A Spell for Sara Kassie Shanafelt
First published by Cold Creek Review
Sara was undoubtedly a witch. I don’ t even think she knew she was a witch, but I knew. We met in biology lab my sophomore year of college. Both of us were the perpetually early type, both of us were constantly nose deep in a book, and both of us were draped in too many layers for fall in Texas. Naturally, we were fast friends.
When we finally started talking, Sara told me she was an English major. She was just taking biology for fun. The words,“ People do that?” instinctively slipped out of my mouth before I could even think to say them.“ Do what?”“ Take classes for fun?”“ Isn’ t college supposed to be for learning?” Our lab teacher was a three hundred pound red head who spat when she spoke. She explained that our first assignment would be to dissect a worm, then a frog, a rat, a shark, and a cat. Then she brought out the worms.
It was the slimy texture that did it for me, and I knew from that moment I would not be able to cut open a single creature during the class.“ That’ s ok, I’ ll do it. How about you just record it on your phone so we can study the video later?”
Dumbfounded, I nodded. You would have thought the lab teacher asked us to feed the worms to children by the way I reacted. Sara just pushed the sleeves of her cable knit sweater up to her elbows like she was about use her hands to knead bread. Instead, she used them to slit open the worm and reveal its tiny parts. For the next hour we poured over the creature trying to guess the names of the pieces that had formerly kept it alive. Finally, our lab teacher came around and pointed at all of the appropriate parts with a pin. When she dismissed the class I found myself asking,“ What happens to the worms now that we are done?”
“ They get thrown out,” she said as she started clearing up the lab tables in the front of the room.
Believe me, I’ m not an advocate for worms. Everything about the creatures disgust me, but I was devastated by the news. I packed up my things in the haze of my own distressing thoughts. Sara chased me down the hallway and opened the palm of her hand. There were spots of gold inside her green eyes that glimmered like flecks of hope. She had stolen our worm.
We decided to bury him in the yard in front of my dorm. The gothic kids who were outside smoking wandered over to see what we were doing and accidentally found themselves attending a funeral for a mutilated worm. Sara made everyone hold hands in a circle around the grave. Over and over again she whispered,“ Best wishes as you make this transition into new life.” Soon, the entire group was muttering the phrase.
Eventually the circle broke. Sara left me with a hug, a knowing smile, and said,“ I’ ll see you next week in class.”