Free The Witch by Jean Thompson Page A

don’t even remember her name. Laura, your fiancée? Of course the getting married part was a little over-the-top.”
    â€œI am going to marry her. I just don’t remember that much about her.”
    â€œSo not funny,” remarked one girl, shaking her head.
    â€œDid she hit me the other night? I mean, I’m sure I deserved it.”
    â€œThat happen to you a lot? Getting punched out? Yes, she hit you.”
    Royboy was relieved. He was at least in the right house. “I remember her hitting me. The other stuff, not so much.”
    â€œThe old ‘I was way drunk’ excuse,” sneered another girl. “Not very original.”
    â€œI don’t remember if I was way drunk.”
    Lance said, “See, Roy has some brain issues.”
    â€œNow that is original.”
    â€œSeriously. It’s like amnesia, but in small doses.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œThe result of getting smashed up by a car when he was a kid.”
    The girls looked at one another, wondering if they were getting scammed, or were required instead to feel bad on his behalf. One of them said, “Should he be out walking around loose? Allowed to reproduce?”
    Royboy said, “That’s a little harsh.”
    Lance tried again. “See, he’s looking for the girl of his dreams. He found her but he lost her because he had one of his memory lapses.”
    â€œWell she sure remembers him.”
    Who? Who? Royboy was about to say, when the front door opened and all three girls began making furious motions with their hands, pinching and cutting at the air. What the? A girl with her dark hair in pigtails stood in the entry. It was her! Theshoe girl! Waves of rainbow-colored love pulsed from Royboy’s inner core.
    The shoe girl scowled at Roy. “Hey,” he said. “Nice to see you again.” He thought she looked pretty, even if her expression was not so friendly. She looked like a little brown bird would look if you turned it into a girl.
    â€œShe can’t hear you,” Angela said, scooping and swooping with her arms and hands. The shoe girl did the same, looking agitated. “She says, ‘Did he have sex with the,’ I think she called her, the witch. Or maybe it was the other thing.”
    â€œNo! But did we, I mean, her and me . . .”
    â€œThis is such an unusual situation,” Lance remarked.
    Angela said, “She wants her shoe back. You were sleeping on top of it and she couldn’t wake you up.”
    â€œOh, sure.” Royboy nodded. “Not a problem. But why did she run off?”
    Angela relayed this. The shoe girl spoke. She had a deaf voice, a little rusty. “I was afraid.” Then she reverted back to sign language, which Angela translated as, “Embarrassed.”
    â€œOverwhelmed, maybe,” Lance suggested, “by Roy’s powerful love vibe, and his proposal of marriage, which was heartfelt but perhaps premature.”
    Once this was translated, the girl nodded. Roy said, “Ask her if she wants to get married.”
    â€œBaby steps, Roy. Baby steps.”
    Laura! The name rang like a doorbell, and from somewhere in a back hallway, Royboy’s memory roused itself to answer. “We talked about stuff! I know we did, how did we do that? Hey, Laura!” He stooped to peer into her face. She looked wary. Confused. Well, so was he.
    Royboy straightened again. Stepped up to the plate. “Lance, help me out here.”
    â€œWhat Roy means is, she made him breathe a new air. He’s a changed man. He’s smitten. Something like that?”
    â€œYeah,” Royboy said. “Go on.” Angela was translating as fast as she could, whipping the fingers of both hands into lines, circles, shapes.
    â€œHow can we understand these things? Two separate souls, circulating around each other like electrons around the nucleus of an atom.”
    â€œNot electrons,” Royboy