The moment she was born and being cradled gently by her doting parents, Andromethea was already going to be a strange one. She didn't cry, she didn't scrunch up her baby blues, and even as her eyes turned to a dark brown and cascading ringlets tumbled over her shoulders; she grew into a quietly confident young girl in the muggle world.
She knew sometimes that things in her house were different, for instance, when she'd come slinking down the hallway with her music drowning out her other senses, she never questioned why or how the tea made itself in those dusky mornings while the rents slept soundly. Nor either did she ever question about how sometimes, in her da's photo's, the people would move about and giggle, or sometimes they'd cry, and other times she'd almost think that some people weren't even in their right places. Like they'd swapped. However, she didn't question these sorts of things because they simply
just were, she took as much as she could clamber into her knowing with a childlike curiosity and acceptance, although this didn't stop her from time to time, in the midst of nigh-time giggles, for peering around the corners ever so slightly to glimpse at them, when no one knew she was watching; it filled with joyous wonderment that sent a tingling warmth down her arms and into her tiny little fingers.
Mostly however she enjoyed the mundane things, the soft way her Mama brushed her unruly hair and kissed her freckles quaintly while saying "It's the stars, they're written on you, my little Andy." and how her rushing Da would come scorching around the halls with a frantic look on his face as if he'd indeed missed something important. Again. And the way mama wiggled her nose at him and he'd blush underneath his own freckles, mumbling apologies and grinning toothily about his latest set of frames, and how it was sure to make the exhibition this time, honest it would, promise.
Promises. Her Gram's visited almost every weekend and promised to "Put an end to this nonsense, once and for all." over supper in their apartment flat, with the expression of one who'd swallowed a lemon whole and not entirely of her own volition. She ordered an air of superiority about their house and it made everything inside it seem small and disputable against her formidable poise; always struck to kill. Only the two of them would ever know that she crumbled and sunk down on her knees to hug Andy, and that when she baby-sat with a haughty "Should've stayed with a suitable gentlemen who could actually support his family" retort, that she would even have a twinkle in her eyes while smearing cake mix onto Andy's childish features.
It was on Andy's eleventh birthday that Gram's finally struck a nerve, as was a long time coming from Ma's smug grimace and Da's petulant fury.
"She's not going. I'll not hear another word of it, woman, she'll not attend, not after all this bloody time sitting here and waiting for a damned letter and then you, you come up and say 'Oh, I've a better one instead!' Nay I've had a bullocks full of you!" he hisses across the table,
"Aye, I suppose you think that school is good enough, is it, eh? Oh, look at me, I'm but a poor muggle who wants to send my only daughter to a charity school! She deserves better than that, better than this!" She motions about the small room as it shrinks beneath her vindictively judgmental gaze.
"I'm doing the best I can! But ooh, oh no, no one's ever good enough for your daughter, well, I'll have you know that it was your daughter who wanted her to go there." He finishes coldly, looking accusation-ally at his wife.
Mrs Pendle raises a cold eyebrow and emanates nonchalance with a simple,
"Guilty."
Mama's drinking a strong cup of tea and waggling her eye brows at me over the dinner table while Da and Grams are fighting again. The small kitchenette really wasn't ready for all this commotion tonight, because apparently it's a biggin'. A biggin' wiggin'. Smally I smile back to Ma at my own silliness, and although she doesn't know about it she smiles back anyway and rolls her eyes exageratively at the pair of kooks clucking about in her kitchen, getting more and more animated as they rise from their seats and start about to yell some more.
I'm not really listening anymore, the soft lull of whale call's recorded from the pacific are renouncing trough my ears; I love swimming, but mostly I love the sounds that come from it. The soft lapping of tides and the humming that Ma makes when she sashays around the edge of the water, skipping along to her own tune. My headphones went unnoticed throughout the suppertime ordeal, and Mama chuckles knowingly at me as she slides her printing paper across the table at me.
On it is one line, and Ma is still holding the ball point that she must've used to write it. I draw my hands over to receive it and look down at her single liner. In a slanting scrawl, " lets leave them to it ". She tilts her head in-perceptively towards the side room, gets up, and walks on out. I guess that's my que? Yeah, yeah that's it. Folding up her note I tuck it into my jeans pocket and sidle out behind my Mama, Da and Grams still 'talking' heatedly behind me. Honestly, so caught up they can't notice a thing. Da's a bit like that, tall and lanky with several things on his mind, but you get him riled up then boom; one stop shop to obliviouty and ignoramus-ville.
It's cold out tonight. The stars are shining stubbornly underneath a clear Britain sky, only tainted by a few morsels of harmless cloud not even pertaining the notion of rain. Not until tomorrow at least. The last few weeks have actually been pretty hectic for me, the finals have come up and passed and we're on break. Grade six is finally over, and next year I'm going to be back down at the bottom of the heap, and while everyone's been bragging about which senior school they're going to next year, I only have an idea. Da asked me about which ones I might want to go to, and yes sure we chatted in length sipping our tea's before the fires lambency, but Ma always got such a pained look on her face when I talked about the friends I didn't want to leave behind if I swapped and changed out of schools.
Da's since stopped asking about it.
It's that kind of stretched out look that governs her face now on the balcony, all
moddly-coddling pretenses gone and a long, low sigh seems to escape her. She nods back to inside where their yelling is still distinguishable,
"What a night, hey Andy."
I guess it is, "I think it's quaint, they like eachother, really Ma they do." whispering towards her I ghost up and wrap my arm around her waist, she leans into my embrace and sweeps my hair back into a lopsided bun for me with adept fingers. Her hands rest there, and I enjoy the moment. Ma's kiss scorches my head with an intense love.
"You're just growing up so quick, babes." She whispers, but I don't say anything because I don't think she wants me to.
This moment wants me to listen.
"Andy, Andy, my sweet little Andromethea." Cooing.
"You know, your Papa always said you were going to be a girl, his little girl, he thought I was wrong the whole time 'cause boy, boy I kept on telling him, he's a boy now leave at it, you. Cheeky bastard." Tighter still is her grip. While I am waiting patiently, to be honest I've got to say I'm doing it pretty smugly, the smirk irking my lips betrays what I already know. Honestly, how many books about 'Hogwarts; a history.' and pamphlets and brochures do they want to leave around the house? If Da's photo's weren't enough, then Ma's sketches and paintings would surely do the trick; I'm a wizard, yes, I know.
If I didn't know better, I'd say they left everything out intentionally for me; like a trail of party mix to all the answers, just waiting for me to piece them together. I know, I've known ever since my copy Moby Dick started to leak profusely as I read it aloud then promptly slammed it shut into its' own water; I still have it, and sometimes I'd like to think that it's crying. I know, I wonder whether they know? And if they know I know, then what are we doing outside in the blasted cold while Mama poor's out her reminiscence through tears onto my head? What a sultry game were playing.
Mrs Pendle wonders briefly at their game, and wonders even if sweet Andy knows they're playing it? Mr Pendle doesn't, the daft wee doe, he's truly such a dolt. One who isn't a dolt, however, is her own Mama. Inside picking petty feuds with her doe eyed hubby, the twinkle in her eyes this night told her all she needed to know; the game was afoot. She peered down at Andromethea who was still sleekly holding her Mama's waist with a cool, withdrawn touch. Does she know she's being played? Honestly, she'd left enough around the house to point her in the right direction.
Yes, she thought, yes; she knows. So then who here is the fool? The thought crossed our dear Mrs Pendle's sharp mind and was quickly dismissed.
"Andy?" her Mama murmured into her hair thickly, voice sounding choked with every word passing her lips.
"Yes, Ma?"
"You know I love you, right?"
"Of course Mama."
"And I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."
"Never, Mama."
"I'd never keep anything from you, not really, all you'd have to do was ask and I'd tell, tell right in heartbeat. You know that, right?"
"In a hummingbirds heartbeat, Mama?"
"Anything for you, my love."
"Mama?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you a witch, Mama?"
They both paused for a moment, Mrs Pendle had expected her daughter to take that approach and wasn't startled, smiled widely and hummed her response,
"Mm hmm, and you?"
"Yeah, yeah Ma I think I am."