In addition to the entries we’ve had for our A Dish Called “Wanda” contest, it’s also inspired several riffs – stories that don’t employ the exact phrase “The locals warned me about Wanda’s but why was there . . .” but nevertheless explore the idea of Wanda.  Sometimes Wanda is a woman, sometimes it’s a place.  For Julie Ann Weinstein, she’s a ghost.  Julie, who was a finalist in our Ain’t That Quaint? contest, sends us this untitled snippet of a story, part of her work-in-progress, Ruby Lucy.  It’s like an appetizer for your brain.  Especially if you like sweet potatoes.

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We missives found in dreams or otherwise foggy states in daylight have to watch out for Ruby Lucy. She is onto us. She waits for us while others stay wide awake at night, not sure they’re ready to hear what we might say.  And most missives are lost when the sleeping eyes are open to daylight. Yet Ruby Lucy waits, she wants to hear us. She is my great granddaughter, and I, Wanda, a spirit, am speaking to her while she’s still a child.

She is now simply playing in the garden with her sweet potato that has grown vines.  Only she sees its eyes.  They’re mine and are gray, like the overcast skies by the coast.  She is not bothered by eyes on a potato; it is the mouth that I make that causes her to run inside screaming.  The mouth is not any more potent than the eyes, but it reinstates in her childish yet adult mind that she is seeing something that most people don’t.

She is afraid of a sweet potato, I chuckle in her ear. The realization, the humor, makes her run back out into the backyard. Child or no child, she’s no coward. I smile with the vine limbs and wish I could hug this great granddaughter of mine. But all I can do is hear her calling out to me, “Oh Wanda, oh Wanda, come out and play. Hah, hah, hah, but the locals warned me about Wanda’s, hah, hah, but why was I speaking to her, hah, hah, hah, she’s – you’re just a potato head….hah, hah, hah. You are, aren’t you….? Oh, the vines, the vines you make twist. Oh, I do like it when you make them curl.”

Yes, I like them too. Making leaves look like corkscrews amuses a five year old. But making the wooden fence on her backyard dissolve for moments so we can visit – that, she doesn’t see, or rather doesn’t want to. Another missive lost. I take what she can handle.

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I’m suddenly very hungry for sweet potato pie.