He had his best beads on – the ones his grandmother gave him.
She had threaded them especially for him; stringing them together with hopes and wishes and dreams just for him. He could use them to pray, she said, but he didn’t.
He wore them because they were lucky, because his grandmother knew magic and had strung magic together and hung it around his neck.
He held the beads – rubbing off some of the magic because today he felt he needed his grandmother; he needed some of his grandmother’s magic. Today he needed some of the hopes and wishes and dreams she had saved just for him.
by Catherine Simpson