The Witch Part 8
Feeling like maybe she was being laughed at, Donatella snatched her hand away and started to run/walk down the street in the other direction from the girl with wind chimes in her voice. She could feel the tears trying to force their way through the corners of her eyes once again, but she denied their efforts. Already she knew the weakness of tears, and there could be no weakness in her from this day forward.
“Wait!”
Donatella didn’t wait, nor did she look back. However she did hear the rapid approach of footsteps gaining on her before she felt the light squeeze of fingers on her shoulder, and she slowed her escape.
“Girl, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…look, can we just start over? I didn’t mean to say nothing to hurt you or nothin like that. I just wanna be your friend. I know your name ain’t OK. That ain’t nobody’s name.”
Donatella slowed her pace further until she came to a complete stop near the end of the block. The girl’s hand was still on her shoulder, light as a butterfly, as Donatella closed her eyes tight and lowered her head. Her small shoulders slumped.
“I don’t know where I’m going,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Maura nodded, her head tilted a bit to the side.
“Where is it you comin from? Wait. You comin from that window with all that yellin and screamin aren’t you?”
Donatella nodded.
“And I ain’t goin back,” she said, this time her voice noticeably stronger.
Maura’s hand squeezed tighter, but not as a threat.
“Nobody said anything about going back anywhere, did they? All I said was I wanna be your friend. Can we be friends?”
“Why you wanna be friends with me? You don’t even know me.”
Donatella heard a small giggle. The hand fell away from her shoulder.
“Turn around. Feels funny talkin to your back like this.”
Donatella opened her eyes slowly, then raised her head. Straightened her shoulders. Turned around, wearing her father’s face of learned bravado.
“This is better, right?” said Maura.
Donatella smiled through the bravado. She couldn’t help herself.
“Never had a friend before,” she said.
“Me either,” said Maura. “Guess there’s a first time for everything. So…what’s your name?”
“Donatella.”
Maura’s eyes flashed with a gentle warmth.
“Pretty,” she said.
Donatella’s smile stretched a bit wider. It felt good to have a friend.
***
As the two girls stood at the corner, laughing and giggling as if they had known one another for years, two elderly men sat in wooden folding chairs by the front door of the apartment building where Donatella had recently exited with her face streaming tears. They both looked curious, and perhaps even a bit scared. The one with the cane and hair like clouds spoke first, his voice full of rust and remembrance. He nodded toward the corner.
“Ain’t that the little girl live with those two crazy-assed folk up there on the third floor? The ones still doin all that hollerin?”
The other one, whose long face bore the weight of a salt and pepper beard that spilled down nearly to his lap, nodded in agreement.
“That’s they daughter. Donatella. Pretty name. Mother got a pretty name too. Too bad she don’t look nothin like her name.”
“Fantasma you talkin about.”
“Oh yeah. And back in her day? Brother lemme tell you. Girl filled that name out. Used to, but time ain’t been kind to that woman. Husband either. You know Ellis, right? Little short nigger used to could fight so good for his size?”
“OK. Yeah, I remember. But look here Stone; who you figure that girl talkin to down there at the end of the block? Donatella? Who it is you think she havin such a good time with? Cause I don’t see nobody else down there ‘cept her, and that chile way too young to be talkin to herself already.”
Stone squinted at the sight, then reached into his shirt pocket to ease out a pack of Salem Lights. His only brand ever since those long gone days as a young man known for dressing sharp enough to draw blood. He tapped the pack against his finger, then shook one out. Reached into his right pocket, then his left before fingering the lighter. Even after all these years, Stone still needed the smoke to calm him whenever there was something out of order in his environment that made his heart start to race. After a minute, he exhaled a long, thin stream of smoke.
“Who knows what these children see, Red. Sometimes when you can’t see what you wanna see in this life, you gotta paint your own picture.”
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK AS THE STORY OF ‘THE WITCH’ CONTINUES…