And here we are whoopee in our rented house, a merry shambles of sticky shot glasses, torn condom wrappers, scrunched tissues, holes in the curtains, stains that nobody wants to clean. You do it. No you do it. Both of us young, foolish, and greasy with plenty of time to take afternoon naps. Like now my boyfriend Punch is asleep on the sofa. I leap about with excitement. It’s the perfect time to use my powers because the recipient of any spell must be unconscious or sleeping. An electric thrill ignites the sitting room. It illuminates the mess. Oh God I should tidy up. No. No distractions. I must spellbind Punch by turning him into an inanimate object capable of great love. Of course he does really love me. I think he does. But not enough. Though he frequently shouts,
“Kiki, I goddam loves ya babe.”
He’s such a ham. He adores ham. He eats too much ham. This boy is thick as a ham, which bothers me. I often tell him,
“I am different from you.”
Punch has cute dribbles of ketchup on the front of his T-shirt. He wears strange musky cologne and has filthy scarecrow hair.
“Yeah right,” he blinks bleary eyes. “Youse got a few marbles loose in the top paddock.”
He is just joking. I am a very smart witchy girl combined with intensity and trickiness, but not carefree, yet on the verge of spectacular. Every day I dress in track pants and a pink pajama shirt, but I can’t hide my bright witchiness, not with my blacker than black hair, pale bluish skin, a classic saucy grin and ice grey eyes shining magnificence.
Punch starts snoring. I begin the spell by opening and shutting one hand like someone miming a conversation. I move my fingers as if playing scales on a piano and trill feathery circles above Punch’s sleeping penis. Then like a menacing wide-eyed cat, I lean very near to his face. Our noses almost touch. My nostrils flare breathing in all the warm smelly air that he exhales. Then Punch opens one eye and shrieks,
“Christ! What the fuck are you doing?”
I stare deep into his shocked eyes and act nonchalant, which is difficult. This pretense of casual plus focused at the same time as concocting a blatant lie.
“Oh nothing much. You snore so I took this opportunity to experiment with an innovative cure for snoring. I came this close to success. See?”
I hold up my forefinger and thumb to indicate the measure of a tiny space. This embarrasses Punch. A crimson flush crawls across his cheeks. He pushes me away and snorts.
“What’s my dick got to do with it?”