Sisterhood

Have you ever jolted awake and didn’t know when or where you were? It takes a few moments of stretching, rubbing your eyes, and yawning to realize you are at your friend’s house. That was me this morning. What am I doing here? One too many mojitos?

The brain fog is lifting. I remember going to Susie’s house; she just went through a horrible breakup. Her boyfriend was abusive, and he continued to taunt her.

One drink led to two; before we knew it, the bottle was empty. Shoes off, singing, and swearing off men. Giggling, we professed to the cosmos that we are strong and independent women.

This throbbing headache is far better than dealing with her broken heart. I hope there is Tylenol in this place.

The sun is exceptionally bright this morning. The hallway to the bathroom seemed like a five-hundred-mile journey — uphill. With each step, I felt like I was going to fall over. I haven’t had a hangover since I was in high school.

I shuffled through the medicine cabinet in hopes there was Tylenol. There were liquids, powders, and — is that a chicken foot? What the hell is Suzie doing with a chicken foot?

I can not think about what Suzie would be doing. Right now, all I can think about is abolishing this damned headache. I could not find a pain reliever among her unusual items.

I let Susie know that I had to go home. She looked up with hair in disarray and eyeliner running down her face, “Ok.”

I shook my head and left. I went back to my apartment. Tylenol, a hot shower, and sleep are precisely what the doctor ordered — I can barely giggle, “A witch doctor.”

A rabbit’s foot is good luck; what is a chicken foot for?

We met for lunch at Susie’s place. We ate fresh fruit, sandwiches, and thankfully — no chicken feet. I casually asked her, “Do you believe in dark magic?” Without skipping a sip of red wine, she grinned.

I broached the subject of what I saw in her medicine cabinet. “Jen, you have always had a wild imagination. Come here, and I will show you.”

Susie opens the medicine cabinet, and sure enough, they are gone. No, I saw them; I know I did.

Under her ponytail from her hairline into her t-shirt, a fresh tattoo of a detailed pentacle. Does magic have a price, and what price is Susie willing to pay, and for what?

“Susie, I don’t believe in any of this bullshit,” I shake my head in disbelief, “How can you?”

“The powers and wonders of magic,” Susie replied calmly, “have always been with us. Recently, a deity spoke to me, and she awakened the power that has been with me through generations. Our roots aren’t good or evil. They are pure and natural.”

“Susie, someday you will regret this path, and I hope you will not be too lost to find your way back.”

“Jen, last night was eye-opening. I believed you were aware of our ancient abilities. The way we cursed Michael, it seemed so obvious. Our combined abilities bound him to despair. He will always feel my pain,” she rubs the large dark bruises on her arm, “cruel emotional abandonment and eternal loneliness. He will never beat or strip another woman of her purpose and dignity.”

“My abilities? No, I would never involve myself,” I put my hands in the pocket of my pullover sweatshirt, “in any form of,” I pull out three glass bottles, “magic.”

I placed them on the table. Susie was watching me with a sincere look, “Jenny, those are your items.”

I raised one bottle to the light — a reddish liquid. The second was powder, and the last — the chicken foot, “No.”

“Jen, a witch shares your soul. The language you spoke and the confidence in the ritual — I believed it was clear to you.”

“Susie, all I did was come to your place to comfort you. We had a few drinks, laughed, and nothing more.”

Susie seemed to hear what I was saying, but it felt like she was looking through me — behind me.

I continue telling her that I don’t want any part of her magic or her interest in witches, “If you know better, you won’t have any part of it either.”

Susie’s eyes widen and they seem lost in a world beyond us.

I snap my fingers to draw her attention back to me, “I don’t know what kind of joke you are playing, but I am not impressed.”

Susie’s trance-like stare only annoys me more, “You piss me off. I am leaving without your stupid bottles.”

When I turned to leave, I saw reflections in the mirror. Two disheveled young women wore colonial-style dresses and had dirty long hair, boney hands, and terrified grins. Their reflections sent chills up my spine. Standing behind them was Michael. His eyes were barren, and his mouth was sewn shut. He drops to his knees.

I quickly turn to Susie; her eyes are flowing with tears, “How did you not feel it? How do you not remember our sisterhood in Salem?

Last night, you shared the vision of us holding hands, sisters. We held each other’s hand tightly until the executioner released the floor beneath us.”

My heart skips a beat as I turn to the mirror. It was as if an old-time movie was playing. Susie and I were holding hands when Salem hung us.

Maryanne Lindquist & Mojha MacDowell

2021