My older cousins established a Christmas tradition at my grandmother’s house when I was a toddler. Year after year, the ritual of “Good Witch Bad Witch” kept us younger grandkids busy while our parents talked, drank Tom Collins and Ernest & Julio Gallo chablis, smoked cigarettes, and listened to Johnny Mathis sing carols on the hi-fi.
After the turkey and presents and watching the aluminum tree light up in red, yellow, and green from the floor-mounted spinning gels, all of us little kids would start asking one another if we thought Good Witch Bad Witch would pay us a visit.
We’d beg the older cousins to let us know if they had heard from Good Witch Bad Witch – because they were the only ones who got the messages from the witches. Always, there was a long, painful wait.
Inevitably, we’d end up putting on 20-year-old makeup at my grandmother’s vanity table. Cakey rouge, clumpy mascara, crumbly lipstick. We’d be ready for the circus by the time the older cousins finally got the word that, indeed, Good Witch Bad Witch would see us after all.
***
There were 13 grandkids in the Rouse family. This was my mother’s family. We called my mother’s mother “Mama Rouse”.
Mama Rouse’s house was an old Craftsman full of musty furniture with dark corners and shadowy gables to fuel nightmares every time I stayed the night. The basement had a huge coal furnace where you could see the flames inside. The second floor had a full-house exhaust fan with 6-foot blades that threated to suck me in.
There was a second-floor bathroom with a closet door that opened into a partially finished attic space. There were two twin beds in the window gable on one side and the other side was full of clothes, shoes, and jewelry from the 50’s. Artifacts of our parents teenage years.
Mama Rouse raised five kids – four daughters and a youngest son. My grandfather – we called him Pop Pop – was a pharmacist and made just enough money to keep up appearances.
Appearance mattered in the small South cities back then, even more than today. So long as you looked like it was all fine, it might all be fine.
My mother and her sisters managed to dress stylishly for all their social occasions because Mama Rouse was a master seamstress. One dress for the oldest daughter would become a blazer for the second and then pedal pushers for my mom, the third, and by the time it got to the fourth daughter, the fabric was just enough for a matching headband, belt, and scarf combo.
And for every outfit there were perfectly matched, pointy-toed, satin shoes. They cost $10/pair for plain white, dyed for $2 more. They all fit Constance’s size 9 feet. My mother’s feet were size 7½ , but she still wore size 9’s because Mama Rouse wasn’t buying another pair just for her. My mother stuffed wool into the toes enough so they wouldn’t slip off.
By the 70’s, when I was little, all those outfits were piled up in the attic, raw materials for imagination. And witches.
***
My most vivid memory of Good Witch Bad Witch was probably soon after my little sister was born. I was maybe 5- or 6-years-old.
Somehow, I overlooked the fact that my mom was pregnant. I have no memory of knowing a baby was on the way. So, when I came home from kindergarten one day in early December and found a crib in my room and a new twin bed for me in my sister’s room, my whole world shifted.
I didn’t realize I had been special before then. I had just been me. Miss Megan Pegan the Pooh – like my dad called me. But that December, I was no longer special. My Dad started calling me, “THAT’S ENOUGH, MEGAN!”
My older sister offered me shelter. She let me sleep in her single bed with her when I was scared. I’d hold her arm like a teddy bear – and my sister would suffer the discomfort.
At Mama Rouse’s house that Christmas, we begged for Good Witch Bad Witch.
Our parents didn’t seem to notice anything about the game. This was the 70’s. Kids were hustled out of the living room to occupy themselves in any way that didn’t end up requiring stitches.
Good Witch Bad Witch didn’t end up requiring stitches.
***
This is how the tradition went. The younger kids would wait in the bathroom outside the attic door. The older cousins – which included my older sister – would go through the door into the attic to summon the witches.
We’d hear them calling and moaning and then laughing and then rustling. One would poke her head out and let us know they were working as hard as they could, but it just takes a while for witches to travel from where they’re from.
Finally, one older cousin – not my sister – would emerge from the back with a solemn face. She would order us to stand in a line, silently. We would be reminded of the rules.
“Good Witch and Bad Witch have come to visit.
“Bad Witch has candy. She will give you a piece of candy, but you have to let her pinch you first.
“Good Witch does not have candy. But she will give you a hug.
“They only have time for you to visit one.
“Pick wisely.”
Candy was never a problem at Mama Rouse’s house. Pop Pop worked at a drugstore where he could bring home all the expired candy when they couldn’t sell it any longer. Downstairs we had easy access to broken ribbon candy, sticky bridge mix half-melted into a solid clump (you would chisel off a piece with the ice pick Mama Rouse kept for just that purpose), and there was plenty of chocolate so old it had bloomed white.
Somehow, though, Bad Witch always had better candy. She had fresh chocolate kisses, sour balls, and lollipops with looped handles. And she had a lot. She would give you as much as you wanted – but she pinched HARD for every. single. piece. Still, every year the little cousins would push and shove to get to Bad Witch, tender arms offered freely to pay the price.
***
I can still see the attic when the door swung open.
To my left, sitting on a pile of old dresses was Bad Witch. She wore a black lace dress with a big black hat that had netting which came down over her eyes. She wore pointy black high heeled shoes and had a black leather clutch bag over her arm and short black gloves with embroidered flowers at the wrists. There was no lamp on that side of the attic so I could just barely see a toothy, menacing grin under the brim of the hat, glinting in the shaft of light from the bathroom.
She cackled, “AH-ha-ha! My little pretties. Don’t you want to see me??”
To my right, sitting on one of the twin beds by the window, was Good Witch. There, a metal gooseneck lamp shone down on her. She wore a white satin dress, sleeveless, and she had on long white satin gloves that went up past her elbows. She had a little white hat and a white satin shawl and pointy white high heeled shoes. She glowed.
She spoke softly, “What beautiful children you all are. Would you like to sit with me and have a hug?”
Her voice was so sweet. And I thought she might be looking directly at me.
The other cousins broke ranks. The line fell apart as they scrambled to get pinched before Bad Witch ran out of gumballs.
I turned the other direction. I walked toward Good Witch, only a little nervous that another cousin might get to her first. But no one did. I didn’t have any competition for Good Witch.
Good Witch held out her arms and let me climb into her lap and put my head on her shoulder.
Good Witch hugged me for what may have only been a minute, but it felt like forever.
And then it was over.
Good Witch Bad Witch had to get back to their Witchy Lands.
It was time to go home.
***
All us little cousins ran downstairs to meet our parents as they put on coats and gave goodbye hugs.
The magic drained away.
Later, driving back to our house in my parent’s car, I was surprised to see my older sister. I had completely forgotten about her. I’d been so drunk on Good Witch, I didn’t realize Beth missed seeing her.
I said, “Beth! You missed Good Witch! And she was SOOO nice. Oh, I wish you could have met her. She gave me a hug.”
Beth looked out the car window with a smile.
We drove under street lights and seeing the way they shone on my sister’s face, I said, “Gosh Beth, you kinda LOOK like the Good Witch!”
And my older sister just looked at me, and smiled, “Yeah, I’ll have to meet that Good Witch someday, Megan. She sounds great.”
***
