fills my nose. Squeezing the eye-dropper plunger, blue liquid climbs up the plastic tube. Recalling Esmeralda, I hold the dropper over my mug releasing two drops. Taking my spoon, I give it a quick stir, bring it to my lips and take a big scalding gulp. “Oh, shit that’s hot,” I screech, holding my tongue out fanning it with my hand.

  “Ten, are you chugging hot coffee again?” Ronnie asks, causing me to almost fall out of my comfy chair. I was so focused on the potion I didn’t hear her come in.

  Scrambling to right myself, “Crap, Ron. Make some noise when you come in, you scared the bejesus out of me.”

  “So, did you add the potion?” she asks, raising her eyebrows up and down at me in excitement.

  “Yes, I did,” I state, sticking my chin in the air.

  “Well, is it working?” she asks. My mouth opens with a response, pausing when a gust of air moves through the room smelling of roses, the wind ruffling my hair, a light jingle of bells ringing in my ears.

  Turning my head back and forth, “Did you hear that?” I ask, seeking the source of the sound.

  “Hear what?” she responds.

  “I heard wind chimes,” I say, my eyes peering at the window, it’s closed. “I don’t think it’s supposed to work yet. I guess we should have asked,” I say distracted by the sound. Shrugging it off, hiding the jitters running under my skin, “How was your run?” I ask.

  Smiling, her face glistening with sweat she chimes, “Thrilling.” Stretching her arms above her head, “Running is such a great endorphin rush and it’s the best way to clear the mind.”

  “Yeah, I’ll take your word for it. If I try running, with Thing One and Thing Two on my chest, I would end up with two black eyes and bruised shoulders from the bouncing.”

  Snickering, she grabs her shower caddy and disappears into the bathroom.

  The average college dorm has two beds, two desks and all showers are communal. We are some of the lucky college students, or I should say I got lucky that Ronnie chose to be my guardian. Her dad pays for us to be in a suite room so we are fortunate enough to have a bathroom in our room. Meaning no group showers for me. There is nothing more horrifying than having to get naked in front of a bunch of other women.

  “I’ll be back in a few, get ready and we’ll Uber across campus and get a good cup of coffee before class. You have your Human Brain class and Advanced Chemistry today, right?” she yells from the bathroom.

  “Yes, I do. I get my brain learning and then a good brain scrambling before the day is done.” I love my Human Brain class but Chemistry is one of my few weaknesses. I still have a hundred percent in the class but it challenges me and I love a challenge.

  Laughing, she closes the bathroom door, from inside, she shouts, “You love it and you know it.”

  She’s right, I do. My class load this semester is one that would make most college grad students cringe, but I’m thrilled with it. Psychology 1201: Your Brain on Drugs, Cellular Neurobiology, Advanced Chemistry, Intro to Neuro Science, and A Clinical Approach to the Human Brain. Each class essential to my undergrad degree in Cognitive Psychology and Brain Science, the study of why we remember some things and forget others. Focusing on Alzheimer’s, speech struggles and memory problems. I want to know why the brain does what it does. Why, when certain areas are affected, we forget our whole lives, everyone we love and every piece of who we are. It’s a subject that greatly impacts my life and it’s my passion.

  Ronnie’s return snaps me from my daze. I have sat at my desk doing nothing the entire forty-five minutes she was getting ready but I finished my cup of coffee. I don’t look any different. I don’t feel any different. Maybe the potion takes a little bit, or it’s a multiple dose type potion, only working once it’s had a chance to build in your system.

  Grabbing my yoga pants, my warm Winnie the Pooh hoodie and grabbing my new red matching bra and underwear set, I scurry to the bathroom to finish getting ready. I slip on my Chucks and grab a scrunchie to pull my thick hair up in a messy bun. Yes, I still use scrunchies. Don’t judge me. They’re the only thing that will hold this mess of hair up off my neck, so I have a complete collection of 80’s style scrunchie’s that Ronnie makes fun of on a regular basis. I’m positive I was born in the wrong decade or maybe my love for my mom and her love for the 80’s is what fuels my love for retro clothes and songs.

  “How about we walk to the coffee sho
p instead of taking an Uber?” I suggest.

  Eye’s as big as saucers, she holds her hand to my forehead, “Are you feeling alright? You want to walk in the cold, all the way across campus?”

  Pushing her hand away, “Oh, stop it. Yes, I want to walk,” I huff. I understand her concern; I never want to walk anywhere if I don’t have to. Exercise is a four-letter word in my vocabulary but today I feel like walking.

  Looking down at her high-heeled boots, her nose crinkles. “I guess I should change my shoes. We got a dusting of snow last night and I don’t want to fall on my ass,” she says, grabbing her furry, flat soled boots instead, then slipping on her coat, hat and gloves, “Let’s go.”

  Slipping on my coat, gloves and slinging my backpack on my shoulder we journey outside the dorm. She was right, the ground is covered in white and the air that was a warm temperature the day before is now a chilly 34 degrees.

  The campus is a winter wonderland. The trees coated in snow, buildings with white powdered sitting on their roofs. A blustery cold wind nipping at my exposed skin. Got to love Indiana weather. If you don’t, just wait a minute, it’ll change.

  The Quad is fairly empty this morning. Students rushing in a controlled slide, on the slick sidewalks, to get to their destinations. Hurrying to get inside out of the cold. Meaning they have no time to notice me.

  I’m out of breath and slightly sweaty by the time we reach The Brew Station, the campus coffee shop. The burn in my lungs feels good, the tightness in my calves is rejuvenating, making me feel I’ve accomplished something. Smiling to myself, the warmth from inside hits my face when we pull open the door. The smell of coffee permeates the air, breathing deep I can almost taste decadent the air.

  “You want your usual? White Chocolate, full fat, full whip with chocolate sprinkles and a slice of banana bread?” Ronnie asks.

  “No, I want a skinny white chocolate mocha, no whip, no sprinkles, no bread.”