1. The Smell of Change
Eloise Willow stood on the cracked concrete porch with her mug of lukewarm, expired, and dull Earl Grey tea clutched between her hugging palms when she smelled it; sea salt and vanilla. It was a familiar smell, one that pushed memories through her mind without remorse or apology as they left behind something painful; the memories of a lost friend who once washalf of her. But they had parted ways. Cleaved really, in a painful disagreement that left them both reeling with a lost friendship. It was so much more than that, and when she had tried to explain it once to a new acquaintance she hoped would turn into a friend, she could not quite grab the right words to explain losing this particular friend. Because it was more like uprooting a seventy-five-foot white oak tree, which if you didn't know has an incredibly deep root system that could create a crater in the earth large enough to fit a two-story house. It had left in Eloise a crater of grief. If someone were to be walking along without paying mind to their steps and fell into this crater, she imagined they wouldn't be able to get out without the help of the fire department.
Time had filled it in, weathering the earth and planting new shrubs. But she knew they would never become the white oak that was her lost friendship. Years passed, and she tried not to find her mind wandering too deeply down that lane of memories as she filled in the crater with moving, a new business, and shallow-rooted friendships.
Still, sometimes when the wind blew just right, with an edge of chill and crispness that reminded her of fall bonfires and spiced apples, she could smell the memories of her: sea salt and vanilla. The smell accompanied a deep pang, a hand pressing into her soul and she would give a few breaths to it, a prayer of sorts to what once was. A friendship like that, after all, was owed some form of offering like coins dropped in the Sunday pew basket passed around.
This morning, however, was different. Maybe it was where she was in her life, the secrets she was harboring in her ribs or the energy that had been buzzing lately in the tips of her fingers, but the smell swirled around her in a kind of dance, a pull. And something new was added: smoked hickory and sweet orange peel. She tilted her head to the side so the strange wind couldbrush itself against her face with her eyes closed and her heart listening.
It was time. Time to change, time to pack up her one-bedroom apartment that was too white and which she had never moved into comfortably, keeping the walls blank except for a mirror and a poster of a vintage feminism book framed on the floor and leaning against the too-white wall.
And it was time to find her lost friend again. Maybe because she herself was lost. Maybe because the idea of running away was appealing, though this time she would be running back to something.
And maybe, more deeply, it was because her heart had only been half beating for the last few years and she was ready to feel its full force again.
She opened her eyes and looked over the small, derelict yard that hadn't been watered or loved in too long. The concrete beneath her bare feet was already too hot. She hadn't seen seasons be pushed around by time in a while, and the idea of something cold and brisk covering her skin each day as she stepped into the great world brought a smile to her lips.
Yes. It was time.
It took two days of driving her BMW that smelled like crayons, it had since the moment she bought it which she found charming, to get to the witchy town of Salem. When her car crossed into the town something inside of her shifted. It wasn't painful, but it was a kind of discomfort that came with uncertainty, and while she had always been a bold sort of woman, even this journey was making her question the risk.
She was going to see the friend she broke up with years ago for the first time. No call, no note. What if she took one look at her and she slammed the door in her face?
She drove through a winding thicket of tall trees, little balls of light dancing above her and she wondered at the trick of thesunlight. When she came into the clearing to see a large, black house with a wide front porch and inviting arched windows she parked her car and looked up through the windshield.
"Wow," she whispered reverently. Her finger tapped on the steering wheel lightly and she counted.
She thought about the last time she had seen her.
She remembered exactly, down to the hesitation, the pauses, the inflections, what they had said to each other.
She remembered the smell; a candle after it had just been blown out.
She counted again.
It was time.
She got out, sucked in the cool air that smelled like it had been filtered through the waving branches of trees and fresh leaves. There were black and orange pumpkins lining the steps to the porch and overflowing bunches of mums. The creak of the wooden steps was perfect. A cat with different colored eyes cocked its head and another cat, grey and fluffy sauntered over with a swishing tail to check her out. She thought of Frank Sinatra and smiled.
Deep breath in, she held it and then let it out slowly as she pressed the small doorbell and heard a faint tinkling of bells.
Time slowed as her heart raced. She couldn't take her eyes from the door. This had been a terrible idea. Or a great one. She stood between both possibilities where anxiety, fear and hope liked to live.
And then it opened. The dark wood door with the moon-stained glass swung in and there stood her beautiful friend. Her black hair was longer and wavy, wild. Like it had been in college.
Green eyes went from politely confused to wide and shocked.
"Hey, Pretty Sea Witch," Eloise said and shrugged her shoulders. "I heard you were starting over and I thought I could join the adventure."
"Eloise," she said on a rush of breath.
2. Peach Tree Welcome
The first day in The Lost Souls House had been peculiar yet comforting, like a deep exhale that stretched the lungs. After the shock of showing up on her estranged best friend's doorstep following too many years of silence wore off, Ursula did exactly what she was too scared to hope for: she pulled her in for the hug only a best friend can give another. When best friends hug, thereis a meeting of souls, just a slighttap,tap, but it rights all of the misplaced feelings inside of you, of which most people have many at any given time.
Though time, space and hurt had been vast and they both had their own fears and wounds, this moment pushed all of that aside. For right now.
Until later.
