The Parts of Her That Are Magic

Her Eyes

Catherine points to a small plant growing through a crack in the concrete. It has a long, thin stem, bending slightly towards the sun. Catherine would call it wispy, or fragile, but in reality, it’s only flimsy, and I doubt it will survive for longer than a week. 

Her fingers stretch towards it as I pull her away by the other hand.  

“Delilah,” she says. Her voice flits through the air. “It means delicate.”

“You’ve been saving that name, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, sounding breathless. I look down at the flower. With its small white petals and absence of leaves, it’s entirely unremarkable.

“So why this one? You know it’ll die in a week.”

She ignores me and gestures to a thornbush lining the cracked sidewalk. “Name that.”

I realize that my grip on her left hand has slackened and tighten my hold. “Cathy, let’s go home.”

“Catherine.”

“If I say Catherine and name the bush, will you let me take you home without stopping again? I’m going to be late for Alicia.”

She turns her large eyes to me. They’re dark brown, almost black, and beautiful. They look just like Dad’s eyes. My eyes are the same color as theirs, but while her and Dad's eyes are filled with magic, mine reflect the weariness that could only come with being Catherine’s older sister and legal guardian.

“Fine,” she says. 

“What is a name that means…” I stop walking to think. I’m not as good at this as Catherine is. 

“What about Briar?" she suggests. “Thornbush.”

“Ah,” I say, smiling. “Perfect.”

Her Hair

In only an hour, Catherine will be at school, and my summer with her will be over.

I signed her up for the elementary school lunch program, starting once my first term of college begins. I don’t want her to eat whatever filth I’ll try to scrape together while balancing school and housework. She needs more than pringles and instant ramen. 

Catherine comes out of her room wearing a hot pink dress and orange, polka-dotted leggings. She beams at me and points at her legs and then chest. She’s clutching a thick book under her other arm, the huge baby names book Mom and Dad gave her a few months after she started naming. 

“This outfit is named Phaedra,” she says. “It means bright.”

I laugh. “I like that name.”

“Thank you.”

She skips to the bathroom. “Could you do my hair?”

“Of course.”

As she sits down on a stool in front of me in the bathroom, I say, “Alicia is coming with me to drop you off, because we’re going to dinner right after. Is that okay?” Catherine nods.

“I can’t remember what Alicia means,” she says. “Could you tell me?”

“Noble,” I reply instantly. After I had gotten home from Alicia and my first date, only three months ago, I had looked it up, thinking of Catherine. 

I grab a hairbrush, created especially for Catherine’s hair type, from the drawer under the sink. It was Mom’s, who knew how to take care of Catherine's type of hair, having had the same type herself.

Catherine and I are half Nigerian, but I inherited more of Dad's European features while Catherine resembles Mom unmistakably. Mom used to do Catherine’s hair in beautiful little updos and buy her all the right products. Now I couldn’t even afford those. Mom and Dad left Catherine and me everything they had in their will, but Catherine can’t claim her share yet and I can only hope my half will last long enough for me to leave college and get a job, trying to save where I can. I’ve even debated dropping out. 

I can’t help thinking that if Mom were here, how different, less damaged Catherine’s hair would look.

A lot of things would be easier if Mom and Dad were still around. 

“You’ve named this hairbrush, haven’t you?” I ask Catherine. 

“Yes,” she says. “Cody. It means one who helps others in need.”

“I wish I could help you more with your hair. I’m sorry I don’t know as much.” Catherine’s back tenses slightly at the reminder of our parents.

“Alicia has hair like me too.”

She’s right. I don’t know why I’ve never thought of it before.  

I decide to let Catherine’s hair be free today. “Yeah,” I say. “I can ask her some stuff if you want.”

Catherine nods and jumps off the small stool to put on her shoes. Her hair is thick and curly and magical and poofs around her face like a halo. 

She’s an angel, after all.   

Her Hands

She has magic fingers. When Catherine points her fingers at something, it’s like she’s waved a wand and made it beautiful. 

She’ll point at an old, peeling mailbox and say, “Angelica. Messenger.” And suddenly, it’s not just a mailbox anymore, like she’s covered it with glitter and given it a smile. 

She’ll point at a neat welcome mat on somebody’s doorstep and say, “Bellamy. Means handsome friend.” And suddenly it’s more of a welcome than a mat. 

She’ll point at a stray dog curled up, sleeping under a park bench, and say “Ekanta. Solitude and peaceful.” And suddenly you’re running for the bag of dog treats you always have at home, not because you have a dog but because of how many times she’s done this before. 

We’re in the park, me sitting on a bench while Alicia and Catherine are walking around the playground. Alicia is holding one of Catherine’s hands while Catherine points to things with the other. I’m close enough to see Catherine’s eyes sparkle and Alicia’s soften lovingly whenever Catherine smiles. 

I have Catherine’s name book on my lap, where she asked me to hold it for safekeeping. The gold lettering, Baby Names and Their Meanings, shines in the sunset light. There’s a slight chill in the air, and as I shiver I refocus on Catherine to make sure she has a jacket. I see that she’s wearing Alicia’s jacket, her small body dwarfed by it, drowning in fabric. But now Alicia’s arms are bare, so I get up, making sure the name book doesn’t fall, and go to give her my own. 

As I approach, my jacket in my outstretched arms, Catherine glances at me and then points to my shoes. Her fingers are long and slim, compared to Alicia’s, which are chubbier. I drape the jacket over Alicia’s back and grab her hand, waiting for Catherine to speak.

“Kymani,” Catherine says. “Traveler.” And suddenly they aren’t shoes anymore, but adventurers.  

Her Smile

Today marks one year after my parents’ death. 

I’m in Alicia’s cramped dorm room. It’s decorated, in golden banners and balloons of many different colors. Alicia approaches me, sitting on her bed, with a cupcake in her hands and a grin on her face. 

“Happy Nineteenth!” She sings. She knows what day it is. She knows that today holds more significance than just being my birthday. The corners of her lips droop slightly when I respond halfheartedly. 

“Thanks, Alicia.” It’s the first birthday we're spending together. I try to smile convincingly, but it’s as if someone's cut a chunk out of my heart, filled it with lead, and placed it in my stomach. 

She quiets and leans closer to me. “Do you want to go home?”

“Yes, please,” I say, grateful. 

When we get to my house, I tell the babysitter she can go home early. 

“I tried to get her to do activities, but she's only been reading that book all day,” she said apologetically as she left, referring to Baby Names and Their Meanings. “She wouldn’t leave the room either, and didn’t seem to want to be around me at all.” 

I pat her gently on the arm. “I’ve been trying to get her to stop reading that book for months. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Catherine is in her room when I knock on the door. I run to her try to pick her up, but it ends up like a hug, for her legs skim the floor when I try to lift her. She’s tall and gangly, not much shorter than I am. Alicia stands in the doorway awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her thick hair. It smells like peaches, thanks to the shampoo Alicia recommended. “I shouldn’t have left you alone today.”

I can hear her sniffling, and I pull back. She squeezes me a last time and then runs to Alicia, who stiffens momentarily and then strokes Catherine's hair happily.

The smile Catherine flashes me is weak, but it’s still as full of magic as it usually is.