“Will that be all?” the lady asks.
“Yes, that’s all. Thank you. Goodbye Esmeralda,” I call, waiting a second for a response but getting none.
Taking the bag full books and stuffing the potions in my pocket, we quickly rush out of the store. When our feet hit the sidewalk, we look at each other and burst out laughing. All the tension from moments before leaving with our chuckles.
Gasping for air in between laughs, I ask, “Do you have any idea what the hell just happened in there?”
Holding her side with tears of laughter streaming down her face, Ronnie says, with a mock Romany accent dipped in a southern drawl, “I have no idea. But ‘yous must believe’.” Making me laugh harder.
“Are you going to try the potion?” she asks, tapping on her phone, signaling an Uber to come pick us up.
Sobering some at her question, “The analytical part of me says there is no way anything like this could work but the hopeful little girl in me who still believes in fairy tales wants to give it a try. But that lady was a con man, she’s lying to her family so I’m not inclined to believe anything she said.”
“She knew things about you, though. That wasn’t a con. I don’t think it could hurt. I mean it may give you a case of raging diarrhea or something like that but I don’t think she would give you anything that would do ya any real harm. Can you bypass your brain enough to give it a chance to work?”
“You believe in magic potions?”
“I don’t not believe in them. I mean, if all you need is some belief to make life a little better, than yes. I would believe.”
“You’re right. What do I have to lose?” I ask looking at her smiling face. Feeling a warmth coming from the pocket I placed the vials in.
“Fine, I believe this tiny magic love potion will work. Starting tomorrow, I will test it out. Worst case scenario, I end up being able to write a paper on the negative effects of believing in magic or I’m glued to the toilet with Montezuma’s Revenge,” I say, patting my pocket.
We’re silent on our ride back to campus. Exhaustion from the day settles over my body, my brain works double-time to digest it all. Once we’re back in our room, I set the vials on my organized desk, place my new underwear in my dresser, take my hair out of its hair tie and slip into my favorite purple fuzzy pajamas.
Ronnie slides into her bed next to mine, her face clean of makeup in her tank top and sleep shorts with her hair pulled up in a ponytail. I slip into my bed, under the covers while she turns off the lights. Staring up at the poster of Jean Piaget, the pioneer in child cognitive development, on my ceiling glowing in the moonlight filtering in from the window.
Realizing I haven’t looked at social media the entire time we were out, nor have I thought about the mess that is my life right now. For several hours, I put the whole SnapTalk incident behind me, forgetting the drama that consumes my world. I wasn’t ridiculed by students on campus. I didn’t care what they had to say. Yes, there was bullshit at the restaurant and then more with the old men but I’m out of fucks to give about that. A warmth blooms in my chest, dare I say I feel happy right now, maybe even hopeful. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I want the potion to work. I want to believe in a better me. I want to find love.
Drifting to sleep with a goofy grin on my face, curled up with my Mom’s favorite quilt wrapped around me, I think back to the stories she used to read me before bed. The time before I could read for myself. The tales of Princes and Princesses, of happily ever after’s. A time before social media made my world harsh and cold. A time of innocence.
Tapping into that little girl, I believe as I drift off to sleep dreaming of a faceless man with mesmerizing sea colored eyes.
Chapter Five
Chocolate comes from a bean, a bean is a vegetable, therefore chocolate is healthy.
—Tensanne’s logic on dieting
Tensanne
“I’M WALKING ON sunshine, woohoo. It’s time to wake up, Tennie Girl,” sings from my phone signaling it’s time to wake up. The song Mom used to sing to me while we danced around the kitchen along with her recorded voice, makes me smile as I wake. Clicking the home button on my phone, I silence the song. Saddened a little that I force myself to wait until the next day to hear it again. I miss my mom but if I allow myself to wallow in my grief I won’t be able to make it through the day.
Rubbing my eyes, I squint to Ronnie’s bed. Through my blurry vision, I think her bed is empty. Putting my glasses on confirms she is already up and out of bed. Probably out running off all those calories she ate yesterday. I envy her dedication. That envy still isn’t enough to pry my ass out of bed to exercise though. Maybe she’ll exercise enough for the both of us; I can lose weight through osmosis. She does all the work, I reap the benefits. That would be my definition of perfect.
Sighing, I wrench myself from the bed, shuffling across the room to our little counter kitchenette consisting of a Keurig coffee maker and a microwave. Essentials for every college student. Popping the Carmel flavored k-cup in the brewer, slipping my mug under the spout, I press the brew button and enjoy the coffee aroma that fills the room as the hot nectar fills my cup. Adding cream and sweetener when it’s done, yawning, I plop in my high back, heated with vibrating rollers, office chair. If there is a
