WILLODEAN (THE CUPITOR CHRONICLES Book 1) (48 page)

What tha hell?
 I went slack jawed. It felt like the ending of
Rumpelstiltskin
 when he shrieked, “Curses!” and stamped his feet so hard he fell through the floor and disappeared forever. I wanted to stomp and stomp and stomp until Maw Sue told me about the bedroom.
What is all this Farmer’s almanac shit? I want truth. I want to know what happened.
 
My gardening plan was not working. 
She leaned over the table and pressed the mail into the wire container between the weird apple salt and pepper shakers.

“Now scat—git on out of here. I got things to do.”
She flared.  Now that was the Maw Sue I knew. 
She mumbled something about the Cowboys and Roger Staubach. I didn’t understand football as much as I didn’t understand shit making strawberries. I should have left when I had the chance but Willodean never listens.

“What happened in the bedroom Maw Sue?” I
said abruptly without thinking.  Needing to know, wanting to know. 
She stopped walking. The space between us turned frosty, like a rush of air when you first open a freezer door. Her hand pressed against her skirt and her fingers kneaded the fabric.

“How did you know about that?” She spun around
staring a hole through me. 
The president screamed in my head, “Forward.” The petal people rose up and marched liked soldiers. Peppermint bombs exploded leaving a minty scent mixed with metallic to swirl through my nostrils till they itched. 
What do I say? What do I say?
 God was silent.
Three lines. Twelve words.
Blood etched in the gospel. 

“Did William Henry tell you something?”

“Nooo…no. He didn’t tell me…I mean. Not really.”
I said crawfishing. 

“What did he tell you?” Maw Sue rubbed the red stone around her neck viciously till I saw it bleed and spill down her neck. “That sorry sonofa—spit it out—what did he say?”

“Nothing….I—I went in there. No one told me anything. It’s not the garden, Maw Sue.” I began to stutter wildly afraid she would flip. “I WENT IN THE
BEDROOM.  I WENT IN THERE
!” My words tumbled out fast and furious. “I woke up Maw Sue and knew something was wrong. I felt it. And then—I don’t know, Dell told me not to go in the room, which made me want to go in, so I did. I —I wish I hadn’t, but I did.”

Maw Sue glared at me.  It was too late to stop talking now.  I had to know. 

“What happened Maw Sue?”

She sighed real loud until I thought the windows of the house would pop. Her chest rose and fell in mountainous breaths. She flopped her skirt against her thigh. She rubbed the stone, while the dragon’s eye grew restless and mad. I hated that stupid stone even though she loved it and swore it soothed her. I was sure it was because of Aunt Raven, her being dead and all, after Maw Sue took it, maybe a strange curse befell her, who knows.
In another thought, I wished I had something to soothe my soul, if only for a minute, to see what it feels like.  Maybe I was jealous I didn’t have a red stone for myself, I’m not sure.  I just know that sometimes, I reckon I’d do anything to
stop the madness inside the house.
I dream of splitting it in two, me half and Maw Sue the other half, that way we’d both be soothed in the mind, in spirit.  My mind was a travesty. 

She rushed to the table and lit a c
igarette. “Sit down Willodean” she said blowing out a thick fog of smoke. 
I saw shadows and creepy thi
ngs. 
“It’s time we had a talk.” Her voice was mysterious, dark and made me want to run. I wanted to know—but now that I was fixing to know—I didn’t want to know.

I sat down across from her. 
She looked at me hard and long, which made it worse, because I thought she might have changed her mind, because she cut away, then got up from her chair, stood still a second, then sat ba
ck down. I could barely breathe with anticipation and anxiety. 

“Since you were born I have tried to help you find your way in this life. God knows, our family is loaded down with unhealthy traits, both genetic and self-afflicted and not to mention, all the crap the world puts on us. Unfortunately, our family inherited the gift, the one I have told you about since you were born, the gift that comes with attachments, the curse.
Yes, it’s an oxymoron statement, like gift and curse and how can they both be one and the same, all that.  I understand the confusion, believe me, I do. 
Not everyone has it—and e
veryone handles it differently if they do. 
In fact, some cannot handle it. I did not do my part well Willodean. I made some bad mistakes.
I did not do what was required of me.  But t
hat is why I have labored so hard to teach you differently, so you will do what I could not. I made a promise that I would be here for you, regardless. My mother had the gift, her father had the gift, Aunt Raven
had…” she stopped, hesitated.  “W
ell,
let’s just say there are others that have different gifts—anyway, they were like us.  Gifted and cursed, that’s all you need to know right now.” 
She sighed. Her eyes were terribly red and leaked.

“The mind can be a terrible place, especially ours. My mother, God rest her soul, did not have the opportunity to teach me all she could about the gift, how to channel it correctly, how to be a Pugnator and fight the darkness when it came.”

Pugnator?
 
I’ve heard that before. Where have I heard that?
Maw Sue was fighting back tears, her expression erasing a thousand bitter memories she didn’t or couldn’t relive.
I gasped suddenly. 
Ms. Blanche, the beauty shop, pugnators
.  I remembered but Maw Sue was still talking. 

“My mother died way too early for me to absorb everything about the gift and because of it—the curse just seemed to overtake me and then, well …life just happened. One thing after another. I felt suffocated with things, bills, responsibilities, people and crying babies, dead husbands and my mind, it just cracked.”

“What’s a Pugnator?” I said
not having a filter.  I was so caught up, a
ll I could see was the Dresden inside the beauty shop and the fear that wrapped me up in not knowing what was happening and then Ms. Blanche, her words…

“I haven’t told you about a Pugnator?” She said nodding her head. “Well God forbid I am falling down on my job.”

“No. You
didn't
tell me, Ms. Blanche did. She told me way back—.”

“Blanche?” Maw Sue was startled and leaned across the table. “Persimmons Blanche? Big black woman?”

“Yeah” I said confused. “She works…”

“Well, Lord be.” Maw Sue cut me off and glared. “She told you about a Pugnator?”

“Uhh, yeah, I was….” I said
trying to remember. 
“I mean, kinda. Not really. I mean, I was seeing those Dresden’s for the first time and she told me I had the gift and that I could fight them, that I was a pugnator. I meant to tell you but it was the first time and I was scared
and had all the other cursed stuff in my head to deal with.  I
just put it away ‘cause
I didn’t want to remember.  I just wanted everything to go away.  All of it.”

“I ain't believin
g that 'a tall, she told me...” Maw Sue’s voice cut off.  She crossed her arms.  “
Persimmons and I grew up together.” She adjusted her glasses.
Her expression told me she was holding something back. 
“Lord, she knows a lot about me, too much, I reckon. And yes, Willodean, we share common…gifts and other things.”

“She’s nice. I really like her.
” I smiled. 

“Well, that’s good.”  She said with a smirk.  “
She is nice. Does she know who you are?”
Her eyebrow raised in wait. 

“I don’t know? Maybe, maybe not.”

“Well, next time you see her—tell her who you are. That ought to get her goat.” Maw Sue chuckled to herself. “Persimmons Blanche, my, my, my. How the world turns.”

“But what is a Pugnator—I still don’t know, I mean, she said a fighter, or something but what does that mean, really?”

“Oh. Yes, well, she’s right.” Maw Sue said leaning over the table in a storytelling mode. “A Pugnator is a Cupitor that fights with every ounce of being they have, courage overriding the fear in their bones, and they are overcomers, avenging the Amodgians and their evil conniving ways. You see, not all Cupitors have the Pugnator gene. I
t's rare, but possible. I don’t have it, that’s for sure. 
I could never fight them. In fact, the bedroom …” she paused and her lips rolled under as if she wasn’t sure what to say. The stirrings, sights and sounds whirred, clicked and rummaged inside my head, inside the house, inside me, as if the e
xact replica had built itself a haven in me.  It was to remind me of my fate, my destiny, my namesake and it scared me to death. 

“Pugnators are from the ancient texts of our appointed family. They were written by a sage long, long ago. I used to listen to my mother tell me how brave, how strong and courageous they were to stand and fight the terrible interceptors of the mind for that is where the battle always starts, in the mind. I don’t remember the stories exactly, it’s all in the books somewhere. I’ve forgotten most of them.”

“But I want to hear them.” I said filled with excitement. I loved new stories, especially when they were about my ancestors.

“Calm down child, I have all the stories, somewhere—.”

“You do?” I whined. "Where?" I wanted to start looking now. 
Get answers. Get soothing. Get healed. Whole. Seven.

“Somewhere—I can’t promise I’ll find them right away, I’ll have to look. I'm tired here lately, give me some time. When I find them, I’ll give them to you, how about that? You can read and read. There is enough words to keep you reading a lifetime, that’s for sure.”

“Awesome. I need all the help I can get.”

“Don’t we all.” She said nodding her head and rubbing the stone.

“Is it like the poem Seven?” I hoped for hope. Happy endings.
The end better than the beginning. 

“Yes. Maybe so, Willodean. No matter how my story ends, Willodean, I want your story to end like that poem. Touch the fingers Willodean…fill the gap. And you know what, now that I think about it, maybe some of us get closer to seven, in a different way than others, contributing to our generation in the only way we know how and maybe we won’t know it until long, long after we're gone. I don’t know, but that’s what I’d like to think, anyway. You know?” The gaze of her pupils were glass. 
Gray and hopeful horizons.
 “Maybe by helping others get to seven—we are made whole as well.” I saw a flicker of hope return to her eyes.

“Uh-huh
.” I nodded caught up in the spell of something untouchable. 

“Willodean, remember this.” She looked me straight in the eyes, focused, line to line. “As you get older, your gift will increase. But remember 
when
 anything grows, increases, matures, expands and all that—you can expect to struggle. The enemy will return to stop you and he will grow stronger as you grow stronger. Expect suffering because the enemy sees you as a threat. The life of a Cupitor is a journey of constant struggle but it is rewarding as well. Every time you break a chain and grow, despite the obstacles—it allows others to do the same. Since we were given the gift of eyes to see and ears to hear—the only way the enemy can get to us is through our minds. That is where he attacks us the most. It starts in the mind, Willodean. 
The mind.
 It is attached to the very core of our being, 
our heart
. Our deepest commitments to God and ourselves, lie dormant in our hearts waiting to bloom like seeds planted in rich soil. The mind is the nurturing center of the body, and whatever comes through it, affects it as a whole, understand?
But here’s the thing.  You cannot fight spiritual with fleshly weapons. You must use your gifts.
”

“Uhh...huh” I said lying. I had no idea what she was talking about. I knew exactly how MY mind worked. 
CHAOS. One hundred percent. 
Maw Sue was in full storytelling mission mode and I was glad but I didn't know how long it would last, so even if I didn't understand, I listened anyway.

“The Amodgians know full well anything that goes in the mind 
has
 to be mixed with faith to count for anything because without it—nothing grows, nothing moves forward, nothing changes. Change is struggle, change is doing the hard stuff when everything else seems easier. Change is taking the hard road when everyone else is strutting down easy street. With faith comes hope and with hope comes change and with change comes freedom and with freedom comes life. Real life—the life that the God of Abraham promised.”

Then she stopped. Her lips quivered, she gripped them tight, rolling them inward and out. Her eyes welled up with big puddles of water and the whites of her pupils went red and streaked.