Fart of A Witch

Nov. 1

What does it feel like? Sometimes it strips you to your soul. Naked and shivering on the cold earth, you wobble for grounding. Sometimes it slithers in your stomach like a dry scaled black snake. Sometimes, as if possessed by a masochistic devil, you smack your face against a plaster like, hard surface.

This is how it feels to live with your only sister. Your only family, one true friend, and last hope. To speak to her deafness makes you violent at the worst of times. Most of the time, it’s like basking in the fart of a Witch.

Nov. 2

You went to Reike class this morning. Carla welcomed you with her cheeks garishly sucked in, the way she does. You feel warmed by Carla. She is your friend, or you’d like her to be. Her torso is a healthy brown sausage, packaged in maroon spandex. Her legs curtained in black gauzy pants. Her white headband pushes back her curly ebony making her Queen Nefertiti of the morning. “Good Morning Carla” you said. Her eyelids bowed slightly with her chin to acknowledge you. That subtle warm way of making you feel she knows you.

You next remember standing still with your eyes closed. Carla’s heated hands have found their way to your stomach, to your chi. She is nurturing you with light. You feel white rays obliterating the snakes in your belly. You relax, you shake. A white wash of light changes the scene for you.

You see yourself running across the golden apple sunrise on a grassy hill. Carla is collecting bunches of pink flowers and tossing them to you in fluttering bunches. She is your mother. You are the people of the grassy hill and the pink flowers. You run and play in fluffy white spring. Your dress is glistening cotton. You run in circles as Carla showers you with frosty pink petals. It’s as if the whipped cream on a birthday cake were twirling, with pink sugar raining on top.

You see people sitting on the grass clapping, and cheering, laughing and gaping. They wear aprons and brown dresses, brown trousers. Nothing else needs to be. There is dancing for everyone.

You entered your apartment like a beautiful glass house dripping with thick opaque curtains. Your sister wouldn’t understand what you’ve seen. If you lift the curtains, she will see the gold liquid inside your glass house and she will shatter you.

Nov. 3

You’ve been in your room all morning, working on your research. Your sister has found you. You’ve been able to hibernate for a few days, but she’s found you. The shrill creak of the door you know so well. It’s as if that is her voice, the sound of a gross mouse taunting you as she enters. “Where have you been? The rent is due! You used the phone more than me this month. I have to find a dress for my graduation!” You have no mother.

Normally you would scream back at her. This has never proved to help anything. Screaming into darkness, your voice being swallowed by pitch black. She is chilled by your composure. “Shhhh sister. We’ll get you a dress”.

Nov. 4

You had breakfast at the fabric store. You are now wrapping aqua velveteen around your sister. She is your doll again. Yes again. You remember her as a little girl. Hiding her from your mother. She was your little princess. You mummy wrap her mouth, she is a Taliban princess now. “What are you doing?” “Oh I’m sorry. Let’s do this in front of a mirror….so I can locate you.”

Nov. 5

Your sister brings home a boy. “Hello, I’m Luke”. You don’t like Luke. You don’t like how your sister pretends Luke will save her. From the truth? Luke is Australian. He doesn’t say much more than “Hello” as you pass him in the kitchen several times throughout the night. You reaching in the freezer for weight watchers, he grabbing another Silver Bullet from the fridge. You try to do research? No, Luke is watching Star Trek for ALL OF US. Later his Big Dick enters your sister next door. It’s as if their fucking on a bed of you. The entire evening they have been fucking on top of you, cumming all over you. And you didn’t even notice.

Nov. 6

You open the books. You close the books. You fall on top of your bed. You think about Reike. You close your eyes. You open your eyes. You go to the kitchen. You open the fridge like a hotel safe. You grab yourself a Silver Bullet. Guzzle, Guzzle, Guzzle. You go to your sister’s abandoned room. You unbutton the rasberry buttons on your sweater / shirt. You fall back on her sheets. You roll around in leftover Luke.

Nov. 7

Carla agreed to meet you for lunch after Reike class today. “What’s wrong? You look tired?” “I’m afraid”. You tell her about how your losing interest. You look at Carla, but all you can say is, “My sister doesn’t know”. Your sister never knew. She always blamed your mother. You remember the day your sister squeezed out fountains of tears for her Daddy. “Why did she send him away.” You remember how you tired of playing Rapunzel with your sister…..and how you never stopped playing.

“I can’t come back to class Carla. I really can’t afford it”. Of course she wants to know why. “I need to take care of my sister”. This means, you need to finish your dissertation once and for all. You promised her that the two of you would start a private practice and one of you needs a PHD. She of course never fancied the idea of you taking time off to dabble in alternative therapies. You promised her a living……and you never break your promises.

Nov. 8

You weren’t raised in a religious house. The last time you spoke with Jesus was the day you discovered your father. He was pushing Mommy up against the bureau. The mirror cracked. She was crying. He threatened you with his hand and then ran off. You didn’t know how to pull your black and blue, wailing mother from the burnt sienna, shag carpet. You stared at your blank eyes in the reflection of the mirror. The crack, bisecting your face.
You walked to the church around the corner. You remember Jesus looked like your Mommy. Sad and alone. You said, “I don’t know you, and I’m probably not invited here, but can you tell me how to protect my sister?”

Your sister will graduate at the end of December. A semester early. If you have a PHD by then, you will both be able to practice. You will both be making a living. And neither one of you will be any closer to understanding each other.

Nov. 9
My sister is the most uninspired, uninsightful person I know. But I promised I would save her. I will make sure she is comfortable and has a living. I also want her to know that she has never understood how abused our mother was. That she never rebuilt her self esteem after my father left. She never filed a police report, and never learned how to take care of herself since. She was starving herself for years. Not to look like Claudia Schiffer. She was literally committing slow suicide. She didn’t want to hurt us. She was not selfish, she was helpless. I am not helpless and I will take care of my sister. In fact I already have. I have empowered her to take care of herself. She wont miss me. You know how to cook a turkey, don’t you Marney?

Contributor: Twan