In the name of my witch

The second morning in a row that I ordered coffee in Layla‘s name. Check!

The weather couldn‘t decide between sunshine and a blizzard and I had once again not slept nearly enough, and I was wondering if my black dress with all its ruffles and mash was actually fitting to teach the little children waiting for me – So:
„A grande Vanilla Latte for Layla, please.“

Thinking in her name is the only vibe I need right now. Starting the day with admitting to be called something else is not a good omen at all. Or, not a wicked omen. The kind of Omen someone like me needs. And while I‘m waiting for the Vanilla Latte every inch of me is yearning for, I‘m thinking back to how Layla got her name, and of course, for a witch, this tale is a most important one. After all, becoming a witch is always a little drama in Dystopia.

There have been so many different traditions of naming witches.
Some were named after their infectious eyes casting evil views. Others were seen as troublemakers and got poetic descriptions for just that, while even others became known as those casting spells. There are many more of these examples, and most witching names you can find were given for the crime they had been accused of – so, which crime had Layla been guilty of to dig this name out of my thoughts and claim it?

For this, I have to remember someone who had only been a part of my life for a very short time a long while ago.
This someone was very little and very cute, and had a little attitude issue paired with a lot of anxiety, but she walked fiercely on her four paws when no one was watching- Yes, I am talking about a cat here.
This cat had already lived at several different homes and already had a long journey behind her when she reached me and another boyfriend. Two people trying to live together and wanting something to take care of. It could have been perfect, but it was not, because Layla was very difficult, and her new Daddy lost his patience with her very soon.
I remember the last time having her on my lab, and patting her head and seeing the love in her eyes, knowing that the phone call to give her up again was already made.
I remember fleeing the apartment, running through the city in the cold darkness of a January evening, and buying books, and two new dresses with tears running down my cheeks, because right in that moment Layla would be picked up and brought somewhere else.
I also remember that as soon as Layla had left us, the idea of having a home together was kind of dead. Following this were nights of fights and of tears, and while a bowl of salad was thrown against the kitchen wall, a TV was smashed and in the end someone pointed a knife at me, all I could think was: „Layla, your Daddy was an idiot for not loving you enough.“ And I hoped that she could hear my thoughts.
After that most destructive night, I had to leave the home that was no longer one, and I stranded at a coffee place in a train station. A place that would have felt lonely and anonymous, but in my luck, a friend of mine was waiting there for me, and together the nowhereness of trains running past us and people hurrying away felt good, as we enjoyed our Lattes.
„I am such a mess“, I sighed into my cup, just as another visitor came across our table twice, to then stumble into the kitchen, being thrown out and only then leaning over the counter to ask where the toilet was. „Not as much as that one“, the friend answered, and as weird as this may sound: We still laugh about that moment in time!
And oh! After all of this and all the uncertainties in my future, I needed this laughter with that friend! So much that I almost smothered him with my heart searching for a home.
After giving up Layla, I had to find a new home on my own. It was exciting and terrifying, and sometimes the only thing that made me relax was a game on my smartphone, that allowed me to walk through my favourite fantasy world at the time. The generator of the game named my character „Layla“, and I it made me happy, because it was a connection to her. I can walk these walls as Layla! She is still here!

So, when my witching visitor arrived, of course she would claim that name. A being so cute and wonderful but still homeless – the perfect name for a witch!

And once my Vanilla Latte ordered in Layla‘s name was finally in my hands on that sunny snowstorm morning, the train that I was headed for was missed, but I tried not to care and grabbed a little sugar bag. Of course, a Vanilla Latte was already sweet enough, but I needed this bag anyway. I needed to keep it.
I would collect those in every coffee place I would find and like, from now on, as a reminder that I could do that on my own.
Ordering coffee in Layla‘s name reminds me of a homelessness that was the right choice all those years ago.

“But you would still prefer to share all of this with someone”, Layla would giggle into my ear and sneak the Latte out of my hands. Fair enough, though. It has her name on it.
And she was right.
I still had someone in mind to share this with.