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Authors: Francesca Lia Block
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Dirk was preparing his famous homemade Weetzie pizza with sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil, red onions, artichoke hearts and a spinach crust. Darlene Drake, who had arrived the day before, was helping Duck twist balloons into slinkster dogs. Valentine and Ping Chong presented Witch Baby with film for her camera. Brandy-Lynn lifted her up onto Coyote’s shoulders.
“I think I saw five little Joshua tree sprouts coming up across the street,” Coyote said, parading with Cherokee, Raphael, Slinkster Dog, Go-Go Girl and the puppies following him.
Then Coyote put Witch Baby down and knelt in front of her, like a sunrise, warming her face. “I’m sorry about the seeds. Even if they never came up, I shouldn’t have beenangry with you. We are very much the same, Witch Baby.”
Everyone else gathered around.
“We want to thank you,” My Secret Agent Lover Man said. “I’ve been remembering that night when the article and the globe lamp appeared, and I realized that they must have been from you.” He scratched his chin. “I don’t know how I didn’t see that before. They are beautiful gifts, the best gifts anyone has ever given me. Gifts from my daughter.”
“And I want to thank you, too,” Darlene Drake said shyly, placing a slinkster dog balloon at Witch Baby’s feet. “You knew more about love than I knew. You helped me get my son back again.”
“Without you, Miss Pancake Dancer Stowawitch, we might never have really known each other,” said Duck, stooping to kiss Witch Baby’s hand.
“Welcome home, Witch,” Cherokee said. “I don’t even mind my haircut anymore. I deserve it, I guess, since I did the same thing to you once. And besides, I look more like Weetzie now!”
Witch Baby snarled just a little.
“And thank you for helping me and Raphael find each other,” Cherokee went on. “While you were away, Raphael told me it was your drumming I heard that day. You are the most slinkster-cool jamming drummer girl ever, and we hope you will play for us again even though we are clutch pigs sometimes.”
“Yes, play!” everyone said.
My Secret Agent Lover Man set up the drums.
“I had them fixed for you,” he said. “My daughter, a drummer. I knew it!”
So Witch Baby played. Tossing her head, sucking in her cheeks and popping up with the impact of each beat. Thrusting her whole body into the music and thrusting the music into the air around her. She imagined that her drums were planets and the music was all the voices of growth and light and life joined together and traveling into the universe. She imagined that she was playing for Angel Juan, turning the pain of being without him into music he could hear, distilling the flowers of pain into a perfume that he could keep with him forever.
Everyone sat in the candlelight, watching and listening and imagining they smelled salty roses in the air. Some of their mouths fell open, some of their eyes filled with tears, some of them bounced to the beat until they couldn’t stand it anymore and had to get up and dance. Weetzie put her palms over her heart.
When Witch Baby was finished, everyone applauded. Weetzie kissed her face.
“And now it is time for a picture,” Weetzie announced.
Witch Baby started to get her camera, but someone had set it up already.
“Come here, Baby,” My Secret Agent Lover Man said. “You are as good a photographer as a drummer, but you aren’t taking this one. This picture is of all of us.”
He put her on his lap and they all gathered around. Weetzie set the timer on the camera and then hurried back to the group.
The picture was of all of them, as My Secret Agent Lover Man had said—himself and Weetzie, Dirk and Duck and Darlene, Valentine and Ping, Brandy-Lynn and Coyote, Cherokeeand Raphael and Witch Baby.
“Twelve of us,” said Weetzie. “So the twelve on the clock won’t be empty anymore.”
“Once upon time,” Witch Baby said.
At dinner that night, Witch Baby looked up at the globe lamp in the
“I think I saw five little Joshua tree sprouts coming up across the street,” Coyote said, parading with Cherokee, Raphael, Slinkster Dog, Go-Go Girl and the puppies following him.
Then Coyote put Witch Baby down and knelt in front of her, like a sunrise, warming her face. “I’m sorry about the seeds. Even if they never came up, I shouldn’t have beenangry with you. We are very much the same, Witch Baby.”
Everyone else gathered around.
“We want to thank you,” My Secret Agent Lover Man said. “I’ve been remembering that night when the article and the globe lamp appeared, and I realized that they must have been from you.” He scratched his chin. “I don’t know how I didn’t see that before. They are beautiful gifts, the best gifts anyone has ever given me. Gifts from my daughter.”
“And I want to thank you, too,” Darlene Drake said shyly, placing a slinkster dog balloon at Witch Baby’s feet. “You knew more about love than I knew. You helped me get my son back again.”
“Without you, Miss Pancake Dancer Stowawitch, we might never have really known each other,” said Duck, stooping to kiss Witch Baby’s hand.
“Welcome home, Witch,” Cherokee said. “I don’t even mind my haircut anymore. I deserve it, I guess, since I did the same thing to you once. And besides, I look more like Weetzie now!”
Witch Baby snarled just a little.
“And thank you for helping me and Raphael find each other,” Cherokee went on. “While you were away, Raphael told me it was your drumming I heard that day. You are the most slinkster-cool jamming drummer girl ever, and we hope you will play for us again even though we are clutch pigs sometimes.”
“Yes, play!” everyone said.
My Secret Agent Lover Man set up the drums.
“I had them fixed for you,” he said. “My daughter, a drummer. I knew it!”
So Witch Baby played. Tossing her head, sucking in her cheeks and popping up with the impact of each beat. Thrusting her whole body into the music and thrusting the music into the air around her. She imagined that her drums were planets and the music was all the voices of growth and light and life joined together and traveling into the universe. She imagined that she was playing for Angel Juan, turning the pain of being without him into music he could hear, distilling the flowers of pain into a perfume that he could keep with him forever.
Everyone sat in the candlelight, watching and listening and imagining they smelled salty roses in the air. Some of their mouths fell open, some of their eyes filled with tears, some of them bounced to the beat until they couldn’t stand it anymore and had to get up and dance. Weetzie put her palms over her heart.
When Witch Baby was finished, everyone applauded. Weetzie kissed her face.
“And now it is time for a picture,” Weetzie announced.
Witch Baby started to get her camera, but someone had set it up already.
“Come here, Baby,” My Secret Agent Lover Man said. “You are as good a photographer as a drummer, but you aren’t taking this one. This picture is of all of us.”
He put her on his lap and they all gathered around. Weetzie set the timer on the camera and then hurried back to the group.
The picture was of all of them, as My Secret Agent Lover Man had said—himself and Weetzie, Dirk and Duck and Darlene, Valentine and Ping, Brandy-Lynn and Coyote, Cherokeeand Raphael and Witch Baby.
“Twelve of us,” said Weetzie. “So the twelve on the clock won’t be empty anymore.”
“Once upon time,” Witch Baby said.
At dinner that night, Witch Baby looked up at the globe lamp in the
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