A Work In Progress

Chapter Thirteen: An Attempted Return

I woke in the morning alone as Mari had gone home. There had been no tickle fights, no cuddling in bra and panties, and no accidental kisses that had led to vigorous, moaning girl-girl sex. We had simply dozed for a bit and when we woke, she caught a taxi home and I dressed for bed.

On sleeping was another issue for me to deal with and I was being forced to get used to being unable to sleep on my stomach as I had most of my life. The trouble was that I now had breasts and sleeping on them was most uncomfortable. I had not slept well the last two nights but I got some sleep and I had one more day, well Sunday, before I had to be at work on Monday. I woke up and showered and went through my new clothes looking for an outfit to wear walking. I had decided to head down around Little Jamaica to see if someone would help me find someone to reverse this situation I was now in. There were good points and bad points, but I wanted to get back to being me.

I took a taxi, after Ralph kindly called on for me, to 241^st in the Bronx. It might not have been wise to a white woman to be wandering around Wakefield on her own, but I did not think of myself as a white girl. I got a few stares going into the bodegas and shops around but eventually someone came up with an address for someone who might be able to help me break a spell. None of the buildings were exactly welcoming but the people, despite the reputations given to them, were kind to me and I was soon knocking on an apartment door. A very dark skinned man answered and flashed a smile to me, his teeth a brilliant contrast to his skin. “You come to break spell.” It was not a question that he asked in his very thick accent. I nodded and he opened the door for me to come in. His apartment was adorned with a bizarre assortment of tribal looking artifacts and Catholic symbols and pictures. He gestured to a plush chair in which I sat. “What spell on you?” He asked as he sat acros from me.

I related my story of having been a man before and now, not so much. He listened and asked, “Who start this mojo?”

“Well, in a dream I saw my mother and a group of women whose lives I affected.”

“Yo muther?” I nodded. “De others, dey muthers?”

“Two others were.” I ran a hand through my hair nervously. He seemed to be worried by my answers.

“Any one having your child?” He looked at me.

“One, yes.”

“Dis no good.” He shook his head.

“What do you mean?”

“De muthers make old and powerful magic.” He gestured as he sat back in his chair. “You mother and your child’s muther… it powerful magic. What did you see in da dream.” I related those events to him and as I did his reaction gave me a sinking feeling. “I can’t beat dat magic. I would like to help you.”

“Is there someone who can?”

“Dat’s a coven.” He explained. “You have to get them all to undo what been done.” He stood while I sat feeling helpless. If I could have just relied on my mother to undo it, it would have been easy, but getting all of the others there was going to make it a Herculean feat. I stood and thanked him and asked if I could call a taxi. “I have someone drive you home.” He put a hand on my shoulder in comfort and while it did not help that much, it was a kind gesture. In truth I don’t recall much of leaving his apartment or the drive home. I cried silently through most of the drive home.