The clues have always been there, but I’ve dismissed them as something else. I was about eight years old when I received… a huge magic kit for my birthday. This is was so big that when you stood it on its side, it was almost the same height as me. Which is tall and yes I have big feet. I would sit in front of this box with all the magical items strewn before me, figuring out which to play with first. I liked the mind card games, then I moved to making things disappear. My friends and family thought I was brilliant, I was only eight.
Over the years there were subtle hints. Like the small piece of skin hanging off the end of my nose. One time in Florida on a family holiday with my father, we were driving to the beach and in the backseat of the car I found some sand paper. Thinking it would remove the hanging skin I began to scrub it off. To no avail but a bloody scraped up nose. Upon arrival to the beach my father noticed my discontent and asked me what I had done. I told him that I thought the sand paper would make my hanging skin fade. He put his arms around me and carried me to the beach. I was ten.
My mother finally took me and my nose to the doctors, only to be told that I have a wart. A WART?!? I screamed in my head. How could I face my friends, they would surly know that I have a wart. And call me a Witch, I could feel the tears begin to well and I could feel the ridicule build from inside the doctor’s office. I began to weep internally, my facial expression showed and my mother wrapped her arms around me and told me everything would be ok. The doctor suggest we burn the wart off and I happily agreed. I went home that night with a small red dot at the end of my nose, and my wart gone. The unknown ridicule was gone. I was eleven.
I continued to master my magic box and preformed at all the family gatherings. Applause all around, my smile widened deep into my heart. But deep down I was afraid that my wart would return. My mother convinced me that it couldn’t be as the doctor had burned it off, and it would not be coming back to haunt me. I believed her, I believed the doctor, but something told me different, something at that tender age I could not relate to.
For my birthday that year I received tons of toys and new clothes. But my favorite item was a book. A small pocket-sized book of enchanted spells. I would fall asleep reading these spells and practise using them in my head. I loved the power behind the messages and the rhyme in the words. I kept is close to my heart and entrenched in my mind. I was twelve.
I woke one morning screaming, grabbing my nose. I ran to the bathroom and plunged my face into the mirror. My eyes began to well and I bawled gallons of tears. My wart had returned. But how? Oh how could this happen? The doctor said, my mother said, but it seems in hindsight that my Goddess had not finished with me. My mother promptly took me back to the same doctor and questioned his ability. He could not believe his eyes, but again burned the damn wart off. I went to bed that night not knowing what would happen. Would it return yet again? I was twelve and a half.
I went about my twelve and a half-year old duties of climbing trees, chasing boys, getting dirty and picking my nose. I was nearing my thirteenth birthday and the anticipation grew in my bones. I had always loved that number, it had brought me good luck many times. I knew my thirteenth birthday would be magical. And boy was it ever. That persistent wart had returned. I spent much of the day before my birthday under the covers in my bed crying, crying rivers deep into the night. My mom came in and tried to comfort me, bringing me chocolate, rubbing my back and wiping away my tears.
I found myself back at the doctor’s office and he was as puzzled as I. He suggested that I wish for my wart to go away. My mother questioned his morals and asked for another burning. I didn’t want the burning again, not again! A small voice within me thought ‘this is who you are’. But deeper within my soul, I knew I didn’t want to face the ridicule for the rest of my eternity. I really wanted that wart gone, and for good.
I went to bed that night and wished to my inner goddess that she take my wart away. The morning of my thirteenth birthday I flew into the bathroom to see if my mini-spell had worked. Nope, nada. I walked downstairs for breakfast and found my table-setting filled with presents and chocolate milk. My mom hugged me tight and whispered in my ear to keep wishing. I spent most of my thirteenth birthday questioning my existence and why this horror was happening to me. I was finally thirteen.
I wished, and wished for seven straight nights. Each morning waking and crying in the mirror of reflection. I debated on giving up and coming to terms with my new wart, but I knew I would not be happy with myself. Upon going to bed that night I wished again. I wished so hard that I thought my brain would pop from my head. I wished and wished upon the only star sparkling into my bedroom window. I fell into a deep slumber. I didn’t even have to run to the mirror the next morning, I reached my still asleep hand to my nose and felt. I rubbed, I felt with every finger on my hand. My mind questioned my ability to wish, to believe. I bounced out of bed and into my reflection. It was gone! Really gone. I was thirteen and eight days.
I still wish on the first star I see, and it’s still gone!