hesitating as
if he wanted to run away, like a postal worker about to deliver mail to the
house with the Pit Bull. I sympathized.
“Come on.” I hurried towards the bed where I’d left the
book. “I’ll show you.”
“Look.” I gestured to it.
Magic scurried to the bed and plunked her little body
on top of the book as if he were an official guardian. He hissed at me.
“Magic. Off.” I crossed my hands in front and stared down the
little cat. He had attitude, but I won. He mewed unhappily, but didn’t
interfere when I reached down to move him, sweeping his little body off. He
scatted to my feet with a little hiss of unhappiness.
I picked up the book and held the cover for Keith to
see.
He frowned and leaned in closer and then glanced down
at my little feline friend. “That looks like Magic. Your cat,” he said.
I nodded and opened the book. Keith walked closer to the bed
and studied the next page and then he glanced at my neck. “And that picture
looks exactly like your necklace.”
I nodded.
“The necklace I bought for you.” Keith stood perfectly
still staring at the book. “I bought it at a pawnshop.” He rubbed his chin.
“I’ve never been to a pawnshop in my life. But for some reason. I had to go
there. To get your birthday gift. It’s like, man, it’s like I knew you had to
have that necklace. Like I knew it would be there, and I had to be the one to
get it for you.”
We stared at each other without blinking.
Keith scratched his head. “Man. This all seems so familiar.”
I knew what he meant. It had a sequence to it, a
pattern that felt as if it had been played out before. I didn’t know what any
of it meant.
“It’s kind of like a deja vous. Only different. The book, you
telling me this.” His mouth stiffened as if he’d forgotten how to use his lips.
“The forest,” he mumbled.
“Why do you keep talking about a forest? I hate forests. You
know that.”
When I was about eight my mom took me on a hike. The details
were hazy except for a fear I could actually taste. And it wasn’t a good flavor
like bubble gum. No. It tasted like dirt. I had a vivid memory of running,
tears pouring down my face as I ran from trees that seemed to grab for me. I’d
fallen and cracked my head on a rock. Mom found me bleeding and brought me
home. I’d hated forests since.
“The forest isn’t a living thing, it won’t hurt you,” Keith
said, just like he did in fourth grade when we were scheduled to go on a field
trip. I’d faked the flu to get out of it then.
“Whatever. Some people hate spiders, I hate tress.”
“It was in my dream.” Keith’s voice was soft like a
whisper. Hesitant. “About the forest.”
I shuddered but curiosity got the better of me and I
glared at him for making me ask. “What dream?”
“The dream before we moved here.”
I sat on the edge of my Mom’s bed and he plopped down
beside me, leaving enough space between us so we were both comfortable. His
legs looked like big tree trunks now. I banished the thought.
He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I
thought it was too strange to share. Well, it is too strange to share. But so
is this.” He swept his hand towards the book and me.
I opened my mouth to defend myself but closed it when he kept
talking.
“I was only seven. Almost eight, but I remember like it was
yesterday.” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. It looked soft, no
tangles. I almost reached up to touch it. I waggled my head and forced myself
to focus on his words. I really had become a hormonal freak in addition to
becoming a witch.
“We were living in Michigan. I had the dream and the next
day, my dad came home and announced he’d been transferred. No warning, nothing.
Boom. The house went up for sale and within weeks, we arrived in Grand
if he wanted to run away, like a postal worker about to deliver mail to the
house with the Pit Bull. I sympathized.
“Come on.” I hurried towards the bed where I’d left the
book. “I’ll show you.”
“Look.” I gestured to it.
Magic scurried to the bed and plunked her little body
on top of the book as if he were an official guardian. He hissed at me.
“Magic. Off.” I crossed my hands in front and stared down the
little cat. He had attitude, but I won. He mewed unhappily, but didn’t
interfere when I reached down to move him, sweeping his little body off. He
scatted to my feet with a little hiss of unhappiness.
I picked up the book and held the cover for Keith to
see.
He frowned and leaned in closer and then glanced down
at my little feline friend. “That looks like Magic. Your cat,” he said.
I nodded and opened the book. Keith walked closer to the bed
and studied the next page and then he glanced at my neck. “And that picture
looks exactly like your necklace.”
I nodded.
“The necklace I bought for you.” Keith stood perfectly
still staring at the book. “I bought it at a pawnshop.” He rubbed his chin.
“I’ve never been to a pawnshop in my life. But for some reason. I had to go
there. To get your birthday gift. It’s like, man, it’s like I knew you had to
have that necklace. Like I knew it would be there, and I had to be the one to
get it for you.”
We stared at each other without blinking.
Keith scratched his head. “Man. This all seems so familiar.”
I knew what he meant. It had a sequence to it, a
pattern that felt as if it had been played out before. I didn’t know what any
of it meant.
“It’s kind of like a deja vous. Only different. The book, you
telling me this.” His mouth stiffened as if he’d forgotten how to use his lips.
“The forest,” he mumbled.
“Why do you keep talking about a forest? I hate forests. You
know that.”
When I was about eight my mom took me on a hike. The details
were hazy except for a fear I could actually taste. And it wasn’t a good flavor
like bubble gum. No. It tasted like dirt. I had a vivid memory of running,
tears pouring down my face as I ran from trees that seemed to grab for me. I’d
fallen and cracked my head on a rock. Mom found me bleeding and brought me
home. I’d hated forests since.
“The forest isn’t a living thing, it won’t hurt you,” Keith
said, just like he did in fourth grade when we were scheduled to go on a field
trip. I’d faked the flu to get out of it then.
“Whatever. Some people hate spiders, I hate tress.”
“It was in my dream.” Keith’s voice was soft like a
whisper. Hesitant. “About the forest.”
I shuddered but curiosity got the better of me and I
glared at him for making me ask. “What dream?”
“The dream before we moved here.”
I sat on the edge of my Mom’s bed and he plopped down
beside me, leaving enough space between us so we were both comfortable. His
legs looked like big tree trunks now. I banished the thought.
He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I
thought it was too strange to share. Well, it is too strange to share. But so
is this.” He swept his hand towards the book and me.
I opened my mouth to defend myself but closed it when he kept
talking.
“I was only seven. Almost eight, but I remember like it was
yesterday.” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. It looked soft, no
tangles. I almost reached up to touch it. I waggled my head and forced myself
to focus on his words. I really had become a hormonal freak in addition to
becoming a witch.
“We were living in Michigan. I had the dream and the next
day, my dad came home and announced he’d been transferred. No warning, nothing.
Boom. The house went up for sale and within weeks, we arrived in Grand
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