My mother had named me Chrysalis. She had this whole narrative she would share every time she had had too much wine about how the chrysalis was truly connected to Great Spirit, omnipotent in its grey soup and its imaginal cells. Much more special than the caterpillar or even the butterfly because the chrysalis was the one transfiguring itself to make the magic happen. Which in the end is a nice story but leaves me with a name that means fat and slimy cocoon.
Everyone except my mother called me Chrys, but I secretly wished I had a more ladylike name, like Margaret Grace or Sophia. That, one the other hand, was the only thing I wanted ladylike. I had learned that it was much better to not be ladylike at school or in the street at night, that just made things complicated or dangerous. Which is why I was fine with the Joan of Arc haircut my mother gave me once a month. Like a helmet made of hair.
I wore any kind of clothes we were gifted by welfare and frankly I think it made it easier for me to fit in every time I had to start at a new school. Mom always lived for her new projects, but they never lasted very long and a new project meant moving to a new place, or at least that’s what it meant before we met Auntie Mu. Since we moved into this house mom had actually been able to chrysalize and transfigure herself without burning all the bridges and moving to a new town. I didn’t really understand why. Maybe Auntie Mu had some real magic skills. Or maybe mom was just relieved she didn’t have to attempt to parent me anymore, since Mu was actually doing that.
Mom had worked the name game on herself too. Told everyone her name was Eve but I knew it used to be Pepper Delia.
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