The Magic Bottle

The preacher stepped down from the pulpit, wood groaning beneath his weight. “Are there any other miracles you’d like to share?” he wanted to know. He was talking about real miracles—death, blindness and paralysis being revoked. So far it’d only been run of the mill stuff like the untwisting of an ankle or the successful birth of someone’s granddaughter or great niece or whatever. A heavily manicured hand shot up, belonging to a woman looking every bit like an overeager student thrilled to share the correct answer with the class. “Yes, Beverly?” Beverly Jackson stood up and licked the lipstick off her teeth before she began. “Well, I have dealt with eczema for most of my life as some of you may know.” A handful of heads bobbed in unison before turning toward the woman. She pulled her sleeves down over scarred forearms, where attention had been drawn. “And it wasn’t just a flare up here or there—it was painful sores and blisters, skin coming off in big ol’ patches. Y’all know I’ve missed my fair share of Sundays on account of it.” Again the heads bobbed up and down politely. “Some days I wouldn’t even leave the house. If I couldn’t stand to look at it, how could other people stomach it? I wouldn’t even look at my own body in the mirror. I was so scared to catch sight of it. And sweet mother Mary, the pain!” A few sighs and sympathetic interjections came from the congregation. “After years of quack doctors, steroids, ointments, creams, pills, you name it, none of ‘em helped. Paul and I were pretty much hopeless, on the brink of bankruptcy!” She stopped here to tear up. Hands belonging to people on every side of her appeared to rub small comforting circles into her back. “To think a skin condition could ruin a marriage,” she shook her head in disgust, sucking back snot. “Then finally, finally! The good Lord led us to Dr. Linden. He prescribed me a lotion that actually worked. Rashes and woes begone! Overnight!” Small gasps issue forth from the congregation, urging Beverly on. “But it was a very, very expensive lotion and like I said, Paul and I were in some serious hot water financially speaking. Boiling hot! Well, it was getting down to my last drop of lotion—hold it up to the light and you couldn’t see nothin’ at all! We prayed and prayed for God to help us find the money for it but the money never came. It never fell from the sky old testament style. Nope, it sure didn’t. Now I still haven’t been able to go back to Dr. Linden since he prescribed me that first six-month supply,” Bev started looking around the room like she was about to ask for a handout, bottom lip quivering. Some of the men present made a show of readjusting their weight and stuffing hands into pockets in search of their wallets. But lo! She flashed her audience a 120-watt smile. “And I swear to you that lotion has never run out! Been a year and a half today!” Bev had only been building the suspense, not asking for charity. Clapping and whooping erupted from the pews. Beverly took her seat. Her face flushed pink and proud as she uttered, “God is good.” “Amen! God is good!” the preacher echoed, his full voice bouncing off the stained glass. “Praise be!” “Can He do that with my toilet paper?” an old man snorted. “Hallelujah!” In another pew in this tiny sweltering church sat Charlie Anderson. Charlie stared at Beverly with a gaping mouth, fresh belief blooming in her heart. She’d never heard of anything so wonderful in her life. “You tryna catch flies, Charlotte?” Her mother hissed in her ear, tapping her jaw shut.

****

Charlie tore through the house to her bedroom, ripping off the too tight Mary Janes and her horrible frilly dress. He was real! She yanked her shorts up over her slim hips. Miracles actually happened! She popped her head through one of the musty t-shirts she found on the floor. She had proof! She shoved bare feet into sneakers and off she went to do the Lord’s work. She climbed on top of the sink and opened the medicine cabinet, pushing aside her mom’s lipsticks and powders in search of it. Aha! It lay on its side, pitiful and forgotten. She shook the orange vial next to her ear like a Christmas present. Empty. She didn’t know what they were, those pills that used to be in there, but her mom had told her they helped her daddy get outta bed. He got real sad and lazy without them, wouldn’t move for days. He’d just lie there blinking at the ceiling, eyes dull and mouth half open. He’d stopped shaving and was just fine in his tightey whiteys all day. She’d once caught him drooling while he was awake and that broke her soul into pieces. She had to turn away from the sagging sight of him. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed so hard she gave herself a headache. “Charlie!” her mother hollered from the kitchen. She slammed the cabinet door and nearly knocked her teeth out sliding off the sink. “Your PB&J is getting cold!” This was her mother’s favorite joke. “Coming!” She imagined it was like waiting for the tooth fairy: you put the freed tooth beneath your pillow before you fall asleep and in the morning it’s been transformed into a dollar (if you were lucky, she was getting stingier every year!). In the morning, that empty bottle would runneth over as they say. She ran downstairs and found her mother at the table leafing through some trashy gossip magazine she got in the grocery store check out lane—a reading habit she’d never admit to. Charlie grabbed a sprite can from the fridge. “I gotta surprise for ya, momma!” she popped the tab and sat down across from her. “What’s that?” she said through a mouthful of fried bologna which Charlie, a perpetually picky eater, absolutely detested. She was probably only half-listening at best. Charlie thought this better than any sign of eagerness or she would have given it away for sure. “You’ll see.” She smiled, smug and all-knowing, while she removed the crusts as carefully as a surgeon.

****

The clock’s neon numbers blinked 7:30 AM and she launched herself out of bed. She was a jet propeller, hot and full of purpose. She felt like Sloan of Arks, that French girl blessed with visions from God so she could save her country and become a saint. She looked at her own reflection in the medicine cabinet, holding her long hair up by her ears; if she cut her hair shorter, she could be her. Charlie wouldn’t be punished for saving anybody though. No way, her daddy would be so happy she helped! He’d take her to get ice cream again, get up early in the morning to go on walks with her, help her with her comic book collection, make chocolate chip pancakes, watch Saturday morning cartoons, imitate Elmer Fudd’s lisping, he’d—she put her hand to the vial. She felt enormous. For such a small person, this feeling was awfully big. Maybe she’d even start getting visions like Sloan! She struggled with the cap, flinging it into the sink when it finally came loose and shook the bottle into her hand. She shook it harder, hoping they were all stuck to the bottom. She peered in and found nothing but the sight of her own palm through the translucent plastic. She put the cap back on, promising God she’d remember to make her bed in the morning, put her dirty dishes away, stop cheating on her spelling tests, finally write her Grammy a thank you card, tell her mom she broke that butt ugly vase, etc. She tried again, tapping the bottom like a bottle of Heinz. No pills spilled forth. An onslaught of tears promised to dilute her fury. Instead she bit her bottom lip so hard she drew blood and clawed at the sticker telling JOSEPH P. ANDERSON to TAKE 1 TABLET BY MOUTH EVERYDAY. After a minute or two, she threw the defaced vial back into the cabinet, unable to look at it anymore. She hopped down from the sink and tried to remember how they’d killed Sloan. Maybe she could kill Beverly the same way. She didn’t even notice her mother opening the bathroom door and popping her head in. “You getting ready for school in there?” she asked. “Yeah, momma.” Charlie whispered. “Sure don’t look like it. Looks like you’re just standing there.” It was true. She was just standing there, staring at her split fingernails until her eyes ached and watered. She must’ve looked an awful lot like her daddy just then.