Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera Read Free Book Online Page A

gray light fell in from the windows. The attic stairs creaked under Harlowe’s footsteps. She stopped at my bed. I heard the click of her lighter and an intake of breath.
    It felt like I’d just gone to sleep. Still under blankets, I checked the time. 11:15 a.m. Well at least it wasn’t the butt crack of dawn. I lowered the blanket and waved hello with one finger. Harlowe passed me the bowl. I hit it, eyes still half-closed.
    â€œI always work best with a fresh brain. Don’t you?” Harlowe asked. She stretched forward. Her long arms pushed towards her toes.
    I nodded, coughed a bit from the smoke, and said, “Yes, the freshest. Good morning and thank you for sharing.”
    â€œThank you for being here,” she said, “Juliet, I’ve been listening to your mix tape all morning and it got me thinking about your internship. And I finally know what you’re going to help me with.” She looked at me with wide eyes and this grin, this “let’s make a batch of vegan cookies and be best friends forever” grin. I laughed, but felt a twinge in my chest. We’d planned this almost three months in advance and she’d only figured out what I was going to do this morning? I asked her to tell me what about my feminist power lesbian mix tape sparked her creative mind.
    She said, “Your mix tape is all songs by women. All women come from faeries, goddesses, warriors and witches, Juliet. But we don’t know anything about the women that birthed those women. We don’t know who our ancestral mothers are. I want you to help me find them. We have to tell their stories before they disappear forever amidst all the violent and whitewashed history of men. My next book is all about reclaiming our mystical and political lineage. And you, Juliet, you’re going to be the faerie hunter, minus the guns or actual hunting.”
    A faerie hunter. I took another hit off Harlowe’s bowl. “You really think all women come from faeries?” I asked, setting it next to her. I feared getting too blazed and falling into the faerie world forever. I wasn’t even sure if I was fully awake yet. This witches and faeries shit was almost too much for 11:00 a.m.
    â€œOf course I believe that, Juliet, I mean, where else would we come from,” Harlowe responded, candid and full of excitement, “Certainly not from the rib of some fraidy-cat snitch named Adam.”
    I pulled out my purple composition notebook. I wanted to be prepared. This was my internship and her second book. If I had to hunt for magical lady creatures, I was going to be baked and ready.
    â€œHow does one go on a faerie hunt?” I asked.
    â€œWell first, you need clues and I’ve got a box full of them,” she said.
    I wondered what in the world of half-baked hippie white lady she was talking about. Clues. Did she really have clues for this? Was I just a little too high all of a sudden?
    Harlowe stood up and walked towards the corner of the room. The dust of incense sticks covered the floor in a light film. Harlowe dragged a box from against the far wall and left it at my feet. She went about the room, lighting candles and incense. Her cardboard box was dented and stuffed with scraps of paper. They’d been ripped out of lined notebooks, pulled from magazines; names were written on all of them. Mixed in with the fragments of paper were pictures of women. This box looked like the inside of Harlowe’s pick-up truck.
    â€œThese are clues to the lives of our unknown and underappreciated women. This box of wonderful shit: It’s the beginning of a masterpiece,” Harlowe promised, tapping my knee, “I am in no rush. Discoveries are not lightning quick.”
    I sifted through some of the names and pictures, in awe of the sheer number of them. Who were these women? I didn’t recognize any of their faces. How could I be 19 and not know any of them? I’d always done all of my