Earlier I had the Narrator going to see the doctor because she thinks she’s hallucinating these fairy creatures. The doctor schedules some tests and recommends that the Narrator think about attending a support group for menopause.

That was just going to be “things a doctor might realistically propose” but then I realized that the Narrator is going to need to learn how to be a witch, so it will help if she finds other witches. So I decided that the support group she lands in will be a support group for witches – a coven of sorts.

I don’t want to keep track of too many characters so I decide two other witches is perfect – that makes three, and three witches is common in literature so the vibe felt right.

It occurs to me that if there are always three witches, and Narrator is #3, that something must have happened to the previous #3. What happened might be interesting to explore, in the context of the story problem. Whatever that is; I still haven’t worked it out but I have some glimmers.

Here’s this week’s work:

I had my earbuds firmly in my ears when I went out for my evening walk. I did not want to hear the squirrels arguing.

I kept my gaze fixed ahead of me, not looking down the alley where the bird-woman was walking home with a sack of groceries in her left arm.

I felt the sharp flash of sparks and glanced at my arm, and for a moment my skin glittered by the light of the setting sun.

No. No, it did not. That was an optical illusion. And anyway, I had that MRI scheduled and….

I dug my phone out of my back pocket and looked up the Meetup group the doctor had mentioned. They met on Tuesday nights and this was Thursday, so I’d missed it for the week. Maybe there was a hallucinations support group.

My eye got caught, snagged.

Midlife bringing new challenges? Things you’ve never seen or experienced before? We meet up every Thursday at 7 p.m. to talk about our challenges ….

Overland Avenue, not far from where I was walking at this very moment. The address was familiar to me and then I placed it: a pizza restaurant not far from my apartment with a lot of outdoor seating.

I turned around and headed back the way I’d come.

The Meetup group was easy to spot because in my part of LA, middle-aged and older woman are outnumbered by young woman by a factor of ten to one. Sometimes I wondered what happens to them when their California dreams do not come true. Do they go back home to Nebraska or drift up to Santa Barbara? I supposed some of them marry well and wall themselves off in Beverly Hills. Maybe they wind up in the Valley, shopping at the Ralph’s in Encino, and sweltering in the heat.

There were only two of them, and as I moved towards their table at the very back corner of the patio, a server came out to intercept me, but stopped in his tracks when he saw where I was headed. He went back inside.

I approached the table and the two women looked up. Both wore their hair silver. One wore it short and curly and the other long and straight. The one with long hair was also tall and angular with inquisitive blue eyes. The one with short hair was short and curvy with friendly brown eyes. But they both stared at me with the same unsmiling intensity and I had an attack of shyness.

I forced myself to say, “Hi, I saw the Meetup thingy.”

Both regarded me for a long moment and then both nodded as if reaching the same conclusion at the same time. I found it unnerving and wondered why I was here. Didn’t I have other things I could do with my time?

“Welcome,” said Tall and Skinny.

“Sit right down,” said Short and Curvy. She patted the bench next to her.

I debated turning tail and running but I’d come for a reason, so I might as well get what I could from it. If anything.

I sat down on the patted part of the bench.

They seemed to be waiting for something, and it turned out to be the server, who had a tray of drinks, which he auctioned off: “The rose? The dirty martini?”

The wine went to Short and the martini to Tall. There was a third drink on the tray that he plopped down in front of him for lack of other alternatives.

“Are we ready to order?” he asked brightly, smiling furiously.

Short stared at Tall. “I like the Brussels sprouts here.”

“Yes, they’re very good.”

Both turned to look at me, unblinking.

“Sure,” I said, as it seemed apparent that I needed to say something.

“That’s it? Just the sprouts?” He seemed mildly disappointed and Short said gently, “Maybe more later.”

“Okey doke,” he said, brightening a little and drifting off to greet an arriving pair of customers with cries of delight.

I took a sip of the drink. Vodka Collins. I almost spit it back out but managed to swallow instead.

“Is it not very good?” Tall asked.

“It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it. How did you know I was going to order a vodka Collins?”

“Oh, that’s me, dear,” Short said. “I get impressions, you know. Drives a Charger, drinks vodka Collins. I did think you’d dress a little nicer but I can’t get everything right.”

“How exactly do you get these impressions?” I asked. Maybe one of them had recognized me. But even if they knew what I did for a living, how would they know about the Charger and the Collins? Who would make that kind of study of me? My stomach knotted. It was going to be a real problem if I was becoming easy to recognize.

“I got them because I’m a witch,” Short said. She didn’t exactly lower her voice but suddenly I was aware of the need to keep my voice down.

“A witch,” I said.

“And so’s Serena.” She gestured at Tall, who inclined her head in acknowledgment.

“And do you get impressions, too?” I asked Serena.

She shrugged and said, “Sometimes, but that’s not my area of … expertise. Nikki’s an empath.”

“And you are…?”

“Not an empath,” she said. “Although I can sense that you’re full of questions.” She smiled a little.

“Not as many as one would think,” I said, and I could feel my brows drawing together.

“Serena,” Nikki said reproachfully and a moment later I could feel a presence I hadn’t known moving away from me, from my mind.

“I call her Walking Valium,” Nikki said as my body flooded with tension and alarm. Who were these people and why was I sitting here?

I set my glass down, pushed it away from me, put my palms on the table to hoist myself up and Nikki pursed her lips and said gently, “Didn’t you come here for a reason?”

“Yes, I’m going insane and I don’t think knowing you two is going to help stave that off,” I said, but I stopped pushing.

“What do you mean by that, going insane?” Serena asked.

She didn’t sound terribly interested in my answer but I said, “I’m seeing things that don’t exist.”

“Hallucinations? How curious.” She didn’t sound curious. Her gaze flicked over my shoulder and she said, “Ah, here are the Brussels sprouts.”

The bowl of sprouts, along with three plates and silverware, clattered to the table and the server said, “Enjoy!” with a distracted air, in search of customers with bigger appetites and bigger tips.

Nikki scooped a serving onto one of the plates and slid it towards me. “You should try them, they’re very good.”

“Sure.” I dug a fork out of the pile.

Nikki handed a plate to Serena, then served herself with a happy sigh and said, “Go on. What kind of hallucinations?”

“I’ve hallucinated that squirrels in the hedge are talking to me,” I said.

Nikki nodded, eyes on her fork.

“And I swear I saw a werewolf downtown, earlier this week.”

“Really?” She glanced up from her sprouts.

“Yeah, going to the courthouse. I mean, it was a lawyer, and I just imagined—hallucinated—that it was a werewolf.”

“You’d think you’d hallucinate a vampire under the circumstances,” Serena said, nibbling a leaf from a sprout.

“Ha ha,” Nikki said. With a glance at me she said, “I’m a lawyer.”

“But not a vampire, I hope,” I said.

“No.” The curls bounced with her vehemence.

“Anything else?” Serena asked.”

“Well…the first hallucination was like a bird, a bird woman,” I said, feeling defensive.

Serena and Nikki exchanged a glance and Serena’s tone sharpened. “A bird woman?”

“Yes, a woman with these huge leathery wings and a kind of stench.”

“Where?”

“Palms Boulevard, an alley to the north, between Keystone and Mentone.”

Serena’s eyes shifted away, as if she were making a rapid calculation. “Can you show me the place? Exactly?”

“Serena,” Nikki said, and her voice carried enough weight of authority put Serena back in her seat.

“If it’s a … bird woman, there’s nothing you can do,” Nikki said.

“I can ask it what the hell,” Serena said, sounding mulish.

“And you think she’ll tell you?”

“Maybe she’ll go for the old sisterhood thing,” Serena said.

I was watching the exchange, my stomach sinking. I put my fork down, no longer hungry.

“You two believe me?” I asked. “What kind of crazies are you?”

“Same kind as you,” Nikki said. “Eat your Brussels sprouts, they’re no good when they get cold.”

“And what just kind of crazies are we?” I asked slowly.

“We’re witches, of course,” Serena said.

~~~

Jennifer Lawler has been a writer-editor for more than twenty-five years and has published more than forty novels and nonfiction books. She is the founder of the online education company Club Ed LLC.