The Silent Figurine
I’d never seen anyone like her, with
her black silky hair mixed with disgusting dreadlocks. I pictured myself
running my fingers through it just to see what it felt like. But one does not
run their fingers through the hair of a witch.
Cordelia started school
midway through the second term, just as Halloween ended. She stood in front of
the class, catching everyone’s attention with her two different colored eyes:
the right one black and the left green. Her spicey-leathery smell reached the
back of the classroom.
“She’s a witch,” Kayden
leaned toward me and whispered, but not softly. Cordelia shot her gaze at us,
and Kayden and I looked away like cowards.
It horrified and slightly
intrigued me when she showed up in microbiology, and the teacher assigned her
as my lab partner.
“You will partner up with
A’lamar.” He directed her toward me.
Cordelia took the empty seat
at my table, stuffing her patched bag next to my feet.
“So, you’re the boy who
thinks I am a witch,” she said, staring at me with eyes as powerful as
Medusa’s. I looked away so she didn’t turn me to stone.
I had no answer for her.
Paper crinkled behind me,
and someone sneezed. I squirmed in my chair and sat on my hands, trying to
pretend a witch wasn’t right next to me.
The teacher, Mr. Crombie,
said, “Alright, everyone, we are going to be studying the cells of plants
today.”
Cordelia leaned into me and
whispered into my ear. “I am a witch.” Her acidic breath blew into my face.
My blood curdled in my
veins.
And wouldn’t you know it,
she got on my bus after school.
“Where’s your broom?” A kid
named Mike said as she walked down the aisle.
She stopped next to his
seat. “Why don’t you come home with me, and I will show you.”
Mike scooted closer to his
seat partner.
“That’s what I thought,” she
purred and continued toward the back of the bus. Her eyes caught mine and
locked them in for the kill.
Oh no, Kayden isn’t here
yet. She is going to sit by me. I know it.
“A’lamar,” she said as she
turned her butt into me and tried to sit. I threw my arm over the empty space.
“This seat is taken,” I
squeaked out.
“By me,” she said as she
pushed her weight into the spot. I scrunched next to the window. I could taste
her odor of incense or whatever clung to her clothes. I stared out the window
and acted as if she wasn’t there.
The bus driver’s awful
country music played, with the twaining and sadness that those annoying songs
bring. The cheap speakers popped and crackled. Why couldn’t he play popular
hits?
“So that is how you are
going to be,” she said halfway through the ride home.
I didn’t respond.
“Listen, A’lamar. You don’t
want to piss off a witch. You know, you can show me some kindness.”
I thought about continuing
to ignore her, but she was right. I didn’t want to piss off a witch.
I turned to her but avoided
those eyes. “Are you really a witch?”
Cordelia rolled up the
sleeve of her brown velvet blouse and showed a tattoo of some pagan star with
curly Latin words around it. She took her finger and rubbed a powder across my
lips.
Angered by her unwanted
touch, I almost barked at her, but then my deepest thoughts spewed out. “That’s
dope. Your parents let you get a tattoo? I’d like a tattoo, but my parents said
they’d kick me out if I got one. They are so controlling. I hate them. They
control everything I do. My mom is the ultimate Karen.”
A kid from the front crawled
toward the back of the bus, trying to avoid the bus driver’s mirror. He
breathed heavily as his hands slapped against the floor. At the very back, he
popped up, grabbed a kid’s backpack, and ran toward the front. The bus hit a
pothole, and the kid flew momentarily, then slammed against the floor.
“Sit down!” the driver
screamed.
I had momentarily stopped
speaking to watch the action but soon returned to going on and on about my
life.
I couldn’t stop myself from
sharing intimate details until we came to a new stop on the bus route. We
pulled up next to the city cemetery. Cordelia smiled at me. “I will see you
tomorrow.”
“She’s getting off at the
cemetery,” a kid said as Cordelia walked to the front.
“I told you she is a witch.”
Cordelia turned, waving her
gnarly fingernail at us. “I am a witch, and you better watch out, or I will hex
every one of you.” And then she cackled. Her voice high and shrill, sounded
just like a witch.
No one spoke as Cordelia got
off. The bus driver turned the corner before I could see where Cordelia had
gone.
“I bet she lives at the
cemetery,” Kayden said, sliding beside me.
“I am sure she does.”
“Bruh, why didn’t you save
my seat?”
“The witch said she’d put a
spell on me if I didn’t let her sit.”
Kayden stared at my face as
we hit a bump and bounced in our seat. “What is on your lips?” he asked.
I wiped them, and brown
powder dusted my finger.
“I dunno. The witch wiped
something on them.”
Kayden shuttered. “That is
creepy.”
“You’re telling me. I think
it was a truth spell, of some sort, because I couldn’t stop telling her all
about my life.”
The next day in
Microbiology, after Mr. Crombie explained the assignment, he said, “You have
forty-five minutes to complete the lab.” He leaned back in his chair, put his
feet on his desk, and pulled out his phone.
Chatter erupted as we knew
he no longer cared how the rest of the period went. And parents say that we
teens are always on the phone. They would be surprised to see how many teachers
don’t actually teach. They just scroll on social media while we are left to our
own.
“I’ll gather the supplies,”
I said to Cordelia. I grabbed the microscope and slide kit and returned to our
table.
“Have you ever done anything
with microscopes?”
Cordelia shook her head.
“Here, I will set up the
slide.”
“You know,” she said. “I
have been thinking about all the injustice you told me about your parents. I
have a solution for you.”
I set the slide down and
looked at her. Her eyes almost seemed to glow.
Next to us a kid angrily
stood up as his chair scraped against the floor. All eyes turned to him as he
yelled, “It is my turn.” He saw us watch him, and his face went red. He slumped
back into his seat.
Cordelia stared at him for a
second more, then turned to me. “I have been working on a potion that I think
will solve your problems.”
“Mm,” I said apathetically.
Why had I shared my problems with a witch?
“Meet me at the cemetery
tonight at one minute past midnight. I think I can end all those unwanted
interactions you have with your parents.”
“Yeah, yeah, for sure,” I
said sarcastically. I picked the slide back up and attached a plant cell to it.
Why did I get stuck with a looney witch as a lab partner?
After school, I walked into
the house to find my parents sitting in the parlor, waiting for me. They had
that look on their faces that told me my life was about to end.
“A’lamar, sit!”
“What’s this about?” I
didn’t sit but threw my weight on my back leg and folded my arms. I hated it
when they ganged up on me. I hadn’t done anything wrong in a while. This wasn’t
fair.
“Well, we put spyware on
your phone, and we’ve been watching what sights you visit, and we’ve read your
texts and…”
I exploded. “You have no
right to spy on me.”
My dad stormed toward me.
“Do not talk to your mother that way.”
I stood my ground. “You
don’t have any right to spy.”
“Give me your phone,” My dad
commanded, with his hand outstretched.
I backed toward the wall.
“No.”
“Harold, sit down,” my mom
said.
My dad stepped into me,
stared at me, and then, like a faithful dog, sat by my mom.
“Listen, A’lamar, we saw
everything on your phone. And I mean everything.”
Her words sunk in. All my
private searches. All my texts. Oh no, they saw my texts with Lizzy.
My head spun, and I stumbled into the wall.
“Give us your phone.”
I couldn’t think. What
all have they seen?
As guilt entered me, it
washed away my defense. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and handed it to my
mom.
“How long are you going to
keep my phone?”
“Forever. You have shown you
are not responsible enough for a phone. You can buy your own phone when you are
an adult.”
Guilt gone. Anger returned.
“You can’t do that to me!”
“And we have put heavy
restrictions on your laptop. You will only be able to access your school
account.”
A demon of hate crawled out
of the floorboards and took over my body. A rumbling exploded in me, and I
grabbed my mom’s glass figurine. I knew I held her most prized possession. It
was her most cherished heirloom, dating back to the cavemen. Wait, maybe she
had purchased it on her honeymoon in the Amazon rainforest. Perhaps it was my
father’s engagement gift to her.
Regardless, she loved the
figurine more than me, and to make her hurt like she made me hurt, I smashed it
against the wall.
My mom let out the sound a
rabbit makes while being slaughtered.
Her disappointment wasn’t
enough.
“Rarrr!” I kicked my foot
into the curio and shattered the glass and a couple more figurines inside.
“To your room now, boy,
before I call the cops!”
“Gladly,” I stomped to my
room and slammed the door so hard that the knob broke.
“I hate my parents. I hate
my parents. I hate my parents.”
The evening dragged on as I
had nothing to do. The fury in me built as I stayed locked in confinement. I
heard my parents go to bed around ten. I couldn’t sleep. I refused to lay in my
covers as my mind spun in madness.
At 11:30, my mind wandered
to my earlier conversation with Cordelia. “I have been thinking about all the
injustice you told me about your parents. I have a solution for you,” she had
said. “I have been working on a potion that I think will solve your problems.”
Could she solve my problems?
At 11:45, impulsively, I
crawled out of my window and skated to the cemetery.
I didn’t think I was the
scared type, but as I walked between the gravestones, my legs started rebelling
by hardly moving. Every sound made me jump as I searched for Cordelia. Where
am I supposed to meet her anyway?
This is so stupid.
The cemetery smelled of
wet dirt and moss. And death? Do I smell death? I thought I might.
I turned to head home when I
heard, “A’lamar.”
Hearing a witch call my name
in the cemetery made my eye twitch. A chill came over the graveyard as flakes
of snow fell upward. Seriously, they emerged from the ground and formed dark
clouds above us.
I didn’t want to turn to
Cordelia. I wanted to run, but where was she?
An ice-cold hand touched my
shoulder. I jumped higher than the jocks who did the high jump at school. My
heart beat so fast I wondered if it would explode.
“Are you ready to change your
life,” her wispy voice said.
I shrugged. I turned and
looked at Cordelia. If I had ever doubted that she was a witch, those feelings
disappeared. She stood in the dark as the light of the moon illuminated her
long cloak and freaky facial grin. I have made a mistake. I never should
have come.
Cordelia sprinkled a potion
on my head as she circled me, chanting words that felt like the very devil was
speaking. My skin tingled. I looked at my arm and saw spiders crawl out of my
sleeves.
“What are you doing?” I
madly swatted at my arms, chest, and legs. Spiders swarmed my face, and they
all started biting—millions of tiny fangs sunk into my skin.
“Stop. Stop. Stop. Make it
stop!”
Cordelia didn’t stop.
And then, the pain hit. A
piercing, stinging pain entered every single cell. My cells felt like they were
swelling to the point of exploding, and then they imploded. Burning.
Stretching. Shrinking. I levitated off the ground and spun in circles. I spun so
fast that I thought I might enter another realm. My body tightened, and I
shrunk smaller and smaller until I was the size of a Barbie doll.
“What did you do to me?” My
little voice squeaked. The spinning stopped, and I fell to the ground. I went
to stand up but didn’t move. I was as stiff as a statue. I always thought the
witch with her two-colored eyes was like Medusa and would turn me to stone.
Cordelia’s giant body
hovered above as she looked down at me.
“Oh crap,” her loud voice
rumbled through my chest.
She picked me up. “I think I
screwed up.”
You think?
Cordelia put me in her bag,
and I jiggled all around as she ran home. It smelt funky in her bag, like a
mixture of stinky socks, books, and spices. I desperately wanted to crawl out
and breathe fresh air, yet nothing moved on me. I remained in her bag for well
over a week. At times, I heard her living her life at school and home; other
times, there was only silence. I had my thoughts to keep me company, but
nothing else. I couldn’t move.
Then, one night, the bag
opened up, and a large hand pulled me out.
“Cordelia! What have you
done?”
An adult witch held me. This
had to be her mom. She had the same two-color eyes, except the black and green
were in opposite eyes. She wore a black laced dress that could have come from
the 1800s.
“Cordelia, get in here now!”
The voice pierced my ears, yet I couldn’t cover them. The smell of sage
lingered around me, and my stomach growled. I was dying to eat something,
starving for over a week. The witch put me on a table.
“Cordelia!”
I scanned the area around me
with its scattered papers, bundles of weeds, and stuff. My parents kept a home
so clean that I was afraid to even breathe in it because my breath might soil
something of mom’s. I liked the chaotic energy of the witch’s home.
Cordelia walked into the
room. She looked at me and then at the adult-witch. Both her hands flew to her
mouth, and she backed away slowly.
“Stop! Cordelia. Where are
you going? Tell me what you’ve done.”
“Well, I might have cast the
mutatio spell on a kid from my class.”
“You might have?”
“Well, I did.”
The witch clicked her
tongue. “This is not the mutatio spell. Give me your spell book. Show me what
you did.”
Cordelia left, then returned
with an ancient leather book. She opened it and pointed to a page. “There, the
mutatio spell.”
The adult-witch intently
studied it. “Did you follow it exactly to the T?”
“Well, yes and no. I might
have improvised.”
“Improvised. Do tell.”
“Well, I didn’t have bat
drool, so I used dog drool. And instead of doing it by the light of a full
moon, I did it under a waxing gibbous moon.”
“CORDELIA!”
“I am sorry, Mom.”
“Who is this boy, anyway?”
“I dunno. Just some boy.”
“His name?”
“A’lamar, something or
other.”
The witch-mom counted her
fingers. “So, he’s been like this for ten days?”
“I guess.” Cordelia looked
away. She didn’t seem so confident as she cowered under her mother’s
disapproval.
“We must take him to his
parents.”
“No, Mom, he hates his
parents. That’s why I was doing the spell.”
“I told you never to do a
spell on your own.”
Cordelia moved out of my
line of vision. “I know,” I heard her say.
“Let us take him to his
parents,” the witch-mom said, picking me up.
“Oh, Mom, please no.”
“We have to.”
“What if the parents have us
arrested or, worse, drown us or burn us with faggots as they did our
ancestors?”
“I will put a spell of
contentment on them,” the witch-mom said. “But they have the right to their
son. They have the right to know what has been done. I will see what I can do
to counter the spell.”
“Can’t you undo it?”
“Only you can undo the
spell, and I doubt you have any idea how to do that.”
“I don’t, but you could
teach me.”
The witch-mom let out a long
sigh. “If I knew what spell you cast on him, then perhaps, but you altered it,
and I don’t know how you would undo it.”
Cordelia’s voice sounded
weak. “I am sorry, Mom.”
The witch-mom grabbed a
glass container that had a tarantula in it. She lifted the dome, removed the
tarantula, put me in its place, and closed the glass dome on me.
I wanted to scream!
I needed to scream!
But I couldn’t.
“Where does the boy live?”
The witch-mom asked.
“I dunno.”
“I will ask the stones,” the
witch-mom said. She spread a handful of stones on the table and studied them.
“Awe, that is where you
live,” she said.
I wanted power to do that.
The two carried me to my
front door, and before they knocked, the witch-mom chanted something and then
waved her hands at the door. It must have been her spell of contentment. I
wasn’t sure what that would do. I guess to stop my parents from calling the police
on them.
My mom answered the door.
She had massive bags under her eyes, looking fifty years older than I
remembered.
When she saw the witches,
she stepped back into the house. “Can I help you?”
The witch-mom showed the
glass dome with me in it.
My mom let out a horrific
scream and collapsed on the ground. I heard my dad’s feet pound as he came to
the door.
“What did you do to my
wife?” He snapped as he knelt next to my mom.
“I am afraid my daughter put
a spell on your son.”
My dad’s head jerked up.
“You know where A’lamar is. His anger disappeared as he came to their side. He
looked at my mom on the ground, then at the witches. “Oh, please tell me he
isn’t dead.”
Tears came to my dad’s eyes.
The witch-mom held the dome
to my dad. He looked at it. I don’t think he processed what he saw. He returned
his eyes to Cordelia. When he saw her eyes, he shuttered.
“Please tell me where
A’lamar is.”
“He is in the dome.”
My dad scratched his head.
“I don’t follow.”
The witch-mom shoved me into
my dad’s face. He moaned as if she had dumped boiling tar on his skin.
“What is going on?” His
voice became defensive as he backed up.
“My daughter put a spell on
him.”
“You are witches.”
“Yes.”
My dad wrapped his arms
around his chest. I had never seen him scared. “Why would you do that?” He
sounded like he might cry.
“He wanted me to.”
I did not!
“Can you please make him
big?”
My mom moved, moaned, then
sat up. She held her forehead and rapidly blinked her eyes. My dad dropped to
her side. “Oh, Helen.”
She scooted farther away
from the witches.
“Are you alright, honey?”
My mom looked like she might
pass out again. My dad left her side and returned to the witches.
“Please undo your spell and
return A’lamar to us.”
“I am sorry. We cannot. The
only thing I was able to do was put a counterspell on your son. He will stay as
this figurine until November 6th. Every year, on the anniversary of the spell,
he will have one day to become his full self again. But, at one minute past
midnight, he will return to this state for another year.”
My mom curled into the fetal
position. “What do you mean?”
“I think I explained it.”
“Please, please, please, you
must undo this spell.”
“I have done all that I
could.” The witch thrust the dome with me in at my dad. He grabbed it. I could
no longer see the witches, but I could hear them walk down our steps.
“Wait, you can’t leave.
Don’t leave. Return our son to us.”
They didn’t reply.
And so, that is how I became
stuck in my glass prison. At first, my mom carried me around with her all day.
Then, as the weeks went by, she would put me on the counter, where I would stay
for half of the day. After several months, I spent more time alone in the
kitchen or parlor. Eventually, I was placed on the fireplace mantel.
My glass dome was worse than
hell. I watched my family live their life without me. They had parties. They
celebrated holidays, and all I could do was watch. My mind never stopped
working. I would play out conversations in my head that they would never hear.
My body still had sensations like hunger, pain, and sorrow, yet I could do
nothing to satisfy them.
I had lost track of time,
but when my mom started decorating for Halloween, I got excited. Soon, it would
be November, and then the 6th. I couldn’t wait to become myself again if that
really would happen. I had my doubts.
After the trick-or-treaters
left, I started counting down the days. Six days. Five days. Only three to go.
On the eve of my
anniversary, so much anticipation built in me. What if I didn’t get my day?
What if nothing happened? That night, my mom slept on the couch with my dome on
the end table by her head. At precisely 12:01 a.m., a sonic boom shook our
house, and I sprawled out on the end table.
The big me.
The full me.
The me who could walk and
talk.
“A’lamar!” My mom screamed
through tears and joy. She grabbed my head and kissed it all over. Her touch
felt amazing. I embraced her in the longest hug I had ever given anyone. I
never wanted to let her go.
“Honey!” My mom hollered.
“Honey, A’lamar is alive.”
My dad ran into the room.
The three of us embraced as we did this little hug dance.
They couldn’t stop kissing
me.
I didn’t mind.
We spent the following 23.59
hours soaking in each other’s company. My mom made me three of my favorite
meals, which I devoured until I puked. I didn’t care. It felt excellent to eat.
My dad returned from the store with four cartons of ice cream, sprinkles,
whipped cream, and other toppings. I took a mixing bowl and made the largest
ice cream Sunday ever!
We played a few card games.
My parents told me all about the previous year and the events that had happened
away from home. The day was more magical than any trip to Disneyland could ever
be.
But sadly.
Oh, so sadly, one minute
after midnight hit. My mom clutched me so tight I could hardly breathe. She
wanted to defy the spell. -to stop the inevitable. But she couldn’t.
My body wretched in pain, as
if it would rip apart. And like that, I was the silent figurine once again.
And then.
It happened.
All over again.
365 days of agonizing
loneliness. No one to talk to. No one to hear my deepest thoughts and desires.
There I stood, day in and day out, with throbbing legs that wanted a break. I
watched my family move on without me. They celebrated life while I detested it.
They laughed, they cried, they yelled, they fought. I did none of those things.
I existed, but only that.
I watched my mom go through
her mental challenges. Never could I ease her pain or comfort her. I watched my
dad shut down to stress. Never could I lift his load.
The smells of breakfast and
dinner would torment me. Sometimes, the house smelt so wonderful I felt
ravenous. I would have given anything to break my spell and eat. -anything.
And then my day would come,
a day I would spend 365 days planning for. One time, we celebrated every
holiday. But it made things worse. Those presents my parents gave me only
brought pain, pain of what couldn’t be. The presents sat on the couch for a month
and mocked me, tormenting me that I could no longer enjoy them.
My parents spent the first
few years seeking out the witches. After basic inquiry, they discovered
Cordelia Schmidt and her mom, Evanora Schmidt, had registered their house with
the school district as 928 Cemetery Rd. The problem was that was the address of
the cemetery’s maintenance shed. The day after the witches returned me home,
Cordelia quit going to school.
What was their purpose in
moving to our town? Why had Cordelia decided to go to school? Would we ever
find them again? -doubtful. And even if we did, it sounded like they didn’t
know how to break the spell. The best the mom-witch could do was give me 24 hours
of freedom once a year.
Was the freedom worth it?
Nothing in the world was sweeter than those 24 hours, yet it left me in such a
depression that I would have thrown myself off the fireplace hearth if I could.
It usually took five months to pull out of the depression.
If only I could just talk to
someone.
I regretted my last day as a
real person when I broke my mom’s prized figurine. I would go the rest of my
life without a phone and computer if it meant just having my abilities back,
just having the gift of being me. But instead, I will spend the rest of my life
in the glass dome, watching my parents age, yet I don’t seem to.
Will I live for eternity?
Maybe someone should just
smash me against a wall.
________________________________________________________
The Silent Figurine
by Stephanie Daich
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