The Pickup

She returned some scant minutes later dressed in baggy shorts and a tight top and looking ever so much like a working girl inept at hiding her occupation. For some reason, it looked fine on her. I stared for a moment wondering if she'd found a way to flush a decade or so down the drain like so much tissue paper. We waltzed out the door and into her car carrying a still steaming mug to share during the drive and headed for the meal. She put her shoes on in the car while I drove. The classic rock station that had followed us home so appropriately the night before was now too loud and tasteless. We didn't speak until we were inside the restaurant, ordering. I chalked the silence up to caffeine withdrawals and used it to collect my thoughts. I felt as though I needed to reassure her about my flexibility where relationships are concerned. I certainly didn't want to own or be owned, had no desire to stalk or demand, and quite frankly, though I was rather appreciative of her passion and fervent pursuit of same, I didn't want to press the issue of future arrangements.

We ate in much the same silence. I tried a few times to engage her in light conversation and she remained pleasant but withdrawn, contributing nothing beyond a few polite responses. Finally, after numerous coffee refills and a plate of biscuits and gravy, she took a deep breath and began to tell me her story.

Born an only child to a mature couple, she had vague but bright memories of her early childhood. Her parents died when she was eight, and the next several years were spent in a series of foster homes. As soon has her body began to mature, she attracted the attentions of men all around her and some were not gentlemen. She learned a lot about sex, but more importantly, she learned how to use their own desires to manipulate those that wanted her. She had no qualms about taking things from them and making them do things they didn't want to do. After she caused the breakup of one of the foster families, and the subsequent arrest of the man who had used her, she was placed in the care of a woman with a reputation of handling trouble cases. She earned the confidence of this caregiver, and later gave her grudging respect to the first adult since her natural mother to earn it. This woman was a witch.

When she said that, she looked at me with a raised brow as if anticipating a rebuttal but I just nodded and sipped my cooling coffee, so when none came she continued.

Not what most people think of when the term is used, a genuine witch, she tells me, is one with the earth, in an almost Zen sense. Attuned to the life all around, the very essences that power and define and flow through the living planet and the inhabitants thereof. I grinned here, thinking, "Use the Force, Luke," but sipped more coffee rather than speak. She told me that humans can't ever achieve total power over nature simply because they're part of it. That people who try can find what their real power is, and sometimes your power comes to you without you realizing it. Much as a child with a fondness for animals becomes a veterinarian and during study and work develops a healing power or an ability to commune with the beasts she treats. She told me this adoptee mom had way with kids, had indeed turned many of them around to be outstanding citizens, and until the day she was buried had so many of them keep in touch with continued news of their success.

Our waitress showed up with the refill pot, and she took a breather at this point. She stared down at the table when we were alone again and told me in lowered tones about her own power. It was her native ability to appear, for however briefly, as someone's very heart's desire. The one creature he could not live without and simply must possess at any cost. Learning to control this had caused her some problems in the past, and having to deal with it hadn't proved easy either. She managed to get through school by being a frump and a loner, spending her time reading and studying. The times she turned on the charm, literally, in her case, wound up in disaster usually as soon as the charm wore off and she appeared natural and plain.

Finally learning to control it, she began to use her ability on men, sometimes vindictive, other times playful, still other times from sheer loneliness. She confessed then that she had used the charm on me the night before in the bar. She told me it was intentional and considered after much thought. We had been friends for all this time and except for the flirtatious banter, I hadn't tried anything with her. Even those nights I had poured her home and she would have been unable (or unwilling) to resist, I had been a gentleman and a friend. Over time, she said, this grudging respect had become appreciation and eventually affection.

She reached across the table to take my hands in hers. She began to assure me that she wasn't making any demands and didn't expect anything, just letting me see the reality of the situation.

We were interrupted again by our waitress who deftly filled our cups and placed the check face down on the table between us, all in one smooth flowing motion. As soon as she turned, Nora continued, "And then again this morning, when you wanted to take me out and it worked again, I could see it on your face. It happened without my doing it. After last night..."

I interrupted her with an index finger to her lips.

"I know you have the power," I said, "I've seen you use it many times. To be honest though, you didn't need to with me, I've always found you attractive. I just didn't have any idea how... fine you'd be. I always did sense a connection with you, but just figured we were doomed to stay just friends." I found myself making little quotes in the air with my fingers.

We both found that amusing for some reason and shared a giggle. "See," she said. "You make me laugh." The way she said it made it sound like the highest praise a man could aspire to.

"Nora, my witch, what say we explore this thing, this power of yours some more. Maybe I can find a power to use with you."

Her eyes brimmed and her cheeks reddened and again she took on the aspect I had glimpsed before as the miles slipped away. She smiled and squeezed my hand. "Let's go home, " she whispered.