Blue Glass
She’d found it on the beach. It wasn’t much of a thing, just a fake gem from some piece of costume jewellery, but it was glass and not plastic at least. A lovely domed oval of blue glass with little flecks within. Bov held it up to the weak sun light and imagined that each fleck was a fairy hiding within the glass; she smiled, and pocketed the trinket. On the walk home she ran through the scenarios in her head about how the fairies would come out of the piece of glass at sunset or dawn and grant her wishes.
She would not show it to Granny-Ann, the old lady could sometimes be a kill joy and no doubt would decide to send the gem to the police station. Bov could not allow that. At the edge of the woods, just before the path leading back to Granny-Anne’s, Bov removed her “proper” clothes and got changed. She hated the restrictive garments but had her dress, she’d stolen it last summer from a washing line on the way to the station. Neither her mother nor Granny-Anne knew about the dress. They would take it away, no doubt burn it.
The dress had lace hem and cuffs; they were dirty and frayed now and the buttons where over stretched. She’d been saving money from mowing lawns to buy a new one, one that fitted. She was going to say it was for her sister.
She buttoned a gingham shirt up over flat chest and transferred the pebble of glass. The dress, re-wrapped, was placed firmly in the hollow on the tree and Bov wound her way back for supper.
Granny-Anne was standing at her gate. She looked ancient and decrepit; Bov felt bad for not liking her, but it was horrible to be sent here every school holiday, to the middle of no where, to the bogs and the mountains and the beach. Well, she liked the beach but the rest of it was so closed in and wild and the beach was sometimes over run with tourists.
“Dafydd!” she called and, reluctantly, Bov waved at her.
“I was playing on the beach. Sorry, Granny-Anne”
“Never mind, get in the house and wash up, cariad,” Bov smiled but was careful not to hug the woman; she smelt of urine and it was distressing. The house, on the other hand, was clean and tidy with a smell of lavender oil and stew. The ritual of prayer was observed before eating was allowed, and most of the furniture was thick old stuff Granny-Annes ancestors had made. They were ancient, and Dafydd was always surprised that they didn’t powder into wood worm shit.
“What did you get up to today?” the old woman asked.
“Just walked the beach.” A standard answer with a shrug, the old woman seemed hurt but did not push the subject.
“There is a meeting at the chapel tonight, you coming boyo?”
Bov shook her head, it was pretty much the last place she wanted to be.
“Bethany will be there,” it was a sly statement and made Bov blush and look away.
“I have reading to do, for school… you know.”
Granny-Anne sagged slightly; it was alarming that she did not right herself and become the resourceful old witch Bov knew her as. Granny-Anne truly was old; she was Bov’s Mother’s great grandmother. Bov decided that perhaps she should be kind, after all it was not really Granny-Annes fault, she didn’t know Bov was a girl, didn’t know how much she hated being called Dafydd or that she hoped to have an operation when she was older. One that would make her like the other girls.
Bov had had to change schools twice already, but that was not Granny-Anne’s fault.
“I’ll, I’ll come to the Sunday service,” she said, and the old woman instantly perked up. Bov made a show of getting her school books, which were stacked by an old and ancient radio, huge and made of wood. As she lent towards it, it crackled to life; music blared for a second and then it hummed. She stepped back and the sound subsided, it had been a strange echoey music.
Granny-Anne was suddenly by her side, claw like hands digging into her upper arm, “What did you find?” she hissed. Bov turned to stare. “What have you brought back with you!” the woman was frantic and hurting her. Bov extricated her arm and tried to back away but it set the radio off again.
“Is it glass? Or a carving?” the old woman’s eyes were bright, she was animated in a way that Bov had never seen.
Mind racing, she brought out the gem, spooked and worried. Her old and wrinkled hands, knuckles big and sore looking reached out and snatched it up. “Oh clever boy!” and she shuffled to the thick heavy set dresser and with a creak opened one of the drawers and began rummaging.
“What is it?” she asked, intrigued.
“It’s a Mabinogi,” Bov looked blankly at her. “A stone wizard, it tells us history if we know how to listen.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she scowled at that.
“You must have heard of the Mabinogi? Tales, I am sure I read to you many stories when you were younger.” Bov thought and shrugged.
“I used to be scared of your stories Granny-Anne”
To her surprise the old woman laughed and then with a single statement made Bov’s heart leap. “It is interesting that you should find this, they are rare and handed down from mother to daughter, some believe a man can not touch them.” Bov blushed and tried to look away but she had caught the younger persons’ jaw in her wirey old fingers. “You stole a dress and your mother tells me you have moved schools again? I think the old spirits got confused… don’t tell Owen I said that, he would not forgive me.” Bov smiled at that as he thought of the strict Chapel preacher full of grit and booming harshness.
But also she was trembling, she’d been so sure Granny-Anne would hate her or punish her or something, she knew her mother was angry, still felt the bruises of where the boys had found the lipstick. But, biting her lip, she asked what turned out to be the right question, “Granny-Anne? Will you teach me how to hear the Mabinogi Stone?”
Posted: Thursday, October 9th, 2014 @ 10:47 am
Categories: Flash Fiction, The Punks World.
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