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Soon to be strangers with some memories,
This love cleanse will rid you of your woes.”
Aunt Livi pauses for a moment, but her eyes continue to skim the page as if she’s reading silently to herself. This is the point where I’m usually rolling my eyes with Kiersten, but I find myself waiting on edge for her to continue.
She clears her throat.
“But if you wish to wipe away,
The memories of the very day,
A choice was made,
A path was taken,
Another lifetime long forsaken.
Light the wick,
Curse the day,
Cut the cord,
Send away,
The one that wronged you,
under waning gibbous
But be forewarned—”
Aunt Livi pauses, then licks her thumb and rubs the page in front of her with a soft grunt.
“Uh…you gonna tell us what comes next?” Kiersten tries to peek over her shoulder at the book, but Livi’s oversized cardigan blocks the way. “Or are we just gonna ignore that whole cryptic-warning part?”
Aunt Livi squints at the book, moving so close that her nose almost touches the paper.
“There appears to be some sort of stain on the directions.” She sniffs. “I suspect salsa. But don’t fret.” She sets it on the counter with a bang. “I think I’ve got it.”
Reaching for the small yellow pad she keeps next to an oldrotary phone, my aunt tears off a blank sheet, then plucks a blue Bic from a mug of mismatched pens and pencils, handing both the paper and pen to me.
“Write Stuart’s name down.”
It’s a command, and my blood alcohol level has me complying with little argument.
Aunt Livi picks up the sparkly white birthday candle and produces a lighter from her pocket. A tiny yellow flame ignites the wick, and she holds the candle out in front of her. “Now picture the night you met Stuart. Imagine him in that bar. Think about the moment you decided to see him again.”
The dancing yellow flame combined with Aunt Livi’s soothing voice is mesmerizing. I envision Stuart’s face. His expensive gray suit, intense blue eyes, and the way he made me feel like everything in my life was going to work out fine.
“Now,” Aunt Livi continues, “imagine walking away.”
I picture myself leaving that crowded bar and getting into a cab alone. “Have a nice life, Stuart,” I whisper. “I don’t think I was ever meant to be a part of it.”
When I open my eyes, the candle has already begun to melt, dripping tiny balls of waxy teardrops.
“Next,” my aunt instructs. “Hold the paper with his name up to the flame.”
Lifting my offering to the burning candle, I watch as the flames skitter across the surface, only letting go once the heat reaches my fingertips. The paper falls to the counter, and we all watch as the yellow sheet turns to ash and the flames move to burn the linoleum beneath.
