Spirit Spinner

 by Susan A. Eames

camomile tea

 The first time I saw Jodie she was twirling on John's lawn. Her hair was long. Her feet were bare. Her dress was flimsy. A throwback from the 1960's, she looked like one of those girls dipping and swaying on the grass at Woodstock.

I stood watching her, in a trance. John came up behind me. 

 

'Don't be fooled, Steve,' he said. 'She's a fruitcake.'

 

But Jodie beguiled me. 

 

I moved slowly with her because I sensed she could be easily scared off by the wrong approach. By the end of John's party I had made enough progress to become her fledgling friend. Jodie told me she was an artist and invited me to her cottage.

 

'I made these.' Jodie showed me dream catchers, delicate and ethereal. 'I adore the idea of capturing dreams. Don't you, Steve?' She gave me a dimpled smile.

 

I nodded sagely and told her, 'yes.'

 

'That's my Spirit Spinner.' Jodie pointed to a contraption in the garden. We went outside to examine her spinner: a filigreed wire basket suspended from a tree branch by thin chains. 

 

'It allows my spirit to dance freely on the astral plane when I sleep,' said Jodie. She lightly touched the basket and it spun softly as if caught on a breeze. 

 

'Did you make this too, Jodie?'

 

'No, I bought it from a Wise Woman.'

 

'I see.' 

 

I was privately mad with the self-professed 'wise woman' who had fooled her into parting with money. But Jodie was young and sweet and who was I to dispel her beliefs? So I accepted her naivety and said nothing more. 

 

Despite my physical attraction to her, Jodie and I never became romantically attached. Certainly I was in love with her, but I knew our relationship would change if we shared a bed. Jodie possessed a magic I didn't want to destroy. 

 

Instead, our friendship strengthened until we were bound to each other by something greater than carnal pleasures.

 

When Jodie became sick my world splintered. There was nothing I could do except stay with her until the end.

 

Her Spirit Spinner is in my garden now. I let myself believe that Jodie is out there, dancing freely on the astral plane.

About the author 

Susan A. Eames left England over twenty five years ago to explore the world and dive its oceans. She has had travel articles and short fiction published on three continents. After several fascinating years living in Fiji she has relocated to West Cork in Ireland.

Susan blogs at: http://susan-a-eamestravelfictionandphotos.blogspot.ie