Magic Circles
By Minh-Tam Le
Salinger gasped at the clear, bright sky. A thin line separated it from the Pacific. She pulled out the compact case from her duffle and scrutinized the fading bruise beneath layers of caked foundation. She didn’t need a mirror to see she didn’t belong here. People steered clear of her and Robin. They weren’t exactly a bed of roses.
She watched her toddler on the sand with hands sprawled across small piles of shells. She watched her universe retract a foot when it strayed from the circle Salinger had drawn around them. It was their magic circle. Like many circles before, it kept her sane.
Salinger tried to comb through her split ends and oily scalp, but the salty breeze made it impossible. They were far from the starting line. “4,257 miles,” she whispered. She laughed at the thought. Twisting her hair into a bun, she wished for a hairbrush. After you’ve been beaten and bruised, you don’t think straight. You forget things like that. Deodorant. Sunscreen. After you’ve stared at your split lip in the mirror again and again for years, you lose the wants. Instead, you dial down to the essentials. You hunger to survive, to ball yourself tightly like an armadillo. Then, one day your kid gifts you a picture of a rainbow, and you know it is time. Time to find that shit or promised gold at the end. The itch to split seizes you completely.
You pack a bag and leave, praying that the supposed love of your life is out gambling with friends or hitting on girls at the local bars. Usually, those were reasons for your fights. The opening act before cracked ribs and empty promises, but that day it was your lifeline.
Salinger scanned the area. Outside showers. Check. They need it. She spotted lines outside the public restrooms. Please let there be hand dryers. She had to hand wash their clothes.
She exhaled deeply and dug her toes into the sand. Keeping one hand on Robin’s leg, she closed her eyes and saw them sailing on a Bertram yacht. Before she was Salinger, wife and mother, she was Salinger, firefighter and sailing enthusiast. Before she was courted and lured, she was something to behold.
Grabbing the duffle, she returned their meager belongings inside. She nudged her child, and they walked together to the empty showers. Another two hours brought fresh, damp laundry and a dinner of cold hamburgers and French fries.
Salinger glanced at Robin sleeping in her arms and then at her reflection in the body-length mirror in the public restroom. The foundation was gone and left behind was a woman with eyes that kiss in the corners. Her arthritic ankle ached but it was nothing compared to the pain during those Pittsburgh winters. Even though she was exhausted, she felt free. Rubbing the jade pendant above the head of her sternum, she sighed and eased into her new self. Salinger. Mother. Warrior. Drawer of magic circles.
