Artemisia and the bruja

My mother and the mothers before her came from a long line of witches. But I did not want to be a witch. I refused to partake in any sort of witchcraft. According to my friend Natalia, the Catholic bible says that witchcraft is a sin. And for this reason, I entered my mother’s botanica only when she asked me to.  

One evening, my mother was away at a birthday party and I was left to manage the botanica on my own. Natalia sat on the floor next to me, hiding below the counter. Sometimes she accompanied me during my shifts, but we made sure she was completely out of sight. The last thing we needed was one of her mother’s friends peeking into the botanica and spotting Natalia. You see, in this city, Catholics condemn the practice of Santeria. And anyone who is associated with the practice is deemed an “evil witch.” It was a struggle to convince Natalia’s mother to accept our friendship; if she found out Natalia frequented in my mother’s botanica, our friendship would’ve been over for sure.  

I sat on a high chair behind the register and Natalia fiddled with the frays hanging from the bottom of my jeans. She whistled to me and I tried to imitate her, but her songs were so graceful and I couldn’t compete. Just then, the last customer of the night walked in asking for mugwort. I extended my hand down, motioning to the large bag of herbs sitting next to Natalia and she handed it to me. Lately, mugwort had become increasingly popular, so my mother began to hide it below the counter in order to avoid shoplifting. After weighing 16 ounces and bagging it up, I rang the customer out and she was gone. Natalia then reached up and snatched the bag of herbs from my hands. 

“Why do so many people buy this?” 

I shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t really ask. I think I overheard my mom say it ‘heightens psychic abilities.’ Her words, not mine.” 

Natalia tossed the bag of herbs to the side. Then she told me to lock the door and shut the blinds. It was finally 7:00 pm- aka closing time. And I knew why Natalia watched the clock so eagerly. She was waiting to borrow my motorcycle, as she did almost every Saturday night. Some months prior, Natalia had started seeing a boy from school. But he lived on the other side of town and his house was too far to walk. He couldn’t even pick Natalia up at home, since her mother was a devout Catholic who did not allow her to date. And as a devout Catholic, she refused to buy Natalia a bike because “church girls don’t ride those death machines.”    

I ran upstairs and grabbed the keys from one of the kitchen drawers. By the time I came back down, she already had my black Shoei helmet on. Usually, Natalia borrowed my mother’s purple helmet since it was her favorite color and mine was a bit big on her. But that night, my mother rode her own bike and helmet to the party and Natalia had no choice but to borrow mine. I held the door open for her and she rode backward into the driveway. Almost everyone in Colombia keeps their bikes inside for fear of burglars. We waved goodbye and she was off. But it was only ten seconds before a pick-up truck came out of nowhere and slammed into Natalia. Her body flew into the asphalt ground, my helmet landing some feet away from her.  

*** 

My mother canceled all of her upcoming plans. She knew better than to ask me to look after her botanica any time soon. I was still in shock. I hadn’t stepped foot in that botanica since the accident and I swore to myself I wouldn’t ever again. It’d been a week since Natalia was admitted to the emergency room. And in that time, I rarely got out of bed. Why would I? My best friend was in a coma and her mother wouldn’t allow me to see her. In the following days, I resorted to the gossip of my mother’s friends. Because without them, I’d have no clue of Natalia’s condition, since her mother wouldn’t return my calls. And from what I heard, Natalia’s condition was deteriorating by the minute. The internal bleeding in her head was killing her, and it was a miracle she was still even alive. 

All I did was stare at the ceiling above, counting to a thousand and back, like counting the minutes until one of my mother’s friends came knocking on my door to bear the bad news. I thought of Natalia dying in an old hospital room and me not being there to catch her last breath. My eyes traced the line where the ceiling met the wall. And when my eyes reached the corner, a purple orb appeared high above me. I tried to ignore it. “It's just a speck of light shining in through the window,” I told myself. So, I stood for the first time in a whole day and closed the blackout curtains. But much to my surprise, the purple orb remained intact. It grew brighter now in the darkness of my room. And it even began to move. 

Others would’ve ruled the orb out as just an illusion. But I am the daughter of a witch, and I knew better than that. Without a second thought, I followed the orb. It led the way out of my room, through the living room, past the kitchen, and down the stairs. The orb paused in front of the door, lingering in the still air above me- almost convincing me to open it. But this door led to my mother’s botanica and I wasn’t ready to enter yet. In a way, I blamed the botanica for Natalia’s death. I told myself that if she hadn’t been in my mother’s botanica that night, she might’ve still been alive. But deep down, I knew that was a lie; Natalia would’ve stopped by my house to pick up my bike anyway. So, I swallowed my pride and followed the orb inside.  

The botanica was not as I remembered it. Usually, the air around me felt of shame and the stench of foreign incenses made my nose itch. This time, I saw not silly crystals and potions used for spells, but sweet memories scattered throughout. Memories of Natalia and I dallying behind the register and of my mother’s friends stopping by to tell me how much I’d grown filled the room. I searched for the orb and found it was no longer hovering above me. I scanned the botanica and noticed a purple hue glowing underneath the counter. I found the bag of mugwort tucked into a corner, glowing internally, as if the orb found its way inside and was waiting for me to open it.  

I held the bagged mugwort in my shaky hands, wondering what to do with it- what the orb wanted me to do with it. Was I to light it up, as I’d seen my mother do so many times? I’d heard rumors from Natalia’s church about the consequences that come from communicating with spirits. I wasn’t sure that the orb was a spirit, but I also wasn't sure that it wasn't. So I contemplated locking the door behind me, trapping the orb forever, and running back up the stairs. But it's beautiful bright purple hues struck a chord in me- and I gave in to temptation. 

I pulled my mother’s wooden pipe and lighter from a drawer and set them down before me. I filled the pipe with crushed herbs and held it to my lips. I paused to recite ‘Hail Mary,’ a prayer which Natalia taught me to recite in dark times. And so, I set the mugwort ablaze and inhaled. Instantly, black smoke pervaded my mouth, down my throat, and into my lungs. A soft voice filled my ears- a voice which I heard a thousand times and could recognize in a room full of screams. But she spoke no words. Instead, she let out a heavenly whistle. I could’ve-would’ve- stood in that spot and listened to her whistles forever, but a knock from the street door interrupted us. Annoyed, I unlocked the door and opened it to find my mother’s friends. They stood before me with a look of grief on their damp faces, holding a withering bouquet of white roses.