Bitchcraft

3.

Morning is a bitch.

That's all I can think when my alarm rings, startling me awake. I blink a couple of time, the residue from my dreams lingering behind my closed eyelids. I shake them away with a groan. I'm sure I dreamt about something strange. I rub my face with an exasperated sigh and will myself into getting out of my bed, the cold tiles making me shiver when my feet touch the ground.

Pieces of memories from last night assault me and I stare baffled at my own reflection. My hollow cheeks and the dark bags under my eyes testify of my lack of sleep. It was all a dream I tell myself. There is no way what happened was real. Reassured I get under the shower, the lukewarm water relaxing my tense muscles and washing away my worries.

I wipe myself quickly and step in front of the mirror, to brush my teeth. I comb my hair, tying the untamed red curls in a messy bun and frown. Weariness is etched into my features, the red tendrils of my hair offering a startling contrast with my pale skin, and even my freckles stand out. My usually bright eyes have taken a darker sheen, the green veiled by a hint of grey.

I curse when I remember that I forgot to wash my uniform yesterday because I was too tired and shocked. Which means I'm going to have to spend my entire day in a dirty uniform. Great. Disheartened I grab the white and pink checked dress and am surprised to find it soft and perfumed, unexpectedly fresh and clean. That's only further reassurance that what happened yesterday was a dream, and I probably sleepwalked myself into the bathroom to clean it. Hurriedly I button it in the front and put on a pair of white sneakers, pausing when I see the bruises on my knees. So, the fall wasn't a dream, that actually happened...I ponder. Then, scared of what I might find out, decide that it's better to leave everything behind.

I run down to the kitchen not forgetting to step into the small garden and grab a handful of mint and other herbs to brood them into a tea.

Nana spends almost all of her time in the garden, tending her plants, and brooding concoctions with their leaves or roots. I kneel down and let my fingertip brush over a luxuriant leaf, that seems to bend over its own weight. The texture is soft and smooth, thick with juices. I feel mesmerized by the intense green of its foliage.

Suddenly, a wisp of air warns me of another presence behind me, and I glance over my shoulder, smiling briefly. Nana is as silent as ever, long limbs moving with languid grace. The fae quality of her features just adds to her eerie appearance, and with the wind blowing in her long white hair, she reminds me of a Japanese ghost. The black cat purring lazily between her legs just adds to the picture.

There is something terribly beautiful about the tattoos I can see peeking from under her sleeves, and up her neck. I once saw her naked back, and her entire body was filled with dark, swirly and willowy lines. When I asked her what they were, she smiled, a childish smile. Like a kid withholding a secret.

As always, she's barefoot, a long woolen black dress embracing her tall figure. She smiles at me, her soft features accompanying the motion delicately, and a glint of amusement in her crescent-shaped eyes.

"Talking to my plants, hon'?" she asks, amused. I let out a small sigh and she chuckles.

"Do they answer?" she continues undisturbed, kneeling at my side, Rhonda, her cat, rubbing her small head against her knee. The smell of freshly cut leaves invades my nostrils and I bathe in the warmth of Nana's presence.

"Plants don't talk," I correct her half-heartedly. Nana smiles at me, that quizzical smile, eyes filled with wisdom.

"Oh, but you're wrong, hon. The plants talk, they talk plenty, if you know how to listen. Gaia is always whispering," she lectures me with a playful smile. I sit on my heels, my back hunched, and my chin propped on my knee, pensive. I like listening to Nana talk, about the Fae Folk, Mother Earth, whom she names Gaia, and the Goddess.