Lost Stone, Found Self

Something was wrong. Like a scale with half a gram too many herbs on one side, I sensed a subtle imbalance. I couldn’t explain how; it was a skill the universe bestowed upon me and through years of study and intense meditation, I sharpened. 

I heard Vera padding along the hallway. I adopted her at the same time I moved into my apartment building. She’s a beautiful jet black cat who was abandoned on the side of a road. Three years ago, to the day, I was on my way to view this place when something inclined me to pull over. Sure enough, on the shoulder of the road, was a soggy cardboard box containing one freezing kitten. I immediately drove to the closest veterinarian and rescheduled the apartment viewing. I was certain I’d lost the apartment to keen competition, but by the end of that week I had signed the lease to my one bedroom that would be home to my new kitten, Vera, and I.

Mom helped me move, but I unpacked without her. I didn’t trust her to handle my belongings with the care they needed. Mom’s a skeptic. She shook her head at my collection of feathers, complained about my “rocks” that she found all over the house, and one time she tried to play Crazy 8’s with my Tarot deck. Neither of my parents understood my connection to the divine and they didn’t care to learn about it. Finally, at age 21, I decided it was time to move out.

Now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, hibiscus tea beside me, I tried, unsuccessfully, to push away the feelings of unease. Finally, I got up and went to my bedroom. I was dressed in my comfiest linen jumpsuit and had thrown my knotted hair into a bun on the top of my head. Today was a Sunday, the day I reserved for extra long tea rituals and practicing kitchen witchery. My altar, which existed on a rolling bar cart so I could easily disguise it when family and friends came over, held most of my magick tools and jewelry. I picked up my fluorite necklace and put it on, so the stone pressed firmly into my chest in line with my heart. This piece of jewelry was a tried and true anxiety-reducer. Usually I felt its effects immediately. But not today.

Weird, I thought. I had just cleansed it by the moonlight a few nights ago. I hadn’t had any guests over and not so much as a text message from mom. It should be charged.

Confused, but not worried, I went to the living room where I kept my selenite slab. Selenite has innate cleansing properties, so while it never needs to be cleansed itself, it also has the capacity to cleanse other stones. I thought of it as my mother crystal; it made sure that all the others were in optimal state, the way a mother should her children. Should, I emphasized to myself. 

I kept it in the middle of my coffee table because it was a beautiful piece and I always got compliments on it. I used to keep it by the door, but so many people haphazardly threw their keys on top of it and, as a fragile, stone, I cringed every time a piece of it flaked off. Still, it was one of the few divination props that I showed off to those who entered my home. No one knew its true purpose, but I loved the compliments all the same. It made me feel connected to the people I so often spent time with.

Eyes on the coffee table, I felt the colour drain from my face. Tea stained the carpet as I rushed forward. My selenite slab was missing. Gone. Nowhere in sight. I frantically looked around the room in case I had misplaced it even though I couldn’t remember the last time I had moved it so much as an inch. 

Was it stolen? When was the last time I had guests over? Had someone broken in? I dropped my necklace as the sharp edges of the stone dug into my clenched fist. 

Stay calm. Stay calm. Think. I paced the hallway as Vera weaved around my feet, no doubt telling me to slow down and breathe. 

Vera? No, she wouldn’t.

The feelings of wrongness seemed even heavier as I understood their origin. I threw the cushions off the couch, ignoring the absurdity that it would be there. 

“Maow,” Vera gingerly stepped over the wet tea stains and rubbed herself against my legs, sensing my anxiety, but it was as much a comfort as the necklace had been. 

“Vera,” I pleaded, hoping she had the answer and could somehow signal a clue. 

She mewed quietly in response. Unhelpful. 

I collapsed to the floor and she curled up in my lap.

“What could have happened to it? Vera, this makes no sense…” I tried to relax and think logically. 

DING-DING

Really? Now? I thought, standing up and heading to the door. I looked through the peephole first, I wasn’t expecting any visitors and with the oddities of the day thus far, I figured I couldn’t be too safe. It was mom. I took a deep breath, readying myself. 

“Sweetie!” She exclaimed pushing through the door as soon as I opened it. “How are you?”

“I’m good, mom…. Uh, how are you?” I nearly forgot to ask in my surprise. 

“Oh, good. The usual. Oh my, what’s happened in here?” She had already begun replacing the cushions and pulled a napkin out of her purse to dab at the carpet stain. Vera sat beside her, watching. She had always liked mom and I felt a twinge of betrayal because of it. 

“It’s been a morning,” was all I said. 

“I see that. I’m surprised I don’t smell basil or cilantro or some other fragrant herb. It is Sunday isn’t it? Have you finally given up your voodoo?”

She didn’t look up as she spoke and I rolled my eyes behind her back. She still thought I was going through a phase. She thought that, by living alone, I’d find myself. She didn’t, couldn’t, believe that I already had. This was me, and, unfortunate for the both of us, it wasn’t who she hoped I’d be. 

“I’m right!” She looked at me with a huge smile on her face, “I knew you would find yourself.” 

There were those words again.

“Now I can get you a proper centrepiece for that table!” 

I just stood there listening to her. Vera hissed and walked to my side. Mom ignored her, but I looked down, questioningly. In all of Vera’s three years I had never heard her hiss. When she was upset, she usually just left the room and I’d find her asleep on the bottom shelf of my bar cart-turned altar, wrapped around my pointed rose quartz. 

Rose quartz. A stone of compassion, tenderness, love, healing, and peace. I spotted my necklace under the couch where mom hadn’t seen it. I picked it up and, feeling as though I were floating in slow motion, walked to the bedroom. I could vaguely hear mom’s voice behind me, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. 

I grabbed the handles of the bar cart and wheeled it through the doorway and into the living room. 

“What on Earth is this?”

“Please, don’t touch it.” I said calmly. Mom looked at me, slightly annoyed and slightly frightened. I had never responded to her in such a calm, blunt way. Vera meowed happily, breaking the short silence. I pushed the coffee table out of the way and wheeled the bar cart to the centre of the room. 

“Mom. This is my altar. It is where I worship. You have your rosary beads and church pews. I have my crystals and altar. Now, I need another cup of tea. I think a honey and rose milk ritual would be perfect. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like.” I picked up a tumbled rose quartz and held it out to her. It was both an assertion and an offering. I couldn’t remember a time that I felt more empowered. Vera was purring softly, encouraging me to hold strong. 

Mom and I stared at each other for a while. I could tell she was trying to read the situation; evidently, this was not what she thought was going to happen when she rang my bell. 

“Well,” she shrugged her purse higher onto her shoulder, “this is quite unexpected. I just thought I’d pop in to say hello since I was in the neighbourhood…” she trailed off. I refused to break eye contact, and after a few seconds she put her purse on the floor, “but, I guess I could stay the morning.” 

I stepped closer to her, the crystal in my open palm, urging her to take it. Cautiously, she picked it up between her thumb and index finger, holding it unnaturally, trying to decide how best to go about this unfamiliar situation. 

She looked at me and I smiled encouragingly. I took her free hand and brought her into my kitchen where I put the kettle on the stove and placed jars of rosebuds and jasmine on the counter. Mom watched curiously. I noticed that her hand had closed around the stone. 

“You know, I think I do feel different,” Mom said when the sound of my Tibetan singing bowl had faded entirely. I couldn’t help, but laugh. A small laugh that turned into a belly roar. 

“What? Did I say the wrong thing? Oh, I don’t know. Alice!” 

I tried to stop laughing because I could tell by the scarlet in her cheeks and the tone of her voice that I had embarrassed her. 

“Mom, no. No,” I caught my breath and scooted closer to her on the floor, “It’s just… I can’t believe it. I’ve been waiting so long for you to just try and understand me. For you to accept and appreciate everything that I devote myself to. But I never,” I had to hold back another bout of laughter, “I never could have hoped you would actually understand it! I thought I was pushing my luck to believe that one day you might pretend to accept me, but…” I stopped because, while I was holding back laughter, I could see mom holding back tears. 

“Oh, honey. I never, I can’t believe I made you feel like that.”

“It’s fine, really —“

“No. You’re my daughter and I’m supposed to support you no matter what. I’m supposed to be the one you’d call to bury a body,”

“Okay, that’s going a little far.”

She smiled at me and pushed stray strands of hair away from my face. 

“I love you, Alice.”

“I love you too, mom.”

Tears fell from both of our eyes, mom sniffed and dragged both hands down her face.

“If this is how all of your tea rituals end, then… well, I’ll have to time my visits around them.”

Vera was in mom’s lap, clearly having forgiven her. Even though we’d just sat for half an hour in silence, neither of us made an effort to stand. I didn’t want this moment to end. 

“Okay, I have got to use the bathroom! I swear when you get to my age, you’ll get it. One cup of tea and nature calls. Sorry, Ver!” She got up quickly and left the room. 

“I know,” I said, meeting Vera’s eyes, “I can’t believe it either.”

I picked up the empty teacups and headed to the kitchen, but I stopped in the living room. I heard the toilet flush and the tap run and then mom was beside me. 

“I think it looks good there. It really suits the room. If you’d like I can take that old coffee table home and get your father to do something with it. Hey, before I go, why don’t I help you get the wheels off that cart? I assume you intend to keep it there?”