Magic Hands

By Patricia Stone

Charlotte was ready to take on the world--new apartment, new school, and maybe even a new love? Everything was falling together nicely. Fragile egos, jealousy, and wicked plans could bring an end to things though. Can her conviction, past experience, and maybe a bit of magic be enough to get her through it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781684980796

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Magic Hands

Patricia Stone

Copyright © 2022 Patricia Stone

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-68498-078-9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68498-079-6 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To Robert

I pushed the last box into the back of the moving van and walked down the ramp. My arms were fatigued, and my brow was covered in sweat. I lifted my hands over my head and took some deep breaths and looked at the home I grew up in. The green trim was faded and chipping. There were brown stains on the lower half of the walls from the sprinklers. It was a good home. It had character. The big red rosebush was now taller than me. Even though I’m only five feet, one inch tall, I am confident that I could take on anyone. Just because I’m short, people assume they can push me around, including men. Ha! I didn’t take eleven years in jiujitsu for nothing. All about leverage and skill.

I remember planting the rosebush with my mom when I was seven. It was just a stump covered in thorns then. My mom, Glenda, told me to wear gloves, but I’m stubborn and didn’t think I needed them. Charlotte, she said. You’re going to get poked, and it will hurt. You will bleed, and I’ll say, ‘I told you so.’ And that is exactly what happened. I swear my mother is a prophet. She stopped saying I told you so, but most of my life, her predictions were spot-on.

I could see my bedroom window from the ramp. The tree in the yard was much bigger too. I closed my eyes and sighed. Many nights I looked out my window, sat on the seal, and read a book or browsed social media. I’ll never forget that dark night when I awakened my first power. My sister Stacy was coming home from a first date with Joe. She was ten years older than me, and I always wanted to be like her.

I always wanted to see if she ever kissed any of her dates. I never really liked Joe. He always gave me the creeps. It was late, almost midnight, and he walked her up to the door. She kept telling him he couldn’t come in. He was grabbing her and kissing her, touching her breast, and reaching under her dress. She kept telling him no and to go sit in the driveway and wait for his Uber. He was drunk. He pulled her down on the front lawn where it was the darkest. I could see them very clearly. He put his hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream then tore her panties off from under her dress. She fought and scratched, bit his hand, and kicked at him. He just pushed her down harder. He tore her dress and was kissing her breasts. She bit down hard on his hand until her teeth sank in and blood ran down her cheek. He yelled and pulled his hand away and then brought his hand up to punch her. I was so scared, only ten years old and living in a home that never fought like that—occasional loud discussion maybe, but never violent. I raised my hands and yelled stop!

Everything froze in time. A leaf falling from the tree stopped midair outside my window. My fish, Goldie, was not moving in her bowl. Douchebag Joe was still drawn back to hit my sister. I looked around my room. The clock was not ticking, my laptop screen froze, and my fan was still. I slowly walked to my door. I looked around, and everything was quiet. No sound at all. My cat, Scooter, was on top of her tower, not moving or breathing. I ran outside and looked at my sister and Joe. I tried to see if I could touch them. I was so afraid of waking them or getting caught. I had no idea how I was able to stop the attack. I pulled my sister up on the grass away from douchebag Joe. She stayed in the same position. Her arms were covering her face, and her mouth was open to scream. It was like moving a mannequin. I closed her dress and covered her legs. Then I took Joe’s belt off and wrapped it tight around his ankles. Then I punched him twice dead in the nose, kicked him in his worthless balls, and shoved a stick up his ass! Pretty bad for a ten-year-old, but I didn’t know how much time I had, and I wanted to make sure my sister would be able to get away from him.

I ran back in the house and slowly closed my door. I thought about how I made him stop. Then I realized I said stop out loud, not just thought it. So I figured I would try the same thing but say go. Crossing my fingers and saying a little prayer, I raised my hands and said go. I opened one eye and saw the leaf had fallen. I looked over at Goldie, and she was swimming away. I heard Joe yell in pain as he fell on his ass. Stacy jumped up. Kicked him in the balls and ran in the house. I watched douchebag Joe crawl to the driveway, pull the stick out of his ass, and ball up in pain. Soon, the Uber driver arrived, and I felt bad for the driver. No way would he be able to explain what happened.

I walked out of my room and down the hallway. Stacy was sitting on the step by the front door. I sat next to her and asked if she was okay. She hugged me and said she wanted to take a self-defense class. I told her I wanted to take it with her. That is how my passion was born. I didn’t understand how I was able to stop time. Was this a momentary gift, or could I do it at will? Either way, I made myself a promise to never be a victim. I practiced and studied hard. I went to competitions and went to every match I could. I took down six-feet-three-inch men, who assumed that because I was short, they could overpower me. Good thing about being short is, I’m quick. I didn’t win them all—by any means—but I won more than I lost. I had a couple dislocated shoulders and torn ligaments, but I learned each time I made a mistake.

I also practiced freezing time. Over and over and over, I tried. It never happened until Scooter, my cat, ran out the front door and straight into the street. The truck didn’t even get a chance to see him. I gasped and yelled stop. It happened again. Everything froze. I ran out and grabbed Scooter. I looked down my street and saw a car turn the corner. I ran back to the house and raised my hands and said go! The truck went down the street as if nothing happened. I learned two things that day. One, I can freeze time during a heightened emotional response, and the freeze has a range.

I pushed the ramp back into the van and pulled down the rolling door. I latched it with a heavy clunk, and slowly walked back into my house to have lunch with my mom and dad before the long drive to the city. I could smell the ham and cheese as I walked in the door. My mom was plating the sandwich and pickle and placing it on the table. My dad was pouring his usual big glass of iced tea.

When you think of a man named John, a picture comes into your head, and my dad is the most perfect John—tall with broad shoulders, full head of curly hair with a two-week-old beard that has specks of gray that just add to his distinguished gentleman look. He has a deep bounding voice that can scare grown men. His fierce, protective nature always made the family feel safe.

Come eat, Charlotte! He pulls out my chair and pats the seat. I sit and take a big drink of tea. How long do you think it will take you to get to Berkeley?

I’m not sure, I’m not in a rush. I answered. I still have to stop by Ann’s and load her stuff too.

Ann is my lifelong friend and now roommate. We just put our first and last down at an apartment by the college. I’m majoring in computer engineering, and she wants to be a nurse. They also have a fantastic jiujitsu trainer thirty minutes from my new apartment, and I already booked a meet the day after we get there.

I eat my sandwich with vigor. My mom makes the best ham and cheese—grilled to perfection. I glance up at her, and she is crying.

Oh, Mom, you said you wouldn’t cry.

I know, but I’m just going to miss you so much!

She weeps. I