Witch Ball

by Adele Elliott

  "Gertrude, you were later than usual today,'" Mom said while looking down at her plate. Her tone is casual. This is a statement that is really a question. I know she is fishing for more information. Mom is horribly overprotective. She has always been that way. How much trouble could anyone get into in this place?

  "Yeah. The library, you know."

  "Jesus, Kay. Let the girl alone! Better to have her reading than hanging out with that crazy old lady." My dad is always on the brink of exploding. Adulthood must be as awful as he claims.

  "I know what time the library closes," she said between clenched teeth. "I thought she should have been home earlier."

  "Well, I went to the coffee house with a friend."

  "What friend?" She looked up. She was way too interested.

  "Just a boy."

  They both stopped chewing and stared at me. I don't know why this was so shocking.

  "Did you get in a car with that boy?" I could see that mother was angry. I had no idea why.

  "No. We walked."

  "What boy?" This time Dad was concerned.

  "A boy who works at the library. His name is Eric."

  "Eric what?" My mother can place everyone in their proper class and category with the answer to two questions: What was his mother's maiden name?, and What does his father do for a living?

  "Eric Alexander. He's a sophomore at The W." I thought this would make her happy, him being a college boy and all.

  "Alexander?! Who are his parents? His father isn't Hunter Alexander, is he?"

  "How should I know? I just met him."

  My parents exchanged meaningful glances. Dad took his cocktail into the living room and sank into the recliner in front of the TV. He would probably remain incommunicado for the rest of the evening. This was his pattern.

  As we cleared the table, I said, "Mom, my head hurts. Can I have an aspirin?"

  "Just wait awhile. It'll go away."

  That was her pat answer. She acts like aspirin is heroin, or something. But she was right. It did go away.

  Then, surprisingly, my dad looked over the pages of The Commercial Dispatch. "Oh, my Gawd! A teenage boy committed suicide yesterday! Can you imagine that? Hanged himself in his closet."

  Mom was less shocked by this news. "Those teen years are hard," she said this with no emotion.

  "Gertrude," said Dad, "did you know him? Skip Daigle? He was on the track team at Columbus High. Only a year older than you..."

  "I don't think so. I've been to a couple of meets, when the two schools were up against each other. But I don't remember him."

  The truth is that I am not at all interested in sports. I sometimes go to games, or sporting events to look at boys. That is where I first saw Eric. That "Skip" boy may have been there, but I didn't notice him.

  Mom went into the kitchen and began slamming the cabinet doors and rattling the dishes. It sounded like a hurricane in there. When she came out her eyes were red.

  I went into the dining room to help with the clean-up.

  "What's wrong, Mom?"

  "Oh, nothing." Of course, everyone knows that 'nothing' means 'something bad'. She was quiet for a minute then started talking. "I guess I was just thinking about that poor boy's parents, how sad they must feel."

  I didn't know what to say. I doubt that she even knew the family at all. "It'll be Okay, Mom. They'll get over it."

  Evidently this was the worst possible thing I could have said. She turned to me and glared. "A mother never gets over the loss of a child. She remembers every birthday, every milestone that ever happens. She never forgets how old they would be, what grade they would be in. Her love for that child never dies." She turned back into the kitchen.

  Dad dropped his eyes back to the pages. Now, the only sound was the rattling of the newspaper, and the occasional clinking of the ice in his glass.

  Mom came out of the kitchen and said, "I ran into Lenora Leigh this evening at Lil' Dooey's. She lost her daughter, Emma, a year or two ago. Lenora looked so drained, so old." Mom gathered the last dishes from the table. "I remember her from high school. She was always impeccable, beautifully dressed."

  Dad had nothing to add to this. Neither did I. He sat back in his chair; the TV's lights flickered across his face. A re-run of "Mayberry R. F. D." was on, but he never seemed to look at the screen.

  3

  I waited a few days to return my book on analytical chemistry. I hadn't opened it. Eric was behind the desk. "Did you like it?" he asked.

  "Oh, yes. Very informative; I learned a lot." What I actually learned is that it is much better to check out thinner books. Those science journals are awfully heavy to carry comfortably in my backpack. Way too hard on my back.

  "Are you planning to hang around for a while? We could get something to drink when I get off." Yeaay! I think he is asking me on a real date.

  "Sure." I tried to sound cool, but my voice went up an octave or two.

  We went back to the coffee house. This time he paid.

  "Eric, why did you choose The W?"

  "It's a good school."

  "Yeah, but you were a big track star at Columbus High. Most boys would have gone to Mississippi State, at Starkville. Sports rule there."

  I was trying to learn as much as I could about him. After all, he is my soul mate. No matter that he hasn't figured that out—yet.

  "The W" is the local nick name for Mississippi University for Women. Men have enrolled for a few decades now, but the name has not changed. I think it might be embarrassing for guys to admit that they graduated from there. They may have to do some explaining if they leave Columbus. Strangers could possibly assume that they were once women.

  "Sports!" He made a small spitting sound with the word. "I am finished with sports." Then he smiled, as if a less disgusting thought popped into his head. "Anyway, what guy wouldn't want to be surrounded by women?"

  "Surrounded by women" is a bit of a stretch. Sure, there are lots of "women" studying there. But, like many women's universities, it attracts a fair amount of lesbians. Not all, of course, but more than most co-ed schools. They come from all over the state to study there. Maybe it's easier to be yourself when you are far from home. Most kids lie to their parents, just a little bit, trying to please them.

  "Did you know that boy, Skip? The one who died? He was on the track team, like you."

  He hesitated and finally said, "Yeah, I knew him. He was younger, two years behind me. That was pretty messed up."

  It was obvious that he didn't want to talk about Skip; it probably made him too sad. I like a man who is sensitive. I'll bet Eric has a lot of depth.

  "I love history. Liberal arts are as good at The W as anywhere."

  "It must be great to have a passion," I said.

  "What about you, Truly? What are you interested in?"

  That was a pretty hard question. What am I passionate about? Not school. Not very much at all, in fact. I had better figure this out before I graduate. If I don't, I might end up as a bookkeeper, or a clerk at City Hall. God forbid!

  "Still looking, I guess."

  "But, you have a start. You finished that chemistry book a no time. Not many people could have done that." He looked at me through dark eyelashes so thick that they would have made a runway model envious. How can I carry on a conversation while my heart is puddleing on the tile floor?

  "Yeah, chemistry..." I was thinking about an entirely different sort of chemistry. Eric was certainly nice enough, but there was something distant about him. He must like me; otherwise he would not have invited me on a second "date". But he never tried to touch me, not even accidently. I felt a sort of barrier around us. It was like an old science fiction movie where the astronauts wear a lumpy, inflated suit and a round fish-bowl over their heads. Impossible to touch the real person through all that stuff!

  "That chemistry book came in real handy." This was not a lie. A CD had warped in my backpack, and I flattened it back into shape by putting the book on top to straighten
it out. I left it on the porch, so the heat could soften it. Sounds almost the same now...

  "Can I walk you home?" This was promising.

  "I'm not going home. My mom has to work late, and this is my dad's poker night. I'm going to stay with my Aunt Fleur 'til they get home." Dad had not been told this. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. "You can walk me to her house."

  "Aren't you old enough to stay alone for a while? It won't be dark for a couple of hours."

  "You don't know my parents." Eric hasn't met my mom and dad. But my guess is that he probably knows a lot of parents just like them—you might say 'controlling'. Columbus is a particularly safe town. There is little crime. I cannot remember any case of kidnapping. I imagine my folks watch too much TV news. They probably worry that a gang of pirates are lurking in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to Shanghai me.

  Aunt Fleur was thrilled, thrilled, thrilled to see us. She wore a pink wig and a caftan with jagged stripes in blues and purples. She insisted that Eric come in. Since we had just come from the coffee shop neither of us was interested in tea. But we sat at the table while she worked on her business.

  "A girl just has to keep body and soul together, I always say." She always says a lot of things. Sometimes I understand them.

  The table was once again spread with scraps of fabric, felt, needles and thread, lots of junk.

  "What are you doing?" Eric asked.

  "This, my dear, is how I support myself. I have an Internet business called 'ACCESSORIENS'."

  I had heard the explanation before, however Eric needed some clarification. "You see, Eric, I design clothing and accoutrements for figurines. Say your porcelain Victorian lady is feeling a bit chilled. She might enjoy a faux-fur capelet. Or a ceramic zebra may want to wear a jaunty beret. I make purses for holy statues, and sequined scarves for cherubs. The possibilities are endless!"

  "You mean people actually buy these things?" I know he didn't mean to be rude. It came out a bit snarky.

  She picked up a turquoise feather and blew it at him. "Most decidedly! I sell on Facebook, and ETSY".

  "Really?" I could see he was about as skeptical as I was about the Witch Ball.

  "Aunt Fleur, how is that Witch Ball working?" I tried to change the subject.

  "Oh, starting slightly slowly. But it is certainly not attracting any bad spirits. I'm just waiting for the right ones to discover it."

  "I better be going." Eric was suddenly in a big hurry to leave.

  "I'll walk you out."

  "Don't you just love my aunt? Isn't she great?" I said once we were on the porch.

  "She's OK, I guess." I hoped he would be more enthusiastic. She is wonderful, so very different from anyone around here. Like the olives in martinis, she is an acquired taste. Maybe I am an acquired taste, too. He isn't in a hurry to make any moves on me. Maybe next time.

  4

  But the next time did not come soon enough for me. It seemed that whenever I went to the library, Eric was busy. The second I came in the door, he dropped what he was doing and slipped into the room behind the desk. I'm not bold enough to go past a sign that says "Employees Only." There was no invitation to the coffee house, or any sort of greeting.

  A few times I hung out at the coffee house sipping bubble tea, hoping he might show up. He never did.

  I am nothing if not tenacious. I started sitting on the grounds of the Stephen D. Lee Home next door. The docents at this historic relic are all about a hundred years old. I don't think they ever even noticed me. If they did, they probably thought I was one of the bronze sculptures on the front lawn, or maybe a ghost. Columbus is full of them.

  From there, I could see him leave at the end of the day. He was always alone, or chatting with Mother Goose. WHEW! At least I hadn't been replaced—yet.

  This sort of behavior could be considered stalking. Not in my book. It was more like studying—like chemistry, only interesting.

  "Hey, Eric!" I popped my head over the iron fence. He had his head down, fiddling with the lock on his bike, and hadn't seen me.

  "Oh, you startled me."

  "I haven't seen you around much. Watcha been up to?" Okay, I had seen him around—a lot. He just hadn't seen me.

  "Busy," he said.

  "Maybe we can go to the coffee house..." I tilted my head a bit thinking he would find it cute. Evidently he was unimpressed.

  "I can't."

  "I'm going to stop by Aunt Fleur's house. Wanna come?"

  He looked up from the bike. After much fumbling, he'd finally unlocked it. "Look, Truly, I have to be real with you. That old lady gives me the creeps. She's weird. For God's sake, she has pink hair!"

  That stung. "I'll admit she's slightly quirky, maybe eccentric. But she's really wonderful. Anyway, she doesn't have pink hair. She just likes to wear wigs."

  "Uh huh." He threw his leg over the seat and peddled off at an extraordinarily fast speed.

  I can't understand how anyone could find Fleur "creepy." Eric seems to be fascinated with Mother Goose. She is a kooky old lady. She wears a big, flowered hat and carries a stuffed goose with her. In my book, there is little difference between the two.

  It's pretty obvious that my dad doesn't like her much either. I guess it's a guy thing.

  5

  I walked to Aunt Fleur's house. I knew she would make me feel better.

  "Aunt Fleur, what makes someone not like someone else? What if I thought someone was great, and another person thought they were 'creepy'? If I like both of them, shouldn't they naturally like each other?"

  She looked up at the corner of the room, as if the answer might be written on the place where the wall and ceiling meet. "Well, that is a very difficult question. Maybe they have a history with each other that you don't know about. Maybe one broke the other's heart, or wounded them in some way."

  "I doubt that. They had never met, except through me." I hoped I wasn't telling her too much. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt her feelings.

  "Well, sometimes it is not the real person that they see. It could be that they are reminded of a person that they don't like, or someone who was cruel to them. The heart has responses that no one else understands." She was stitching a tiny pink cape with a stand-up collar. The table was covered with snippets of thread that lay in squirmy, worm-like shapes.

  "This deep rose would look so attractive on you, Truly." She held the tiny garment up to my face. "You know what else? With your coloring and summer tan, any jewel-tone would be wonderful!"

  "Aunt Fleur, I'm thinking of going to a movie tonight. Why don't you come with me?" I wanted to go to a movie, or anywhere, to get out of the house. I had an ulterior motive, though. Since I don't drive, I needed a ride.

  "Not tonight, dear. I'm busy."

  I had never seen her go out, and wondered what she could be "busy" with. Maybe she didn't want to be seen with me. Like Eric, she might be trying to avoid me. Now, that's silly. When did I get so paranoid?

  "Busy?"

  "My dear, I do have friends, you know."

  I had no idea. I had not met any friends. "Really?"

  "Yes. I have two friends who retired here."

  "Why would anyone choose to live here? It's sooo boring."

  "Actually, we have known each other for a very long time. Trillian and Algonquin and I worked together at a club in new Orleans called the My-O-My Club."

  "What did you do there?"

  "Pantomime, danced, wore exquisite costumes. We were fabulous!"

  "Once again, why would anyone retire here?" This was something very hard for me to grasp.

  "Columbus isn't that bad. The climate is good, and there is very little crime. Don't forget, I lived here before. There are still people I know."

  Nothing to do but to go home. Ho-hum. I walked slowly toward the full moon rising on the east side of town.

  Mom was frying some potatoes, and the whole house smelled like onions and grease. I decided to set the table without even being asked.

/>   "What's going on with you, Gertrude?" she asked without looking up.

  "Just summer boredom."

  Dad peered over the afternoon paper. Smoke from his cigarette curled around his head in a soft cloud. The TV was on with the volume off. "Have you thought about getting a job, young lady? That might make the summer more interesting. Get you prepared for college. You'll probably need to work while in school."

  "It's a little late for that. School has been out for almost a month now. All the jobs are taken." I was not interested in working. What I've learned from my parents is that working should be put off as long as possible.

  "Some kids do volunteer work during the summer," Mom offered. "You would feel so good about yourself."

  Then I had a brilliant idea. I could volunteer at the library. Eric would have to speak to me if we worked together.

  "Thanks, Mom. Volunteering is a great idea."

  6

  Who knew applying for a volunteer job would be so complicated? There are actually forms to fill out, and I had to be interviewed. You would think they were paying me. But it worked.

  By Thursday afternoon I was helping people who didn't know how to use the computers, and assisting Mother Goose at "Story Time." The first time Eric saw me he seemed surprised. I pretended we were old friends, like nothing had happened. Soon we were eating lunch together.

  My mom taught me that boys like to talk about themselves. If you want to get them to like you, ask about their interests. They may not shut up. This approach seemed devious to me, but possibly effective. So I started asking about history.

  "Truly," he said, "this city has a deep and interesting past."

  I wanted to say you must be kidding, but I nodded as if I were fascinated.

  "Did you know we were a stop on the Underground Railroad?"

  "Well, I heard that there are tunnels under the streets that have been there for a very long time."

  He laughed. "No, the Underground Railroad wasn't really underground. It was a secret route that runaway slaves used to escape to the north."