When Brenda got home that night, her mother knew right away something was wrong. Whenever she was happy, it was normal for her to execute a rapid movement to open the door far and wide, driven by the anxiety of sharing the good news and spreading the joy. When she was sad and depressed, the key would turn slowly, lingering for a few seconds before causing the hinges to squeak.
This may seem a trifling detail, but not to Gloria. She was always attentive to all things deemed insignificant, even more so regarding her only daughter. The moment she recognized the sound of an imminent disgrace, she jumped from her seat and hurried towards the door.
She found Brenda sitting on the stairs that led to the guest bedrooms, viridescent eyes on the verge of tears, curly honey brown hair wet and dripping and soft make-up turned into a gruesome war painting. Her clothes were also a mess, in particular the red skirt and matching open toe shoes, now covered in mud.
"What happened?!" asked the late-fifties woman as she sat down next to her daughter. "Didn't the date with Jonathan go the way you expected to?"
"You can say that..." Brenda sobbed.
"I'm here if you want to talk about it but maybe we should get rid of those dirty clothes, first..."
"No... I... I'd rather do it now if you don't mind..."
"Tell me what happened."
"There was no date, tonight. When I got to the restaurant, there was this trashy blonde with fake boobs whispering in his ear as if they were lovers. The moment I reached the table and asked what the hell was going on, Jonathan looked at me and said he was with the one he adored and that I was ancient history, now. His last words were 'You can go back to where you came from, you stupid tramp!' Can you imagine my shock when he said that, loud and clear, so everyone could hear? Out of rage, I almost impaled him with a fork but controlled myself and then I left. On my way back home, it started raining and some stupid truck driver almost ran me over. Luckily, only my clothes paid the price, but that's okay. I feel stupid and dirty, anyway."
"Son of a bitch! He always seemed so nice whenever he came over. I can't believe he had the nerve to do this!"
"Me neither but what can I do about it now?"
"You can't do a thing. But I sure can!" Gloria responded as she got up and walked into the living room. Brenda followed her.
"What's that supposed to mean, mother?"
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough... tell me, didn't he leave something of his the last time he was here?" She asked as she reached for a black box sitting atop the mantelpiece.
"One of his favorite hats, why?"
Gloria opened the box and removed something from inside it but at the time her daughter failed to grasp what it was. Without looking back, the older woman spoke again:
"Will you get it for me, please?"
Brenda didn't move, somewhat confused by what was going on, and made that clear.
"I'm not following you at all, sorry! Why do you need his hat? What are you going to do?"
Gloria glanced at her, an emerald needle in her right hand and answered in an icy tone:
"Give him a lesson."
"With Grandma's old needle and a hat?"
"I'll explain everything as soon as you bring me the hat, promise! Indulge me, sweetheart!"
"It's in my bedroom. I'll go get it," Brenda retorted and left the room, not knowing what to think anymore. It didn't take her more than two minutes to return, holding a white cowboy hat she immediately handed over to her mother.
"Now, about that explanation..."
Gloria cleared her throat before looking her in the eyes.
"What I'm about to tell you now was only revealed to me by your grandmother when she was on her deathbed. She told me that all objects have a psychic connection to the people that use them in their daily lives. Kind of like 'memories' if you will. Imprints of the experiences lived by the users are forever linked to them and even though objects don't 'talk' there are ways to access those imprints and take advantage of what they offer. This needle here can establish such a link and it was given to your grandmother by a powerful tribal chief she met in the two years she spent working at a campaign hospital in one of the poorest regions of the world. It was a sign of gratitude for saving his life and she kept it ever since, only resorting to its powers whenever needed. I never used myself ever since she died but today I will..."
"Hold on a sec... object's 'memories' and psychic connections using a needle? What kind of nonsense is that, mother? Are we talking about... witchcraft? Or something like Voodoo?"
"Not quite... it's something even older whose true name has been lost in Time but there are similarities so, for the sake of simplicity, you can use that word. This hat has Jonathan's essence linked to it and with this needle, I can reach him wherever he is and give him a little pain for what he did to you tonight! You and I both know he deserves it!"
"You're serious, aren't you? You really believe that."
Gloria sat down on a leather sofa, her face still showing the same signs of candor, but this time intertwined with a hint of mischievousness.
"I do. Your grandmother wouldn't have told me the story if it weren't true. I've held this needle in my hand countless times and whenever I touch an object with it, I can sense things beyond the invisible, the countless threads that connect everything in this world. Do you want to hold it yourself so you can sense them, too?"
"No... I... I... really don't think so... I'm sorry but that's just too much to process right now."
"I understand but I will use it anyway, Brenda. Nobody fucks with my daughter's heart!"
There was no point in trying to dissuade her so the young girl shrugged her shoulders and muttered:
