Page 25 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
It was like how people who lived in Paris never cared to go insidetheMusée du Louvre or to the Eiffel Tower. You just existed in a space, more focused on the day-to-day tasks than the highlights or the historic landmarks. “Gram mentioned the Witch Cleanse once when I was little,” Violet went on. “But as I got older, I figured it was something steeped in propaganda, you know? Like,of coursethey weren’t trying to cleanse witches and ‘magic’ from the world. More likely it was rooted in some misogynistic, religious stuff.”
Simone scoffed. “Well, it was definitely those things, too. You should read up on it—get a better sense of the blood that runs through your veins.” She stood from the table and moved into the kitchen, likely to take over the task that Violet had abandoned.
“Maybe I should…” She absently watched Simone as she walked. She wore a pretty, mint-green sweater that complemented her rich brown skin and slim figure. Her hair was braided and piled atop her head like a crown. “There was one time—only once—when me and Rosie were little… Gram told us a funny story about Ginger. She said she used to take Gram into the woods to forage, teaching her about herbs and spices, the medicinal plants and flowers there.
“They came across a rabbit with his hind legs caught in one of those awful traps. It wasn’t moving at all. They took it out from the teeth, then Ginger bent down, laid her hands on it and spoke some words Gram had never heard before—couldn’t understand them at all. She said it was incredible but scary when the rabbit’s red, marble eyes flickered open and its body twitched. It flipped itself upright and hopped away.”
The kitchen fell silent. Rosie had repeated that same story to their father when he’d returned home from work, and he’d been so angry with his mother that Gram had never said another word about Ginger Ainsworth again. The story, though it seemed totally unbelievable to her adult mind, had always stuck with her. Always loomed somewhere within her psyche, making her question its relevance and validity.
Magic isn’t real. Why would she tell us that story?
She looked up and Simone was staring back at Violet with wide, chocolate eyes. Simone shivered, her entire body shaking dramatically.
“Oooh, that’screepy. Don’t tell me anything else like that! Why did you tell me that?”
“I don’t have any other stories, so don’t worry,” Violet assured her. “But that’s all I know about my family’s history on my dad’s side.”
“I’m going to have nightmares about red-eyed zombie bunnies now… living in this obscure country village where weird things happened.”
Violet smiled, then considered something. “Simone, why did you move out here? What brought you?”
Simone lifted the coffee pot and poured the dark contents into her mug. “Well, living in the city was exhausting. But out here it’s pretty and quiet, and I have learned that I simply prefer my own company.”
Violet nodded, understanding completely. “The city is noisy and dirty. People are rude, and it feels like everyone around me is frantic—racing toward something, but I honestly can’t figure out what. I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”
Simone returned to the table, two mugs in hand. “Then don’t. Stay here in town. I love it here and people are pretty nice… Even that one guy—the town hunk who comes into my shop for his morning coffee and is always really sweet to me.”
“The town hunk? Are you talking about Freddie?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Blegh.” Violet scowled. “He’s always been a jerk toward me. He’s like the town mascot.”
“Right? He totally is.” Simone laughed, clasping her mug within her palms. “That’s why I’m surprised he’s so chill with me.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
Simone’s face fell flat. “Seriously, Vi? Gee, I don’t know—maybe because I’m a trans-woman, and he looks like a model they’d hire for a hunting and fishing shop advertisement if they were trying to attract more business from straight, single women under thirty-five.”
Violet laughed. “That is so weirdly specific and spot-on.”
“Isn’t it? He must not realize I’m trans.”
“Aw, Simone, don’t think like that—”
“Violet, please. I grew up in the city and witnessed very bad things happening to people just like me. Let’s not pretend otherwise.” Simone took a long pull from her mug. Violet folded her arms in a huff.
“People are stupid.”
“People aren’t stupid,” Simone smiled, setting her mug down. “They’re just terrified. They want everyone to live the same grayscale life, abiding by the same black-and-white rules because it makes them feel safe. Unchallenged to change or dig deeper inside themselves. Anytime someone who lives in vivid color comes along, it threatens their boring little life and they don’t know how to deal with it.”
Violet smiled. “That’s very astute and all, but I think they’re just stupid. You’re too kind.”
Simone shook her head, grinning. “Because they don’t matter, do they? I’m busy digging deeper, knowing myself and living my colorful life, fulfilled. But they’re busy being miserable, insecure and worrying about me. I feel bad for them.”
Sighing, Violet rested her elbows on the table, chin cradled within her palms. “I want my life to be more colorful.”
“Well, let’s dig deeper. What’s your dream? What are you passionate about?”
