Chasing the White Witch (11 page)

M
y
mother found me in the morning, lying in a curled-up ball on the floor in my bedroom, still clutching the untied shoelace. Though I searched high and low, there was no sign of my little green book. The funny thing was, though I had had very little sleep, I felt like a new person. I felt like my limbs and my tongue were back to normal. No more tingling tongue. No more wooden feet.

Like he'd promised, Hollis's father called in the morning. He said that Hollis was doing surprisingly well. That the lump had been a small tumour. Luckily it was benign and what's more, it had been in the best possible spot so as not to cause any permanent brain damage. He said that Hollis would have to take it slow for a long time, but she would definitely make a full recovery. And what's more, she'd said she really wanted to see me.

My parents allowed me to take the morning off school. I was so excited I couldn't see straight. And though I tripped running up the stairs to get ready — it felt different somehow. Like it was just clumsy old me again.

My father took the morning off work and drove me to the hospital. I couldn't wait to see Hollis. Of course I believed her father that she was going to be okay, but I needed to see for myself. The drive into the city took forever. When we finally got there, we parked in the underground lot and took the elevator up. I insisted on buying Hollis some flowers and a stuffed animal in the gift shop. As I walked through the sterile halls, I couldn't help but keep an eye out for a very tall, very peculiar clown.

Hollis was in a private room. As I approached, I figured the man standing outside her room must be her father. We introduced ourselves. He shook hands with my father, then reached over and gave me a hug. He motioned for me to enter. I could hear several voices inside the room. I took a deep breath and walked up to the open door. I knocked just to let her know I was coming in.

When I saw her, I felt the tears begin to well in my eyes. She was lying in bed, wearing one of those hideous green hospital gowns. On her head, she wore a kerchief. Her long blond hair cascaded out the back of the kerchief on one side, but the other side was sparse. I realized she'd had to have her head partially shaved for the operation. Her mother sat in a chair on one side of the bed, holding Hollis's hand. On the other side, Tiffany and Tenisha were squished into the other large chair.

When Hollis saw me, her sea-foam eyes lit up and she smiled. Everyone else stopped talking and stared at me. I suddenly felt really out of place. Then Hollis said, “I'm so glad you came.”

Slowly, I walked toward her and placed the flowers and stuffed animal at the foot of her bed.

“Thanks,” she said. Then she turned toward the others, “Could you guys give Claire and me a few minutes?”

Tiffany's brow wrinkled. Tenisha mumbled a quick, “Uh, sure.” They both left the room in awkward silence. Hollis's mother didn't move a muscle. She sat smiling at Hollis holding her hand.

“You too, Mom,” said Hollis.

Her mother bristled. She gave me a strange look, but then stood up. “Of course, Hollis. Whatever you want, dear.”

Once she'd left the room, Hollis asked me to sit down. I sank into the same chair Tenisha and Tiffany had occupied. I was fighting back the tears. It killed me seeing her like this. It had been so easy to hate her in her designer clothes and her movie-star hair.

After a long pause, she spoke.

“The doctor said the tumour was probably there for a long time and only recently began to grow. The pressure caused my headaches and the numbness in my left hand and foot.”

All I could do was sit and nod and listen.

“She said I was pretty lucky because the tumour wasn't actually in my brain but in the lining of my brain. She said I'm going to be okay.”

I nodded again, acutely aware of the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

“I just want you to know you didn't do this to me. And our little adventure in the city didn't cause it, either.” She smiled and I knew she meant it. Then she added, “I've been mean to you in the past, Claire, and I'm sorry for it. I'm sorry I resented you and I'm sorry I talked about you behind your back.” Then she reached over and took my hand. “And you know what? I actually had fun yesterday with you. It was the craziest thing I'd ever done in my life — okay, totally bizarre — but it was fun. And …” she continued cautiously, “I think I do believe in magic now, Claire. I really do. Only, I think being alive — that's the real magic.”

I squeezed her hand back. I was thinking so many thoughts they all tangled up in my mind and left me speechless. I knew a response was in order, but I couldn't seem to make my mouth form words. I'd made a mental decision not to tell her I still thought I was responsible for her condition. She was happy. And she was okay. That was all that mattered. Still, I had to say something. I cleared my throat.

“You look awful,” I said.

We both burst out laughing.

I left the hospital feeling a whole lot lighter, like I could float up to the sky. As my father and I got into the elevator taking us down to the parking garage I turned to him and hugged him spontaneously. I was about to let go just as the elevator doors were closing, when I swear I caught a glimpse of orange polka dot pants and puffy sleeves and huge Nike shoes disappearing around the corner.

M
y
grounding lasted for two weeks. I spent the entire time searching my room for my little green book. It had vanished.

Though I wasn't allowed to have anyone over during that time, Paula-Jean and I managed to get caught up during recesses. No one else would have believed a word I said, but Paula-Jean did. She was the best friend anyone could have and I made a point of telling her each and every day just how much her friendship meant to me.

By the end of my grounding, Hollis was home from the hospital. Though, it would be another week or two before she was allowed to go to school. She called me once and we had a really nice chat. She said she never did see any clown at the hospital and though she asked several nurses, no one could either confirm or deny any such person helping out in the huge hospital.

Now that everything was slowly getting back to normal, I realized I had one last thing I had to do.

My first day of being un-grounded, I called Paula-Jean and asked if she would come by my house after school. Paula-Jean being Paula-Jean, agreed to help me with my plan.

I bought the holly bush at the nursery with money I'd borrowed from Jordan. Since they were fresh out of dwarf winterberry euonymuses, I was hoping that Mrs. Walker would like the holly bush just as much. At least it was a winter blooming bush. I made up my mind to visit Mrs. Walker once a week and help with her gardening come the spring. In the meantime, I'd told her I'd shovel her snow throughout the winter. Like the clown said,
you can always find a way to help out in your community if you really want to.
Mrs. Walker accepted my apology, my holly bush, and my offer of help. She seemed genuinely excited about someone coming over to chat with her about her shrubbery.

Satisfied I'd set everything right, I headed home. Paula-Jean and I parted at the corner. I thanked her for helping me fix things with Mrs. Walker. She gave me a hug and then headed for her house. I watched her disappear around the corner. I swore to myself I'd never take our friendship for granted again.

As for Hollis, I wouldn't say we became good friends or anything, but let's just say we began to tolerate each other's presence a whole lot better. You could say we
made peace with reality.
And, as unbelievable as it sounds, Hollis actually signed up to read to little kids at the hospital on weekends as soon as she was well enough to do so. She convinced her mother she wanted to do it in place of modelling classes. And even more unbelievable, her mother agreed. Apparently Hollis thought she needed some character-cleansing after all.

As I made my way home I began to wonder about Wayne White. Who and what was he really? A writer? A publisher? A clown? A — dare I think it — witch?

I suppose in some way I got my answer. As I approached my house I saw something sitting on my doorstep. It was a plain, somewhat ragged bubble envelope. The name W. White and the post office box were crossed out and above it I saw my name scrawled across the top. No address. No postal code. Nothing but my name. I reached down and picked up the familiar envelope. I ripped it open, reached in and pulled out the contents. My socks. My sweaty, stinky socks.

In all the confusion in the city, I'd forgotten to ask Wayne White to give them back to me. Apparently, he had returned them after all. The thing was, I never gave him my address. As a matter of fact, I had never even told him my name.

I was about to head inside when something else fell out of the envelope. Of all things, it was my little green book! I held it for a moment in my hands, wondering. Then, for some reason, I opened it to the very first page. There was something I hadn't noticed before. A foreword.

There is a great power that dwells in each of us — a power to alter oneself, others, and the world around. Seek to control the energy deep within your spirit, live wisely, and, above all, do no harm — then, and only then will peace and harmony be yours.

The White Witch

I smiled. Closing the book, I opened the door and headed into my house. Cyrus was waiting for me. I reached down and gave him a scratch behind the ear. He looked at me, then looked at the book in my other hand and snorfled.

“I know, Cyrus,” I said, smiling. “I know.”

Copyright © Marina Cohen, 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

Editor: Shannon Whibbs

Design: Jennifer Scott

Ebook Design: Carmen Giraudy

Cataloguing and Publication Information Available from Library and Archives Canada

We acknowledge the support of the
Canada Council for the Arts
and the
Ontario Arts Council
for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the
Government of Canada
through the
Canada Book Fund
and
Livres Canada Books
, and the
Government of Ontario
through the
Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit
and the
Ontario Media Development Corporation
.

Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

J. Kirk Howard, President

www.dundurn.com

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