Magic lived in a small town down in Tennessee where everybody knew everybody's business by noon. She never knew why her mother had named her Magic. She just knew she was the target of some wicked gossip, and it all usually started by one person. Jane Goodwill.
They both attended the one room school house up on the hill. They shared the same birthday. And they were both 13, and had eyes that sparkled like when the sun lights up the Ocean on a bright day. Magic never knew why Jane Goodwill hated her so much. She just knew to cross the street when she saw her coming toward her.
It was the kind of town where practically every family owned at least one hound dog, five chickens, two horses, a tractor, and one of those cheap above ground pools in their backyard.
And it was expected that you were to be in church on Sunday, or, you could be sure as Monday be seeing, Mrs. Twitchet, in front of your face waving her index finger telling you how you were going straight to hell.
That is -- if she ran into you at the local hardware store where they also sold grocery's along with chicken feed, and hay.
Mrs. Twitchet was made a widow that year. She had a figure shaped like a large plump oversized pear, and she always brought her deep fried chicken, and fresh apple pies to the church potluck on Sunday's. She liked to sing the "Special Music" while she played the *****. Magic always thought it was funny watching her flirt, making eyes with Mr. Platt, who had also been made a widow that same year.
Magic's father had disappeared the day she was born. And for some reason Mrs. Goodwill always acted strange whenever Magic passed her on the street.
To be continued.,
© 2014 Krisselle S. Cosgrove