She Looked To Be At Least

Everyone has a childhood witch. Mine was Florence. I would run and hide when she walked past our house, stooped over, staring at the sidewalk. Her hair was an ugly gray color, held away from her face by a man’s hat, and she looked to be at least three hundred years old. Her face had more lines than corduroy pants and her tongue came out when she talked. There was a gap or two in her teeth; she was a character, we were told. A character must be someone you’re afraid of, because my blood clotted when she Walked down my sidewalk with her goats. Many children would run to their mama when Florence walked by, so she must have been other children’s childhood witch too. My mama always offered to get Florence a cool drink or whatever, but she kept walking. She would mutter all the way up the street – terrorizing us with stories about six foot snakes she had To hoe to death in her garden. The adults invited her to neighborhood things, but she never came. Childhood company on the coach would stare openly if Florence walked past. What’s that? They would ask, wondering about her layers of dresses over bibbed overalls. Her clothes were like her hair, sticking out in all directions. That’s Florence, she’s very nice, our mother would tell company. We would laugh, but not loudly. One time my sister and I were playing “what do you want to be when you grow up?” I want to be Florence, I said. We laughed until we cried. Every time we looked at each other For the next two days, we would get the twin look, and know, and laugh again. “You girls are awful!” our mother chided us, but I suspected by her dancing eyes that she was laughing too, only inside, and secretly. When I reached 40, I really wanted to learn to garden. Everyone in town referred me to Florence. From her I learned how to plant, and water, and mulch, and prune, and replant. She was one of my best teachers. She was my great aunt, a cousin’s friend confided to me one day not too long ago. She was lovely, I replied. He stared at me. Did you ever get to know her? Hell no, he said. I was scared to death of her. Now isn’t that sad?