The Novella - 100+ pgs.

+ Any Which Way +

A cold January wind blew Collette through the front doors of St Ignatius Catholic Church. A flush of shame spread across her cheeks as the breeze carried farther inside and rustled the hair of an elderly woman kneeled in prayer. Collette guiltily envisioned the woman dying of pneumonia. When Collette stepped towards the baptismal font, her heeled shoes clicked and echoed, intruding on the soft quiet. This only caused Collette’s blush to deepen. At the font, she glided two pale, slender fingers across the holy water's surface. It was almost as though she was bestowing a blessing. With her dripping digits making the sign of the cross, she whispered, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

An excess of holy water made a moistened trail down the arch of her nose before diverging from its straight path to slide down a cheek. The damp sensation unsettled Collette. An image flashed in her mind of a Cyclops-like eye perched atop her forehead anointing her with salty, purifying tears. The sleeve of her cardigan soaked up the teary residue and banished the absurd vision. After walking down the aisle and genuflecting before the tabernacle, Collette entered a pew. The polished golden wood gleamed under a tempting red cushion, but recalling the kneeling elderly woman she had disturbed earlier, she pulled down a kneeler and bent down in penance.

Collette bowed her head, dark tresses spilling forward to obscure her face, and thus shrouded, closed her eyes in prayer. However, after the initial, “Dear Heavenly Father in your divine mercy watch over and protect –,” followed by a long list of family, friends, and passing acquaintances, Collette set her mind adrift. St. Ignatius was an older church and Collette, without opening her eyes, could see the intricate etchings and paintings hovering about the altar along with the half-dozen smaller statues stuffed into tiny, arched recesses. A high, curving ceiling and tall stained-glass windows prevented the church from appearing gaudy. With each exhale Collette expanded her consciousness out into the wide arching space, and then with a deep inhale she drew back, gathering the colored beams of stained-glass light into her.

Now calm, Collette painted a picture in her mind of the Virgin standing at the back left corner of the church. Sky-blue robes, outspread palms, and the snake twined about her feet made up this particular statue of Mary. Prayer candles illuminated the dim area. Their light flickering off Mary’s robes and face created the illusion of faint stirrings. Her most compelling feature was the expression she wore, which was as ambiguous as the Mona Lisa’s. Collette opened her eyes and twisted around. On Tuesday at the school mass, Mary’s face had held a gentle smile. Today, it appeared to Collette that the Virgin, alone in her dark corner, bore a forlorn frown. Collette pulled her attention away and looked at the stained glass on her right. It was Mary’s son on the cross. In startling contrast, Christ’s face was at peace, while his mother’s twisted in pain. Enrapt by the colors of blue, green, red, and white. Collette was taken to another time and place.

The past summer Collette had been driving her younger brother, Troy, home from soccer practice. Looking back, it seemed to her that before she even registered any danger, her body reacted. Before she saw the red SUV barreling down the hill toward Collette and her brother, palms saturated with sweat and shoulders braced for the impact. The sunlight crystallized the scene. The blue of the sky, the green of the grass, the white of the houses, and the red of the SUV were lit up, like the parts of a magnificent stained glass window. A fragile world about to shatter. It was too late for Collette to react, no time to lay on the horn or slam on the brakes or jerk the wheel. The SUV swerved, Collette screamed. There was a long silent moment and then Troy laughed in relief. But he hadn’t seen what Collette had seen in that moment, in that moment, which for her was the moment of what could have been. Twisted green metal, broken glass reflecting sky, spilled oil mixed with blood, and her life without him.

Collette pulled away from her fears and looked over at the confessional booths. It was 4:30 on a Saturday. Confession was the reason for Collette's being at St. Ignatius. The occasion wasn’t a special one; she hadn’t committed adultery or killed anyone or immersed herself in the occult, yet. Nonetheless, who knew how much farther into sin she would fall if she didn’t continue the ritual of reconciling her soul with God on the first Saturday of every month. A green light shone from one of the booths. Her joints popped as she rose, but her grace returned by the time she pulled back the gray curtain.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been a month since my last confession,” Collette whispered into the darkness.

+ + +

Her reconciliation with God was not going well. Collette sat in the dark confessional booth listing shameful stories, everything from quasi-sins to decisions that she had come to regret. She felt nauseous. Cold, clammy hands alternated between fidgeting, twisting the ring on her middle-finger and pressing to soothe her burning cheeks. Her throat tightened, straining her voice, so that it sounded wobbly and high, either as though she were about to laugh or sob.

Reconciliation was not typically so traumatizing for Collette. She confessed at the beginning of every month, and although she was devout, she was not a masochist. Throughout the course of a month, the sins Collette committed would prick and burrow under her skin, like so many splinters. Collette tended to be well-behaved, but to err is human. Coming to confession allowed her to heal herself of these infections. With the confession of each sin a splinter would be yanked free and left as refuse at the feet of a priest. By the end, Collette’s soul would bleed from a dozen or so naked wounds. But then the priest would absolve her and it was as though spiritual Band-Aids were put on the injuries for swift healing. And with time even the scars faded.

On this cold January day Collette’s little splinters were being removed, but an arrow had been driven into her heart, and she was dreading the pain of tearing that shard out. What would be pulled out along with it?

Father Thom listened dutifully as Collette catalogued her sins. Last weekend Collette had lied to her mother about her weight, and yesterday Lauren Schreiber had slipped on a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes after school. Lauren, flouncing about in her school uniform skirt, had flaunted the Manolo’s. Collette had been torn between her disdain for the ostentatious show of wealth and waste and her jealousy. After confessing to this envy, Collette continued on with two additional deadly sins, sloth and gluttony. Albeit the case of sloth was Collette forgetting to feed Turnip, the family cat, and her gluttonous deed consisted of eating the last slice of pepperoni pizza at a slumber party. The list sputtered out with the recollection of using the Lord’s name in vain five times and failing to return a neighbor’s smile. Finally, memory and imagination failed the distraught 17-year-old.

Father Thom had been tempted to interrupt this rambling tirade, but his priestly senses had been trained through years of intense clerical training and experience. He waited for her to stop and then said, “Collette, I want you to take a deep breath and calm yourself.”

Collette breathed in deep, and it was the memory of her sin that brought calm. His lips closing on hers, his breath smelling of citrus, of clementines. It was the scent of Christmas, of magic, and joy to her world. When praying Collette closed herself off from distractions, but in that sinful moment she had opened the flood gates, so that she could feel the nuance of every sensation. It was the precious and tender memory of her sin that gave the courage necessary to confess it.

“Father, I slept with a boy.”

Calm deserted her. Her previous courage proved to be a temporary anesthesia for the pain. Something important had been ripped from her, and she felt that loss keenly. Collette needed to fill the gaping hole with something. Father Thom was quick to sense this and went about giving his counsel. He hoped that God’s love would draw Collette back to Him, but actually Father Thom’s presence interfered. Father Thom said that she did not have the maturity or emotional capability, let alone the sanctity of God’s grace, to commit such sexual acts. He then went on to describe alternatives to intercourse that love could be expressed between a man and a woman outside of marriage. The more Collette heard the more that empty space in her was filled—filled with anger. Who was this man to speak of love? And when had she said anything about love? It hadn’t been love that had driven her to kiss Jonas under the mistletoe, and then to follow him to his room. Curiosity, fascination, and respect had drawn Collette to Jonas, but it was the strength of his arms, the caress of his hands, and the warmth of his body that had led her to explore a darker and deeper degree of friendship. It was lust. But Father Thom probably didn’t think young ladies capable of such vulgar emotion.

Frustration overwhelmed Collette, leaving her gasping and reaching to keep from drowning in her anger. Habit was her salvation. She perjured herself, as she recited the Act of Contrition, “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all of my sins because of Thy just punishments. But most of all because they offend Thee my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more, and to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen.”

In the past Collette would close her eyes, and as she expressed her sorrow and contriteness, an otherworldly radiance would wash over her, leaving her with a jubilant heart. Today, there was only the growing anger from frustrated expectations. She had expected, and partially dreaded, that confessing her lustful deed would erase any desire to repeat it. God had abandoned her in her time of need.

Father Thom followed with a false absolution, “I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

+ + +

On Monday Collette went to school. St. Eloi High School in the town of Belbrook was a strict, uniform Catholic school, where corporal punishment had only recently fallen into disfavor. About six years ago Sister Arnold had resigned when the school board took away her hickory, bum-swatting paddle, and Sister Agnes still kept her favorite knuckle-cracking ruler on display. St. Eloi was traditional in that several classes were still being taught by nuns. The religion classes for seniors were being taught by Father Thom Nolan. For the past decade St. Eloi’s standardized test scores had been the highest in the county. More than 98% of last year’s graduating class went on to college. It was a high school full of high-strung, ambitious teenagers.

Collette was taking notes in her last class before lunch. It was Father Thom’s Sacraments class. Collette’s script was neat and compact. She focused on making the letters as tiny and scrunched together as possible. It strained her eyes to study and review them, but she believed the sacrifice was well worth it to save a few trees. Not that Collette was environmentally conscience. She simply disliked waste. Last year she had fit six class’s worth of notes into one 70-page notebook.

Room 222 was tucked into the middle of the school, so there were no windows. The lack of natural lighting gave the space a washed-out, clinical appearance. Father Thom disliked this lifeless room, but switching with another teacher would mean condemning to the same fate. When he first began teaching, he had hoped that the nature of his subject and the students’ enthusiasm would instill the room with warmth and vitality. He had been too optimistic. Under the fluorescent lights the students’ faces were pale and held sickly yellow sheens. When they slid into a stupor midway through a lecture on Thomas of Aquinas, St. Augustine, or some other ancient theologian’s teachings, and their dead, beady eyes just stared blankly from white, waxy skulls, Father Thom felt like he was facing a horde of the undead. And he would look at the childish flowers and the Bible verse painted along the back wall in black, cursive writing, “He is not here, he is risen! (Matthew 28:6),” and God never seemed so distant, as He did in those moments.

Father Thom was a middle-aged clergy man, who believed in the grace of God, but had never been a big supporter of God’s wrath. Father Thom became a priest, however, not for his love of God, but more for his love of God’s people. This allowed him to be a better priest than most because people sensed Father Thom’s great love for them and assumed that God must love them even more.

Father Thom was well-suited to helping people. He blended into the background when in a crowd, yet in one-on-one situations he had the gentle smile and warm, brown eyes that almost beg you to unburden your problems on him. In many ways he was the canine companion, whom you could spill your darkest secrets to because you knew you would not be judged. However, lack of judgment does not mean lack of guidance. Father Thom had an unusual knack for saying what you needed to hear, rather than what you wanted to hear.

Today, Father Thom was teaching about the sacrament of marriage. Years ago at the St. Paul Seminary School of Divinity, Father Thom had fallen in love with a young graduate art student, Nora Casey. Thom loved Nora for her laugh and the way her eyes would seek him out first when entering a room. This especially was attractive for a quiet wallflower, such as himself. The day he asked her to marry him, they had been walking in the park, and it had started to rain. Even though he suggested they return to his dorm room, Nora felt they needed more exercise. What she really wanted to do was go see the ducks, but such motivation seemed too childish too be spoken aloud.

They stopped on a park bridge. It continued to rain. The ducks splashed in the brook. On that park bridge in the rain Nora was a laughing goddess. Her dark brunette hair was turned black by the rain and clung in dark tendrils around the curve, where her neck and her shoulders met. Thom would never love her more, so he proposed. She said yes. He said he would drop out of seminary school. As they walked back to his room, he hoped she wouldn’t die of pneumonia before the wedding. Two days later Nora died. Nora Casey, age 25, while walking home from a late night studio art class was run down by a drunk driver.

These memories haunted Father Thom as he taught Collette’s class. Father Thom’s voice was soft and could be described as shy sounding if not for its firm authority and the enthusiastic tension.

“Chastity is a Christian virtue, and contrary to what some might think, it does not mean celibacy. Tonight your reading of C.S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity will go more into depth on sexual morality. But for now, it’s enough to know that Christian morality describes the right order of relations, as being a man and woman united only in the sanctity of marriage. ”

Laughter, soft and light like distant wind chimes, rang out from the back of the classroom with it came the vitality, so dearly missed by Father Thom. The class stirred. Collette stopped taking notes and twisted around in her seat to look at the girl who had interrupted Father Thom’s rather dry description of marriage. Collette recognized the girl as Eleanor St. Clair, a recent transfer student from the local public school. Short, coppery hair framed high cheekbones, an angular chin, and a small, pixie nose. Eleanor wore a long white scarf and a mischievous grin, which contrived to make her look like a daring aviator pilot. Amelia Earhart rose sharply to mind.

When she spoke, the words bit the air and resounded with a clarity that rivaled a British accent, “The ‘right order of relations’? Father, you glossed over that particular aspect. Does not Christian morality, also declare that in the ‘sanctity of marriage’ a woman is subject to her husband?”

Father Thom didn't know what else to say to that other than, “Yes, it does.”

“Well, to be quite honest, that is a rather archaic notion, is it not? Perhaps, the ideal of marriage is also outdated?”

“It comes from Scripture. The Apostle Paul asserted that the relation between a husband and wife should model the relation between Christ and the Church.”

Eleanor looked skeptical, “And the Church is obedient to Christ. But why must the woman be obedient? That implies that she is inferior. Why can she not be the Christ to her husband’s Church? A woman, certainly, sacrifices and suffers for the marriage, just as much as the man. Your wonderful sacrament of marriage seems to me like a religious conspiracy to control women. And for that matter why can women not be priests?”

Father Thom laughed, not that he was trying to be insensitive. He was just overjoyed to finally receive an enthusiastic response, even if it was more on the confrontational and antagonistic side.

“Eleanor, we can continue this discussion outside of class. We’ve gotten off topic. Class, since we didn’t have time to cover St. Aquinas’s teachings on marriage, please read those handouts for tomorrow, along with your readings from the Catechism and chapters 5 and 6 from Lewis’s Mere Christianity.”

As the classroom emptied, Father Thom’s delight abandoned him. He had dreaded coming to teach this last of the seven sacraments. His hypocrisy was draining him.

+ + +

Collette stood, gathered her books, and was swept into the crowded hall. She jockeyed her way through the pack, finally getting caught by a stream headed to the St. Eloi feeding grounds or the Commons as it was commonly referred to by the students.

Jonas was sitting at a back table consuming, yet another book. Oddly, Collette found his addiction to literature, not dorky, but exotic. She read only what her level of education required of her. To her, Jonas was a bold explorer of distant worlds, and it was the stories of these adventures that enchanted her. They had met at St. Ignatius Church; both of their mothers were stout Catholics, very active in the faith community. Jonas and Collette got together on Friday nights to watch old black and white horror movies. With Dracula, Frankenstein, and Hyde flickering in the backdrop, their friendship flourished.

Currently, Jonas was reading a Hemingway. He shone darkly among the St. Eloi students, like the noble Othello among Venetian lords. Out of the 792 students and teachers at St. Eloi, 13 were black, 20 were gay (but not openly because this was a Catholic school), and 34 were left-handed. So, there were other minority groups, but none so disproportionately represented as the blacks.

Collette winded through the cafeteria, making her way to where Jonas sat. She slid into a chair. Jonas didn’t notice her, hypnotized as he was by The Sun Also Rises. He was worlds away from her. She sighed, and he looked up with a grin. He raised her hand in a playful and chivalrous manner.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Collette is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill–”

“Jonas,” Collette interrupted and pulled back her hand, “you sound gay.”

He looked at her in surprise, and she regretted the unfortunate words. Collette looked down at her right palm and traced the lines with her left thumb. After a silent moment Jonas asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t need to. Yesterday, I went to confession. I talked to a priest.”

Jonas frowned. This time she avoided the disappointment in his eyes by looking out at the bustling Commons. Her gaze was drawn to the girl on the far side, sitting alone near the windows. The sun framed a dark silhouette and blazed around red hair, creating the illusion of a fiery halo. It was Eleanor St. Clair. Collette remembered her laughter.

“Today, in Sacraments we were talking about marriage a—”

“What?”

Startled by the outburst, Collette looked at Jonas and smirked when she realized why he had interrupted.

“Today, in Sacraments we talked about marriage, and there was this girl who debated the place of women in marriage and in the Church. She called Father Thom’s ideas archaic.”

“Huh, gutsy. So…what about her?”

“Well, she’s sitting over there by herself,” Collette signaled the direction with a nod and glance. “She’s new isn’t she?”

Jonas looked, “She’s reading a book. Maybe she wants to be sitting by herself.”

“C’mon, let’s go say hi.”

Collette needed a pick-me-up. And what better way than to make a new friend? Collette, herself, had only been at St. Eloi, since sophomore year. She hadn’t made many friends due to a shy and self-conscious nature that came off as cold and distant. Her strong Catholic faith didn’t help either. She lost one potential friend because of it. When the potential needed comforting after a breakup, Collette had spouted the Bible verses that had always brought her solace. “Thus says Lord, ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name: you are mine. When you pass through deep waters, I will be with you. Your troubles will not overwhelm you.’” At the time Collette didn’t understand why the girl had given her a disdainful look and said, “Don’t give me that crap,” but now she looked back on the memory and cringed. She resolved not to make the same mistakes with Eleanor.

They stood on one side of the table, and Eleanor sat on the other. Collette ventured forth.

“Hi.”

Without looking up from her book Eleanor replied, “Hello.”

Collette glanced at Jonas. He took the hint.

“Uh…that’s a good book you’re reading.”

Eleanor was reading Ender’s Game. “I know.”

Collette rolled her eyes, “Hi, my name is Collette Duffy, and it’s Eleanor, right?”

“Wrong,” with a great show of reluctance Eleanor put down the book.

"Excuse me?”

“I go by Leo. Eleanor sounds…It just doesn’t work for me.”

Collette nodded and introduced Jonas. They sat across from Leo, and Jonas asked her opinion of Ender’s Game. The two warmed to the subject, but eventually, Leo realized they were excluding Collette, and the subject turned to movies. Leo’s view on each was expressed with firm ferocity; she wasn’t wishy-washy. Luckily, Collette and Leo shared similar tastes in film. The Collette friendship plan was going exceedingly well. Leo even apologized for her curt greetings, explaining that she was always cranky when pulled away from a book. She compared herself to a cantankerous morning-person irritable for having been forced from sleep. Collette was about to declare victory when Jonas brought up the Sacraments class.

“Do you disagree with a lot of Catholic stuff?”

“Yes. And those religion classes we are required to take are worthless. No, they’re worse than worthless. It’s like this school is trying to brainwash us all into becoming good little Catholic boys and girls. Usually, I tune out during Father Thom’s class, but today I forgot my book in my locker, and couldn’t stop myself from listening to his drivel.”

“If you're not Catholic, then why did you transfer here?” Collette asked, trying not to be offended by the hostility towards her faith.

“The math program is much more intense, and the curriculum overall is more challenging.”

“So, what are you if you’re not Catholic? Are you Protestant?” Collette was still trying to figure out where exactly Leo stood.

“I’m not Christian.”

“Are you Jewish? Agnostic?” asked Jonas.

“You won’t be able to guess it.” Leo replied, as though she weren’t going to continue, but neither of the other two said a word, and kept looking at her questioningly.

Leo ran her fingers through her hair, and then clasped her hands together on the table. She looked them each in the eye, as she said, “I am a witch.”

Incomprehension was apparent on their faces. And Jonas was tempted to be flippant and ask, “Like Harry Potter?”, but instead chose a more polite question, “You mean Wicca?”

“Yes.”

“And thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” Collette mumbled under her breath

“What?” said Leo, luckily for Collette, Leo hadn’t heard her, “Listen. Usually, people don’t understand what being a witch entails. We’re not Satanists or Anarchists. Wicca might not be as organized as other religions, but my faith is as strong, if not stronger, than those who attend their worship service every blessed Sunday. My temple is the world, and everyday I worship in it.”

Leo reached to her neck and pulled out a chain that had been concealed by her scarf and shirt. On the end of the chain was a silver five-pointed star enclosed by a circle.

“This is the pentacle, a sacred symbol that is traditional to the Wiccan path. See the five points, each represents a different element, earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. The circle represents the cycles of nature. I don’t display my pentacle at school because it wouldn't be well received,” she said with a wry grin. “Freedom of religion doesn’t exist at a private Catholic school.”

“Do you cast spells? Do you what, like wave around a wand?” asked Jonas, his voice bordering on condescending

“Yes and yes, but Wicca is more than that,” Leo explained. “Wicca is a nature-centered religion, and I mean what I say when I say it is a religion. We have our rituals, prayers, and ethical codes just like anybody else.”

Jonas was skeptical and continued to poke and prod, debating the validity of Leo’s “religion.” At one point he challenged her to prove her powers by casting a spell. “Go ahead,” he taunted, “turn me into a frog. Give me warts.” Leo never wavered in her eloquent, defensive counterpoints. Again bringing up the fact that Wicca wasn’t solely about “spellcrafting.” Up to this point Collette had remained silent. She was still horrified by what she had said in her surprise, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” It was from the Bible, Exodus 22:18 to be exact, but even so how could she have said something, so cruel and insensitive?

At least it seemed Leo hadn’t heard her; on the other hand, in Collette’s opinion Jonas was being obnoxious. Collette had encountered this side of him before when she was trying to bring up her own faith with him. Jonas prided himself on his ability to think reasonably and rationally about life. He believed religion was a crutch for those, who needed to validate themselves; he even called it the “opiate of the masses” to Collette’s face when she refused to eat a hamburger at McDonalds. It was a Friday during Lent, a day Catholics are prohibited from eating meat.

Collette wouldn’t have put up with his intolerance, except she saw how hypocritical he was being. She understood that his agnosticism was his own crutch and that because of his mother, religion was one of the few things he wasn’t able to think about clearly. Jonas’s mother was an excessively devout Catholic, who had pictures of the Pope hung in the bathroom and a crucifix on a wall in every room. Because she forced her children to church every Sunday and was always spewing Bible verses, instead of actually talking to her children, Jonas’s mother did more to cause them to hate Christianity, than both Satan and MTV combined could ever have done.

Collette didn’t like to be confrontational, so she held immense patience for those she thought were wrong. And because Jonas didn’t reject her outright for her continued “stupidity” – as he perceived it – Collette believed and hoped that through her example Jonas would come to see that being religious wasn’t equated with being weak. Today, however, Jonas’s raised eyebrows, squinted eyes, and patronizing chuckling weren’t directed at her. Jonas was directing his snobbery at Collette’s new friend or at least someone she wanted to be her new friend. Collette decided to interrupt his rant about New Age mumbo-jumbo.

“Leo,” Both Leo and Jonas turned to look at her expectantly. Despite Leo’s laidback appearance her defenses were up, she regretted revealing her belief in Wicca. She hadn’t wanted to seem ashamed, but now her bold declaration didn’t seem like such a wise move. She was dreading to hear what Collette would say now. Leo had heard her threatening mumble earlier. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” When Collette had said that, Leo felt like she had been transported back to the dark ages. In a flash she imagined Collette leading a mob of angry villagers with torches and pitchforks, all screaming and chanting, “Burn the witch! Burn the witch!” Leo knew, however, that reality would likely be much worse. Collette would tell her friends and then her friends would be bitchy, which doesn’t sound all that bad. But you try staying happy and sane with a bunch of teenage girls whispering and giving you dirty looks every single day. It gets old real fast.

Collette didn’t know what she was going to say next only that she wanted to shut Jonas up and show her support for Leo. So what she said surprised even her.

“Leo, I am very curious to hear more about this witchcraft business,” Collette looked at the clock and realized that her lunch period was over, “but I have to go to my next class.” Leo thought Collette was being sarcastic, and Collette saw this so she went on. “Umm…would you like to come to my house tonight, so we can talk some more? My mom’s making lasagna.”

Leo didn’t know what to say to that other than, “Sure. What time?”

Collette told her that 6:00 would work best and then quickly gave Leo directions to her house. By that time she had to leave for her Honors Calculus class. She didn’t get to eat lunch, but that wasn’t all that uncommon. Collette sometimes did that on purpose; a hungry edge kept her awake during her afternoon classes, calculus, physics, and geography, her least favorite subjects. Fortunately, these classes were also the ones that required the most attention, and this kept Collette from overanalyzing and worrying over that night’s dinner.

+ + +

The end of the day came all too swiftly. At 2:40 Collette went to her locker. She bent over to retrieve some textbooks from the very bottom of her locker. As she was straightening up, she was startled by a sharp clang right above her head. She dropped all of the books, and the exceedingly heavy calculus text slammed onto her toe.

“Frick! Troy, you’re such a jerk!”

Her younger brother and a sophomore at St. Eloi had snuck up from behind and pounded the locker beside hers. Now he leaned nonchalantly against that same abused locker.

“Nice to see you too, Collette,” Troy drawled and then asked, “How abouts you let me drive home today?” Troy had recently gotten his license. However, since Collette had gotten her license over a year ago, their mother had bestowed the keys to the car to her.

“But, Troy, I really don’t think Mom would approve.” Collette said. She dreaded driving, but at the moment she was enjoying her position of power.

“Mom, won’t mind. I’ll be doing you a favor. I'll walk to the car and pick you up in front. That way you won’t have to walk through the cold. It'll be like having your own personal chauffeur,” said Troy. He put on his begging puppy-dog look and tagged on a whining, “Please.”

“Hmm…let me think about it.” Collette took out the car keys and twirled them around her finger. Troy glared at her teasing. “Fine,” she dangled the keys in front of his now smiling face, and he snatched them away before she changed her mind. He took off down the hallway before she could get in another word, so she was forced to yell over the crowd and noise, “But if Mom gets mad, this was done against my will.” Troy didn’t look back. Collette rolled her eyes. She hadn’t told him that she would be a while more. It would serve him right to have to wait for her.

When everything was finally stowed away in her backpack Collette headed to the stairwell. Her mother’s classroom was in the basement of the school, or the dungeon, as her mother was fond of calling it. As Collette descended the stairs, she started to think about her impromptu invitation to Leo. What had she been thinking? Quite obviously, she hadn’t been. She couldn’t believe she had invited Leo over for dinner. How un-cool was that? “My mom’s making lasagna.” Seriously. How socially inept could she possibly be? And then there was the other side of things. What would her mother think? “Yeah, Mom, meet Leo, my new bff. She’s a witch. Oh, what's this? No don’t worry about that. Leo only curses people that piss her off, like Catholics.” Collette groaned. The evening was going to be a disaster.

Collette found Room 012 terrifying. For starters it was in the basement of an old school, meaning it was dank and moldy. The boiler room was next door, and at random intervals loud rattling and banging would come from behind the walls. But the most horrid things in the room were the health education posters. Lining the walls were such inspiring pieces as “What if smoking did to the outside what it does to the inside?” which depicted a woman with rotting and tar-covered skin. Her eyes shone in pale horror through the cigarette smoke curling around her face. Another favorite poster of Collette’s was sponsored by the American Cancer Association. This particular poster had words, “FRY NOW. PAY LATER,” emblazoned across the top, and beneath it, the picture of a beautiful model’s body shimmering in the sun. Atop the model’s golden body was a skull. There was also a poster warning against drinking and driving, showing the twisted metal of a car accident and another showed an emaciated female, ribs popping through skin, that had the heading Eating Disorders.

As the St. Eloi health teacher, Clara Duffy couldn’t take credit for the decoration of Room 012, that interior design award belonged to the recently retired Sister Arnold, who believed in the educational powers of a good and healthy dose of fear. However, Collette didn’t understand why her mother hadn’t bothered to take anything down. She thought, perhaps, she didn’t know everything about her mother. Although Collette thought of her mom as a clean cut Catholic teacher, who was regularly involved in church activities, maybe her mother had a dark sense of humor that she was unaware of.

When she entered the room Collette avoided looking around, but instead looked right to her mother’s desk. The one thing Mrs. Duffy had added to the room was a computer. She was sitting in front of it now. Her face illuminated by the glow of the screen. Collette saw the flush on her mother’s face, the faint trace of a smile, and she assumed her mother was reading an email. It was most likely from her father, who was away on business for a few months in Russia. Collette’s father, Fred Duffy, worked as an IT man and helped train different international organizations to use the software his company had developed. He kept in contact with his family through regular emails.

“Hi, Mom. Another email from Dad?”

Clara Duffy jumped, and then for a brief moment looked lost.

“Goodness, Collette!” she said gathering her senses, “No, it’s just an email to the faculty. I guess we’re not being strict enough with you kids and the uniform codes.”

Collette smiled, “Maybe they should bring back Sister Arnold.”

"Uh, huh," her mom acquiesced distracted by other thoughts, “Was there something you needed?”

“No. Well, yes. Could I have a friend, Eleanor St. Clair over for dinner tonight?” Collette asked.

“Of course,” replied her mom, already returning to look at the computer screen, although this should have come as a greater shock. Collette rarely, if ever, invited someone over.

Good thing she said yes, Collette thought since I already told Leo she could come.

When Collette continued to stand in the doorway, her mother added, in a tone bordering on impatient, “Anything else?”

“Troy’s driving us home,” Even if it meant ratting out her brother, Collette wouldn’t lie to her mother.

Collette’s mother sighed, “I guess that’s all right. Just make sure he doesn’t speed down 9^th Street. I should be home in another hour or so.”

“Sure thing, Mom,” said Collette, as she stepped out the door and hopped up the steps.

When she got to the front of the school, she could see Troy waiting in their dad’s forest green Honda Civic. Although he had probably been waiting a good ten minutes, Collette trekked very slowly across the sidewalk. She justified this obnoxious gesture with the rationale that she didn’t want to slip on the ice and break her neck just to appease her brother’s impatience.

Her brother didn’t say anything to her when she got in the car, but he muttered darkly, about what sounded like, global warming and rising gas prices. On the short ride home, only about five minutes, he didn’t talk to her, just played the rock station loudly and sped down 9^th Street.

+ + +

The time was 5:55. Collette circled the dining room table. First setting out the cloth napkins and nice plates, followed by the silverware, Collette became dizzy from her frantic circular movement. Her thoughts mirrored her actions, circling around Leo’s imminent arrival. Every imaginable catastrophe danced around in her head. She imagined Leo not showing up, leaving Collette to face her family’s questioning and pitying looks. On the other hand once Leo started talking, Collette could see her mother calling Leo the devil and throwing her out of the house. But the worse thing that could happen, the thing Collette dreaded the most was Leo biting into the lasagna and making a disgusted face.

The doorbell rang. Collette said a quick mental prayer, “Please God, make the lasagna tonight the best ever,” and then rushed to answer the door.

“I’ve got it!” she yelled out. She wanted her mom to keep focused on making the dinner. Collette took a deep steadying breath, and then opened the door with a welcoming smile, “Hi, Leo! Come on in.”

Leo returned the greeting, and then turned to wave towards the road. A car honked and drove off into the darkness.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Leo said turning back to face Collette, “but I’ll need a ride home.”

“I’d be happy to,” returned Collette sincerely, grateful she could do something for Leo. Collette stepped to the side to let Leo in from the cold, and as she turned to shut the door another face appeared from out of the dark. Collette smiled and let him in as well.

“I see introductions are in order,” Leo said noticing the new arrival.

Collette laughed and said, “Leo, meet my cat, Turnip. Turnip, be a gentleman, and say hello to the lady.”

Turnip was part Russian Blue, which gave him a thick grey coat and sage green eyes. It created an aristocratic facade, but Turnip was originally a farm cat, so had never been completely tamed. Collette’s mother referred to him as “that demon cat” because of his fondness for materializing beneath your feet at the most inopportune moments – like when carrying fragile dishes, and because of his uncanny ability to escape the house, no matter the closed doors and windows. Turnip walked over to sniff Leo’s shoe. Leo looked askance at his odd stagger before inquiring, “How did Turnip lose his paw?”

“He got in a fight with a dog.”

“Oh gods above, how awful.” And it had been awful for Collette. Her family had been moving boxes into the new house, and the neighbor’s horrible boxer had torn across the yard right towards Collette. Turnip, having already managed to escape from his carrier, tackled the dog from the side. A vicious battle ensued.

“You should have seen the other guy," Collette nodded with pride. "Turnip’s quite the feisty scrapper.”

“Hmm…indeed very fierce and mighty. He is a credit to the feline race,” Leo looked contemplative. “A cat with thirteen toes. He would make an excellent familiar.”

“Actually, Turnip has four toes per foot, coming to a grand total of twelve toes. What do you mean familiar?”

“You know, familiars don’t have to be black cats, or for that matter they don’t even have to be a cat,” Leo attempted to explain. When Collette still looked confused, Leo went on, “You’ve never heard of a witch’s a familiar? A close animal companion? I don’t have one myself, but a friend of mine, Beverly, has a raven familiar.”

“Oh,” Collette didn’t like where this was going, even though the idea of Turnip being a witch’s familiar was humorous. Collette stepped back and took in Leo’s gypsy-like appearance. She wore a long midnight blue skirt, with tiny sequins clustered randomly about. For jewelry she had silver crescent moon earrings. Leo bent over to pet the cat. Turnip gave a chirping meowl and closed his eyes basking in the attention. The picture she was looking at now screamed witch. She decided that for the sake of harmony later on, she would have to be rude now.

“Listen. Leo, it might not be a good idea to bring up that sort of stuff in front of my mom.”

Leo didn’t look fazed, as though she had expected no less; she gave Collette a blank look and replied, “It won’t be a problem,” and then returned her attention to Turnip. And that reaction – more so than anything else Leo could have said or done – made Collette feel guilty. So, Leo had come here expecting to be treated boorishly.

“Look…” Collette started to apologize, but Leo stopped her with a forced smile.

“Collette, hakuna matata,” she said gently.

“What?” Again Collette was finding it difficult to follow Leo.

“Hakuna matata,” she repeated. “Does the Lion King ring in any bells?”

“Oh, right. No worries,” said Collette. It was a motto she had always had difficulty following.

+ + +

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Collette’s mother finished grace with the sign of the cross. Leo hadn’t made the sign of the cross, but at least she had closed her eyes reverently. Collette bit into the lasagna. It was cheesy, delicious, and even better it was vegetarian lasagna. When Leo had said she was a vegetarian. Collette nearly had a panic attack. But she had forgotten about her mom’s recent health kick. Funny, how those things sometimes worked themselves out. An added bonus was Leo’s vegetarianism gained her an extra point in Mom’s book.

“No, ma’am,” Leo replied to an inquiry of whether or not she had siblings. The politeness was also impressing the parental unit. Collette’s mother was grilling Leo. She had already asked about parents. Leo's mother worked at the bank, and her father was an English professor. This met with mother’s approval and Collette’s surprise. She couldn’t believe Leo had normal parents. Collette thanked the Lord that her mother had assumed Leo was Christian and hadn't even bothered asking about Leo’s faith. But then Collette’s mom asked about sports. Although Leo didn’t play any, this led inevitably to Troy jumping in and completely taking over the conversation.

Troy played on the St. Eloi Eagle’s varsity basketball team. He wasn’t actually conceited about it, telling just as many basketball stories about himself as his teammates. He just loved the game so much, so he didn’t understand that other people might not want to hear every blasted detail about that last game his team had played. Collette pitied any future girlfriend, yet she, herself, didn’t mind attending Troy’s games. She could go to a game just for the sounds: the thumping rhythms of the ball hitting gym floor – a beat both fast and slow –, the smack as the ball shot from one set of hands to another, the barking commands between players, the squeak of sneakers, and the satisfying hiss as the ball swished through the net. She liked watching the fluidity of the players, long running strides and short swift pivots. When blended with the soundtrack, it was like watching a dance.

Collette connected with Troy’s basketball because it brought back memories of when she had been in ballet. After a year at the new dance studio here in Indiana, Collette had dropped out. She told her mom it was because she wanted to focus on her schoolwork, and advanced level classes demanded too much of her time. In truth, Collette left dance because the dance instructor was cruel and referred to Collette as “thunder thighs.”

By the time Troy finished recounting last week’s game, dinner was almost over. The phone rang and Mrs. Duffy rushed to answer it. Collette could hear her mom’s teasing tone and happy murmurings. Snippets of conversation, “the kids,” “only if you want to,” and “God bless,” drifted into the dining room. Collette assumed that her mom was talking to Mr. Duffy. Mrs. Duffy came back in to explain that she needed to go to school at seven; she was helping the school secretary put old records onto the school’s new computer system.

At this point, Troy interrupted asking permission to drive the truck to Nick’s house; they were working on a group project for their church history class, he explained. He said they would be working on it late, so he would need his weeknight curfew extended to eleven. Although Mrs. Duffy was reluctant at first, Collette rolled her eyes knowing Troy would get what he wanted. The youngest always did. She then told her mother that she needed the car to go to the Y and the library. Her mother agreed, but said she should be home by ten. Talk about double standards, Collette thought.

Leo, still minding her P’s and Q’s, thanked Mrs. Duffy for the wonderful food and Collette for inviting her. Collette, Leo, and Mrs. Duffy put on their coats and scarves and headed out to the garage. The night was cold.

“I think it is going to snow,” said Leo, her skirt swirling around her ankles as she stopped and looked up at the starry sky.

“I doubt it,” said Mrs. Duffy disagreeably, “The sky is clear, and besides, it’s too cold.”

“Too cold to snow?” Collette laughed.

+ + +

Collette dropped her mother off first. Mrs. Duffy told Collette not to worry about picking her up; she would hitch a ride home from someone. This left Collette alone with Leo in the car. The radio played softly into the hush of the two silent occupants. This made Collette nervous and twitchy. For some reason she couldn’t stop scratching her nose. On the other hand Leo seemed comfortable in the quiet and would only interrupt every once in a while with a “turn left here” or “make a right turn after this stoplight.” To Collette the road never seemed to end.

Finally, they pulled up to an old Victorian-style house. Collette couldn’t make out the details in the dark, but it loomed large and she was impressed by its size. Leo sat for a long moment, until the point where Collette was just about to break down and say something.

“Collette, thank you for bringing me home, and I want to let you know I count you as a friend.”

Collette wondered what sort of test she had passed to be told as such, and she wasn’t able to utter anything other than an eloquent, “Uh…”

“I know – at this moment – it might seem otherwise, but I sense something beyond this. Please, count me as a friend,” said Leo, “Feel free to come to me with problems, either with school, Jonas, your parent’s divorce –”

Collette interjected, “Divorce? My parents aren’t divorced!”

“Oh,” Leo looked confused, “but your father wasn’t at dinner and your mother…”

“I guess I can see how you might think that, but my parents are happily married,” said Collette. “My father is overseas on a business trip.” She paused but a moment and then added, “Goodnight, Leo.”

Leo opened the car door and stepped out, but before shutting it said, “I apologize. That was my mistake. I’ll see you tomorrow at school. Maybe we could have lunch together?” Leo gave one last smile, “Merry part and merry meet again.”

Collette considered driving to the Y and running a few miles on the treadmill, but she felt too drained by the tense evening, so she did a u-turn and headed home.

+ + +

When Collette got back Troy had already left and the house was dark. She headed to her room to do some homework. She turned on the lights and sat down at her desk. Collette’s room possessed an innocent child-like quality. The walls were painted lilac and a poster of a unicorn adorned the wall beside the door. Gauzy, white canopy netting floated above and about her bed. Beneath its shroud lay a flowery quilt and two stuffed animals, a pink bear and a penguin. Collette loved the fuzzy nonsensical feel of her room, but it wasn’t very conducive as a studying environment.

Collette opened to a random page of C.S. Lewis’s a Mere Christianity, and read, “For the longest way round is the shortest way home.” If that’s a preview of what’s to come, Collette thought, I give up. She looked wistfully to her bookcase containing C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series, a gift from her father on her 6^th birthday. They were well-loved and grubby having born readings and re-readings. From there her eyes traveled to the picture on her desk. The photo was several years old and featured her, Troy, and their cousins at the pool. Each of them was dressed in matching polka-dotted swimsuits, Christmas presents from Grandma. Everyone was sporting toothy grins. Collette was struck by cheerful nostalgia, and she could smell the tang of the pool’s chlorine. Although times had changed, it used to be that over Christmas break her family would travel to Mrs. Duffy’s parent's house in St. Louis. Almost everyday, Collette and her cousins would swim for hours at the local indoor swimming pool. They were a family of otters, always wet and playful. Collette’s second home was filled with laughter, laughter echoing off high walls, blue tile, and rippling water.

Filled with these happy memories, Collette looked at the statue of St. Francis that was beside the photo. About six inches tall St. Francis held an arching banner of doves above his head. Another gift from her father, this one had been given to commemorate her First Communion. He had handed it to her saying, “Remember Collette, faith isn't about what anybody tells you. It's about what you know.” What Collette knew was her father's pride that day, as she walked up to receive the blood and body of Christ. She knew her brother's grace in basketball, her mom's home-made lasagna, and her cousins' laughter in the pool. What Collette knew of faith she knew from her family.

It was now eight o'clock, and Collette still hadn’t started her homework. To prevent herself from further distractions, Collette got up and clicked off the main bedroom light. This left only her desk lamp on, and her world narrowed to the small space illuminated by light. She picked up Mere Christianity. She was nearing the end of the reading assignment on Christian marriage and skimming through, “The function of the husband is to see that this natural preference of hers is not given its head,” when she heard a car pull up to the side of the house. Collette was pulled from her slight trance. She looked up and out the window. It was snowing! The light snowflakes were illuminated against the dark of the night.

Collette walked to the window. With her room darkened and therefore no glare reflecting off the glass pane, Collette could see out into the backyard with unsettling clarity. She felt like a ghost watching from the windows of a haunted house. She saw Father Thom get out the car and walk over to passenger side. He opened the door and took the lady’s hand, like a true gentleman. Mrs. Duffy’s chuckle was muffled by the falling snow. They stood close together making small talk, as though reluctant to part. Collette watched Father Thom and her mother’s breath rise like the smoke of incense. The light from the kitchen cast their dark shadows onto the freshly fallen and glittering blue snow. Collette watched as the shadows merged into one. Father Thom touched Mrs. Duffy’s shoulder and leaned over to kiss her on the lips.

Collette stepped back from the window and onto Turnip’s tail, who yowled. Collette walked to her desk and turned off the light. She got into bed still dressed. The sound of the back door opening was jarring and caused her to tremble uncontrollably under the quilt. This stopped when Turnip jumped up and curled around Collette’s feet.

Collette lay awake in the dark and couldn’t stand its press against her sanity, so she opened the cabinet of her bedside table and pulled out a flashlight. She clicked it on. The bulb was dim, and the battery, dying. She flicked the light across the room. It landed first on her collection of the Narnia books and then flashed on to the photographs on her desk. The yellow beam, finally, came to rest on the right side of the room. The light encircled the crucifix hung above Collette’s door.

She looked at the crucifix, and for the first time in her life realized the horror of it. For the first time she saw Christ’s upturned face, his eyes and mouth drooping in agony, and his swollen ribcage, heaving in pain. For the first time the nails driven into bony hands and feet, the thorns scraped across his scalp, and the blood streaming from these wounds were illuminated. How could she ever have knelt before this monstrous image? Her father’s words echoed and twisted in her mind as she fell into troubled sleep. "Remember faith isn't about anything you know; it's about what you've been told."

+ + +

When the batteries died and the beam of light surrounding the crucifix faded completely, Collette fell into a troubled asleep, where she was plagued by nightmares. It began with the sound of water dripping, as though from a faucet somebody forgot to turn off. Drip. Drip. Drip. The constant rhythm was maddening. Collette found herself in a church. The sound of dripping water continued. This time echoing off of high walls and reverberating until it became steady, like the sound of falling rain.

At the front of the church was an altar and above it the crucifix. Jesus was moaning, crying, and twisting in pain on the cross. “This is my body. This is my blood,” intoned Father Thom. As expressionless as a dead man, he took the golden chalice and filled it to the brim with crimson blood streaming down Christ’s thin body. Then Father Thom broke off Christ’s big toe. Collette knew what he was going to do next, and looked away in fear. She would rather not see Father Thom partake in grisly cannibalism.

Her gaze fell to the side on a magnificent stained glass window. It filled her entire field of vision and was so large that she could only make out individual pieces and not the whole design. Yet, each piece, blue, violet, green, and yellow, glowed so brilliantly that to see all of it at once, she knew, would blind her. The glass vibrated and with a high pitch scream, it shattered. Shards of glass fell like rose petals onto soft grass. Beyond the window, there was a tree and from it hung man. Suspended upside down by one foot, the man wasn’t smiling, but there was distinct air of happiness about him. He bore the entranced expression of one reading a good book. Collette tried to run towards the hanged man.

But she tripped and fell upright. Walking down winding darkened steps, Collette feared her destination. It was the St. Eloi health room. The educational posters had become real. Smoker woman, the tanning super-model, emaciated anorexic girl, they all stood in the middle of the room, in a tight circle surrounding someone. Under their waves of laughter, Collette tried to detect another sound. She rushed up to them and pulled the evil women away to uncover – her father. He was sobbing, but no tears fell. His eyes met hers and he began to yell scripture verses at her. “For a fire has been kindled by my wrath, one that burns to the realm of death below. It will devour the earth and its harvests and set afire the foundations of the mountains.”

Collette ran until her legs turned to honey, and she was alone in a world of nothing, the weight of her sins crushing her lungs. Fear, greater than any she had felt before, gripped her soul. Ice flowed through her veins, and she lay on a slab of stone. A blue corpse was all that remained of Collette.

Collette awoke in a sweat, but she lay stiff as a board, muscles clenched tight, and her breathing was shallow. She took a big gulp of air and whipped her head to the side. Her clock read 12:30 and the digital numbers’ red glow reflected eerily off her sweaty brow and wide eyes. Thoughts drifted to earlier in the evening when she saw Father Thom kiss her mother. She remembered her nightmare. And wished she could return to it. That world of ice and death was better than this living hell. But Collette didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

(Author’s note a.k.a. a self-deprecating disclaimer: This dream sequence was very self-indulgent of me and was mostly written as a warm-up. It would be cut or drastically reduced for the final draft.)

+ Sloth +

Never before in Collette’s life had she felt such disgust with the world. Each slight movement or little thought that crossed her mind was utterly meaningless and inconsequential, so she resolved to do nothing. It wasn’t weariness, just a sheer unwillingness to do anything. She stared at the ceiling, losing herself in the turning of the minute. Sinking further into the cushy mattress, her body was weighed down by self-hatred, even her hair pulled her head to the pillow with a weight, as effective as chains. Collette did not want to face the rest of the day and the amount of effort it would require. To. Just. Keep. Breathing. No matter how much she wished it otherwise, time’s passage plodded steadily on. The arrival of day was splashed across the ceiling; the deep dark of night became less and gradually slid into the grey-blue of predawn. 6:59 blazed on the clock, and Collette lifted a heavy hand to shift its smooth nub. With a click she turned of her alarm. For a half hour she watched each minute pass.

Misery was interrupted with a soft knock on the door, a mother coming to wake her child for the new school day. Collette wanted to sob, but it would take too much effort, so the pressure built into an intense headache. It had been six years, since her mother had last come to wake her. Not since she was eleven years old. Those were the innocent blissful days, when a soft “good morning” was enough to drag her from the deepest sleep. Now the scratchy shriek of the alarm clock greeted her day.

“Hey, sleepyhead, are you up yet? Collette, it’s 7:45,” said Mrs. Duffy. She still needed to take the curlers out of her hair and put on her makeup.

“I am not feeling well. I don’t think I will go to school today.” Collette’s weak reply barely made it though the closed door.

“What?” Mrs. Duffy started walking away and had to raise her voice. “Collette, come have some breakfast and then we’ll see how you feel after that.”

Collette hated her. That anger supplied the necessary surge of energy to her limbs. She rose from the bed. The blankets clung to her before falling away forsaken. Unsteady on her feet, Collette made her way to the window. The world dipped and swayed, but when it settled Collette looked out on sparkling blue virgin snow. The sun was just rising, tinting the horizon a fleshy pastel pink. Collette’s throat tightened and her breath hitched. She stepped closer and looked into her backyard. Last night’s snowfall covered the tracks left by Father Thom’s car, leaving only faint indentations.

Being so close to the pane of glass caused it to fog up with Collette’s breath. It washed back towards her, bearing a stench of tacky morning mouth with a hint of lasagna. The smell forced her to take stock of her situation. Unwashed, oily skin and greasy hair. Gross. To add to that Collette had slept in her clothes. Her dress-code-appropriate khaki pants were wrinkled into frowns and the collar of her navy blue polo was flipped up.

Collette went to her dresser and pulled out blue pajama bottoms and an old purple t-shirt. She did not want to raise uncomfortable questions at the breakfast table, as to why she was still wearing her clothes from yesterday. There was a chill in the air, so she grabbed her fuzzy night robe before heading downstairs.

Troy was already at the table, hunched dejectedly over a bowl of cereal. His shaggy, uncombed hair covered squinty eyes, and his spoon hovered hesitantly in front of his mouth, as he double-checked its course trajectory. Mornings were never a good time for Troy. To converse with him required knowledge of a special mumble language. To Collette’s typical cheery good mornings Troy’s replies were along the lines of, “Ugh, grr taher,” which roughly translated meant, “Go to hell.”

Today was different. Collette mechanically went about getting a bowl, a spoon, and a box of Cheerios. She asked Troy to pass the milk, and he did so without a word. All the sounds in the room became magnified and swelled into the emptiness. Collette could hear Troy’s crunchy chewing. Her stomach churned. The Cheerios poured into the bowl, a crescendo of tiny clanging bells, followed by the swirling of milk that dampened both sound and cereal. Her spoon clinked against the bowl, and she began to eat methodically listening to the munching of grains between her teeth.

The click of Mrs. Duffy’s heels interrupted Collette’s mastication reverie. Mrs. Duffy took in Collette disheveled appearance.

“Oh, Collette, you look miserable.”

The dark lines curving under bloodshot eyes and the greasy black hair that put a pale face in sharp relief were proof enough for Mrs. Duffy. Her daughter would not be attending school today. And what happened next only solidified the conclusion.

When her mother had appeared Collette tried to digest what she saw. Makeup powder softened Mrs. Duffy’s face, and rosy cinnamon lipstick brought a touch of color that complimented bright blue eyes. Dark, golden brown hair was pulled back into a chic ponytail, thin wisps framed her face. Mrs. Duffy did not follow traditional teacher fashion; no oversized beige sweaters, black slacks, frumpy cardigans, or turtlenecks. She wore slimming black pinstripe pants topped by a pale blue cashmere sweater that brought out her eyes. Collette’s mother looked so fresh and young. In Collette's mind the evident serenity and happiness clung to her mother like flies.

Mrs. Duffy reached over to check her daughter’s forehead for a temperature. Yet, before she even came close to touching Collette, the girl blanched and jumped up from the table, knocking over her chair and running into the bathroom. She puked up her small breakfast. While the flushing of the toilet filled the air, Collette glanced at her reflection. Pieces of puke were dangling from the ends of her hair. After she bent over the sink and washed them out, she returned to the kitchen.

Troy was trying to control his gag reflex, and her mother looked concerned. Their edges appeared overly bright and seemed to vibrate in Collette’s sleep-deprived vision. She went and lay down on the living room couch. As she listened to them bustling about their morning routine, Collette tried to feel guilty for being so lazy. But all she felt was relief when her mother called out a farewell, and she heard the car pull out of the driveway. For an hour she did not move watching the day come into its full brightness.

Finally, she stood and turned on some music. As Enya’s soothing voice and relaxing melody dulled the senses, Collette immersed herself in her own inertia, letting it seep into her very bones. Body immobilized, Collette’s mind was forced to wander. “We can sail, we can sail… we can sigh, say goodbye.” And with those words Collette remembered a time of goodbyes.

It had been nothing special. In the summer about seven years ago, in a time when you could still walk a loved one past airport security and all the way to the departure gate to say a last farewell, Fred Duffy had been leaving from the Indianapolis International Airport for Japan. Collette had been ten, wearing a pink flowery t-shirt, shorts to match, and sparkly jelly shoes. This was to be the beginning of many airport goodbyes. That day Collette had loved the wide-open feel of the area and ran around playing tag with Troy. But over the years, as her father’s departures increased in frequency, the airport seemed to shrink in on her, and more and more Collette felt the miserable press of humanity.

That first day of departure, however, had been a relatively happy one for Collette. At the airport her mother bought her and her brother frozen yogurt from TCBY, and a stain of chocolate encircled Collette’s mouth for the rest of their time there. On the way to the gate Mrs. Duffy held her husband’s hand and softly hummed a wistful melody. Back then Mr. Duffy’s hair had been a wavy dark black with no signs of the now existing gray strands. Her father had high cheekbones and ever since Mr. Duffy had made his trip to Russia, Troy liked to refer to him as a "Russian spy." He had never been what you would call attractive, a nose too crooked and brows too dark for that, but his laugh was hearty and his smile warm, so to Collette he was the most handsome man in the world.

At the gate, Mr. Duffy first hugged his children; Collette remembered his breath smelling of the mint gum he liked to chew, ever since giving up smoking. Then he hugged her mother and got onto the boarding ramp. He would be gone for two months. Mrs. Duffy held back tears as she waved. Then Mr. Duffy had rushed back off the onramp and took his wife in his arms, giving her a sweet Hollywood kiss. Troy had groaned disgustedly, and Collette chimed in, but later she would recall it as one of the most romantic scenes she had ever witnessed.

Collette felt like she was going to puke again. She turned off the music and flipped on the TV. Jeopardy was on, and although they looked nothing alike, Alex Trebek, the game host’s suave and amiable manner reminded her of Father Thom. They both thought they were so smart, providing everybody with the answers. She imagined him standing in front of the class, smiling as he taught about the holy sacrament of marriage. Flipping rapidly through the channels, Collette felt like she was spinning a roulette wheel with no idea where the ball would land.

She landed on a channel that, ironically, was playing the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. It was near the end. “He’s not the problem. I’m the problem. I’ve got to take a stand. I’ve got to take a stand against him. I am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm going to take a stand. I'm going to defend it. Right or wrong, I'm going to defend it”. Collette remembered what somebody had said to her once. “Don’t feed me that crap.” Collette was sick of the crap, of the platitudes, of the Bible verses, and now the TV, all of them telling her what to do. Who was this stupid character telling her to “take a stand”? Collette thought to herself. I am tired. My whole body feels like it has been filled with lead. If I want, I can sit here all day and watch TV.

Collette turned the TV off. Her reflection on the glass screen was dark and warped; she looked like a slug. Almost on its own accord her body stood, as though it needed to move just as much as it needed to breathe. Walking outside into the cold air, Collette hoped to wake up. She was barefoot and wearing only a night robe, but she left the front porch and walked into the snow. To any neighbors who happened to glance out their windows, Collette would have looked like a lunatic or perhaps an escaped rehab patient. The sun glared off the snow, stinging and blinding her eyes. Tears fell and left icy tracks down her cheeks. The pain in her feet was the first pleasant sensation Collette had felt all morning. It was bad she knew. Something was wrong inside her, not anything new, something that had been there all along.

For a good ten minutes she stood there as unmoving as a lawn statue, until Turnip came out of the house and ran prancing across the snow into the bushes. A red cardinal flew out, diving and swooping its way across the street. Collette could hear a car approaching, so she went back inside. She lay on the couch and watched infomercials the rest of the day, but strange thoughts burned in the back of her mind.

Around 4:30 Troy came home from basketball practice, still sweaty. Collette only blinked when he told her that mom would be coming home late because of a parent-teacher conference. It was only 7:00, but Collette was exhausted from a long day of doing nothing, so she crept upstairs to her room and snuggled under the covers. The crucifix above her door taunted her out of the corner of her eye, and she began to slide into a nightmare. Collette dragged herself from the swirling vortex of fright-filled dreams. The heavy desk chair scraped against the wooden floor. Collette stopped in front of the doorway and climbed atop the chair. Yanking the crucifix off the wall, she quickly scampered down and went over to the trash can. She did not hesitate before tossing it in.

Her day had been a protective cocoon of idleness, but that did not stop the sandman from bringing Collette a deep and restful sleep.

(Author’s note: I realize that not much of anything happens in this part of the story, but it is titled sloth, so that kind of makes sense.)

+ Envy +

The next day at breakfast Collette’s mother appeared as pristine as she did the day before. Collette felt grubby in comparison, and had to choke down jealousy along with her burnt toast. Collette said she felt well enough to attend school, but that was about all she said. Usually, Collette was chatty in the mornings, and liked to tease her brother or talk to her mom about the latest homework. Her mom noticed how withdrawn and silent Collette was and so with an open-ended inquiry asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I am just a little tired,” Collette fended her off brusquely. What should she say? No, Mom, I am not okay. Currently, I am suffering emotional trauma that will cost me years of my life lying down on a leather couch, while an overpaid shrink analyzes the psychological repercussions of me discovering your affair with a Catholic priest. But other than that I’m super.

Collette drifted in a daze all the way to school. On the way to her locker she snapped out of it when heard the sound of cruel laughter and froze thinking that it was directed at her. What if someone knew about her or her mom? What if they knew about Jonas or Father Thom? Collette felt like a gigantic scarlet letter had been emblazoned on her forehead.

Two girls, Grace and Lydia, if she was not mistaken, were holding an obnoxiously loud conversation, punctuated with giggling. It was the tone of their laughter, holding that sharp edge of scorn, which had first caught her ear, but it was the subject, which brought relief from her worries and at the same time captured Collette’s attention.

“—Eleanor St. something or another. Yeah, well yesterday in Father Thom’s Sacraments class, she accused him of brainwashing us. She made Catholicism sound like some huge overblown conspiracy. Uh huh, ridiculous I know, but it got even sillier when she started in on the pope,” said Lydia flipping her brown hair over her shoulder.

“The pope?” asked Grace, sounding only half-interested while inspecting perfectly manicured nails and smacking her gum. In their strict Catholic School, chewing gum was contraband and considered badass.

Collette had already slowed down her walking pace, but at that point was forced to bend over and pretend to tie her shoe in order to hear more of what they were saying.

“Yeah, the pope,” said Lydia popping the p’s for emphasis and rolling her eyes, “This girl went on some long rant about how the pope has murdered millions of people in Africa.”

“Shit. What a nutjob. Where does she pull that from?”

“I don’t know. Some crap about AIDS and him not endorsing condoms. Believe me. It did not make any sense whatsoever. And I mean, seriously, have you seen this girl? Her hair is –”

Collette moved on to her own locker, wondering, how could people be so stupid? Even if they could not bother themselves to actually listen and pay attention, they should appreciate Leo for being brave enough to contradict a teacher, to refuse to just be taught to and to accept education as her own responsibility. What Leo said might have been a little extreme, but at least it made class exciting. Who were those two girls to judge someone, so much more aware, so much more alive than them?

And while Collette was mentally berating Grace and Lydia, a part of her envied them, envied their blindness. For in their ignorance they were happy. She was jealous of these people floating blithely on in their own little worlds. For that small part of Collette, a part which she was ashamed of and tried to deny, that part of her wished she could still blindly follow the system, which she had believed in and trusted for her entire life. The sordid affair she had witnessed that evening under the falling snow had broken that trust. She had not been betrayed by just her mother; Father Thom had also betrayed her.

But did this mean that it was only Father Thom who was corrupt? Or was the entire basis for her faith wrong? Collette was lost in questions for her first two morning classes. For the first time in her life she began to question her belief system. Before she had always believed what she had been told by those who were older and supposedly wiser, those people that claimed to love her. These people had betrayed her. The Bible, should she trust what it says? Why should she? Some priest tells her it was divinely inspired by God? But why should she trust a priest? A supposed representative of God’s authority, who was really just as human as anyone else? These questions overwhelmed Collette and she could not manage to answer one before another would pop into her head. The never-ending bombardment left Collette wanting to run home and hide under the covers of her bed, but no, that is what she had done all of yesterday.

With a heavy heart Collette trudged into Father Thom’s windowless and stifling classroom. She looked straight at her desk, avoiding the sight of Father Thom. Maybe this way she could pretend he was not there. All she needed now were some headphones to tune out his voice. Luckily, Leo was there to help with that.

“Collette, darling, are you all right?” Leo asked, slipping into the seat next Collette.

“Yeah, I just had a stomach bug and was puking up all morning,” Collette assumed Leo was referring to her absence from class yesterday. “But today I am feeling fine.”

“You mean, freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” said Leo, “I was worried when you did not show up. I thought maybe I had scared you off the other night.”

Collette did not know what to say to that other than, “Not really, or I mean not at all,” and chuckled self-consciously. At that point Father Thom began his lecture. Today’s subject was focusing on the ritual aspect of a wedding ceremony. Leo turned away, but not before giving Collette a conspiratorial wink.

Afraid of what she might do Collette was resolved to not look at Father Thom for the rest of class and to focus intently on doodling in her notebook. She managed to ignore him pretty well and was creatively turning her sketch of a horse into a unicorn, so it took awhile before she noticed how hoarse and scratchy Father Thom’s voice was. It was heavy with evident weariness. When a loud hollow thump echoed through the classroom followed by several horrified gasps, Collette’s curiosity forced her to look up.

“How clumsy of me,” said Father Thom, as he was bending over to pick up pick up the book he had dropped. Collette held back her own gasp of surprise when she saw the book. It was the Holy Bible. And then she had to hold back her laugh as thought of the implications and the irony of the situation. However, her inner mirth died when she took in Father Thom’s appearance.

His eyes were bloodshot and his normally curly brown hair was plastered to his skull. His hands shook as he placed the Bible back on the pedestal, and his steps were slow as he walked over to the whiteboard to write down some notes. He looked almost as bad as Collette had yesterday. The class watched the man with caution and was overly subdued, as though too strong a breath would be enough to knock him over.

It seemed even Leo was taking pity on the sickly looking priest, and argued only half-heartedly about the benefits of an outdoor wedding. She asked why the Catholic Church would only consecrate marriages indoors. Father Thom replied faintly that if she really wanted to know she could talk to him after class. Leo let the matter drop and when class was over rushed out of the room as quickly as everyone else.

Leo walked with Collette to lunch. In line for their meals Leo started a conversation, which Collette had no intention of participating in.

“What do you think was wrong with Father Thom?” asked Leo, reaching for a tuna sandwich. “I am surprised he is sick. Is not his god supposed to prevent that sort of thing in his righteous followers?”

“How cares?” said Collette a little bitterly.

“Touchy! What’s up Doc?” Leo crunched into a carrot and looked at Collette inquisitively.

“Nothing. I am just a little tired is all.”

After paying for their meals they met up with Jonas and sat down with him. He was already on a different book. This time it was Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, which Leo got a kick out of, teasing Jonas about his taste. He smiled explaining he was not prejudice against any of the classics and extolled the merits of Austen’s novel. Jonas still had not said anything to Collette, and she recognized this deliberate silent treatment, but did not know what to do about it. The quiet reserve between them grew heavy, as each spoke to Leo only. Finally, Leo could not take it any longer.

“What is going on?” Leo asked looking between them.

“So, Collette, where were you yesterday?” said Jonas not bothering to answer Leo’s question.

“I was sick,” replied Collette. “Why?” What Collette wanted to ask is why are you angry with me?

“I called you five times on your cell and you never called me back.”

“Listen. I told you I was sick. I do not see why you are so upset.”

“You could have called. I was worried.”

At this point Collette wanted to scream at him. She never understood Jonas. He was as moody as any girl she thought resentfully. His anger with her was so random and arbitrary. And Collette felt like she was never living up to his standards.

“You never talk to me.” Jonas continued on, but in a different tangent. “Collette, you are not an open book. I never know what is going on with you. Half the time you feel like a stranger to me.”

“What?” Collette knew Jonas had been angry, but she had not realized that it was going to be such a big deal, and she felt uncomfortable talking about this with Leo listening in. “Jonas, we can talk about this later when we have more time and privacy.” Her voice was strained.

“Fine. Whatev.”

God, what a baby Collette thought.

“Right after school, I have to go to Barnes & Noble and work until 7:00, but you can come over to my house after that,” explained Jonas.

Collette agreed reluctantly and another tense silence settled over the trio. Then Jonas breathed in and looked as though he were about to add something more, but Collette rushed to stop him.

“So, Leo do you have an after school job?”

“Yes, actually. I work at Any Witch Way. It is a spiritual supply store, selling books, herbs, candles, incense, jewelry, music, ritual supplies, and so on and so forth.” Leo had definitely perked up at the subject, her eyes twinkling and her face glowing.

“Wow,” said Collette catching on to Leo’s enthusiasm.

“Yeah, it really is something else,” bragged Leo. “You could come visit it sometime if you would like. I could give you a personal tour and you could meet my coworkers. Most of them are really close friends.”

“Where is it?”

“Oh, it is tucked behind Recreational Lanes,” said Leo. “You know the one on 2^nd with the blinking neon bowling ball and pins.”

When lunch was over Collette could still feel the weight of her problems, her mother’s affair, Father Thom’s betrayal (and after all that man had said to her during confession about the proper expression of love), and now Jonas’s moodiness. But all this disappeared when she thought of Leo and her plans for after school. Collette, as soon as she had heard about Any Witch Way, had decided to visit it as soon as possible.

After school she asked Troy to drop her off at the library; it was within walking distance of the bowling lanes and consequently Any Witch Way. It was an arduous journey. The straps of her heavy backpack laden with numerous textbooks dug into her shoulders, and the cold wind nipped at her nose making it turn red and runny. Luckily, Collette had energy to spare having spent all of yesterday in a shocked and slothful state. She only hoped her destination was worth the effort.

Only a few minutes later Collette could see the blinking lights of the bowling alley. Having built herself up into an agitated state, she sped up her pace and was speed walking by the time she rounded the corner of the bowling alley. There it was a small plain-looking white storefront. Over the door was hanging a large sign reading Any Witch Way in curly cursive lettering and the black silhouette of a cat sitting in the crook of a crescent moon.

In front of the store a boy and a girl sat smoking on a barren planter box. They were dressed head to toe in black clothes causing Collette to immediately label them. Goths she thought with a condescending sigh. So that is what this store will be like. However, she was only mildly disappointed because she still hoped to see Leo.

Collette walked quickly and when she touched the doorknob the guy jumped up and looked at Collette. His black hair was cut to medium length and he was wearing black pants, a black leather jacket, and several chains were draped about the outfit. A strange symbol hung from a chain around his neck. Later Collette would learn it was an Egyptian ankh, symbolizing life and protection, but at the moment it looked like some strange perversion of the Christian cross. It was an ensemble that might have left Collette feeling threatened, but the dark colors made him look young, accentuating his smooth, boyish face and highlighting his rounded eyes. The Goth boy threw his cigarette on the ground and rubbed the red spark out with his foot. He turned and said to the girl, “Excuse me – I have to follow her.”

Despite her faint alarm at these words, Collette stepped in the door and he was so close on her back that she could just about feel his breath on her neck. She could certainly smell the lingering tobacco smoke on his breath. But blessed warmth enveloped her and she forgot about her stalker as she tried to take in all that was there.

The store’s inside was as beautiful and fanciful as its outside was plain. It was more than she had hoped for. In wonder she looked up first. The ceiling was a dark blue and painted with yellow stars. Dancing in the corners and along the borders of the ceiling were painted mythical beasts and people. She could make out what looked like a half-horse, half-man figure chasing a scorpion and a golden lion closing in on two sparsely-dressed men holding hands. When someone cleared their throat politely, but pointedly, her attention was drawn back to ground level, where a woman stood. She was wearing a plain earth-toned top and a multi-colored skirt. Long, frizzy hair hung wild and loose around her shoulders. The woman’s figure was on the plumper side of things and she had round thick glasses, which she blinked through like an owl. Collette recognized the pentacle necklace, similar to Leo’s, but this woman’s was larger and carved in wood.

The woman nodded and Collette listened as the boy walked out.

The woman gave a friendly salesperson smile and said, “Merry meet. My name is Megan. Can I help you find something?”

“No, I am just looking right now,” Collette said.

She replied, “I am sure we will have everything you need.”

Collette felt self-conscious and took stock of her appearance. She wondered what she looked like to these people. Her hair mussed by the wind, cheeks chapped and red, and the most embarrassing aspect, her school uniform. Her tame and rather blah outfit must appear odd and out of place in this store, especially when put next to Goth boy or Megan. It could not be helped, so Collette sought to hide herself among the aisles of merchandise and made a beeline for a back corner.

What she found there frightened her. In locked glass display cabinets, ritual daggers with black or jeweled handles lay on deep crimson velvet cushions. Collette’s wide eyes reflected off their wedge-shaped mirror surfaces. Several pairs of her own eyes glittered menacingly back at her. When Collette managed to pull herself away from her own gaze, she looked closer at the knives themselves. She noticed that their edges were blunt, she remembered the Goth boy, who seemed frightening from afar, but upon closer inspection was found to be really quite harmless. With that Collette decided to stop simply reacting to everything she saw and instead to look closer before deciding how she felt about it.

In other display cases were amethyst-encrusted chalices and silver goblets. On the wall beside those was an assortment of pentagrams. There were also statues made from all sort of materials, silver, wood, clay, wax, and even soap. For the most part these figurines had feminine features. A framed piece of embroidery reminded Collette of Bible verses she had seen displayed in such a way, but instead of scripture the forest green thread formed a pagan saying and around the words, “I found God within myself, and I loved her fiercely” were sewn decorative curling vines, bright flowers, and running rabbits. What Collette found most interesting, however, was the rack of bumper stickers for sale. One read “Pagan and Proud,” another “The Goddess Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot!” and one simply read “Blessed Be.”

Having seen all there was to see in the back of the store, Collette made her way back to the front. She passed rows of books. The older and more valuable looking ones were kept along the wall in a deep red mahogany bookshelf engraved with a radiant sunburst motif along the top edge.

Now that Collette felt more at home she was confident enough to talk to the salesclerk.

“Excuse me, Megan, right? Do you know Eleanor St. Clair?”

“Eleanor?” Megan looked confused.

“Uh, Leo?”

“Yeah, I know Leo. Sweet girl. She doesn’t start work for another forty-five minutes,” said Megan. “But I can let her know you stopped by. Are you a friend of hers?”

“Yes.” Collette was torn. Forty-five minutes was too long of a time to browse. She could go read one of the books, but she did not know if Megan would let her stay in the store that long without buying anything. Megan seemed nice, however, so Collette was going to try it.

“Are you a practitioner of the Craft?”

“Err…”

Megan smiled saying, “I guess not.”

This first hint of actual sincerity, and not simply business politeness, gave Collette the courage to say, “But I do have an interest in learning about Wicca.”

“Do you really?” said Megan raising an eyebrow

“Well, yeah.” Collette flushed at Megan’s continued look of skepticism, realizing that she had not been completely sincere and that she had feigned interest. A part of her was afraid. The words Satanism, devil-worship, and sin rang loudly in her mind, like the cawing of circling crows. Then she remembered last night and throwing her crucifix in the trashcan. She had probably already condemned herself in the eyes of God. Having abandoned her old faith in that action, she might as well look in to some new ones. So, she said again this time with more force,

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Well, we have some excellent books here for beginners,” said Megan gliding over to the shelves. Her skirt swished around in a manner that reminded Collette of Leo. Megan pulled off a book with a cover so dark green it looked almost black. Collette tilted her head to make out the title. It read The Craft – A Witch’s Book of Shadows.

Megan sat on the floor, her skirt spilling out around her. Collette sat down beside her.

“Now Ms. – uh, I am sorry I did not catch your name.”

“My name is Collette. Collette Duffy,” she said shifting and trying to get situated on the hard wooden floor. Megan, however, looked comfortable.

“Now, Ms. Duffy, although Dorothy’s book covers the basics rather decently, I have always remembered something a great witch once told me. ‘Megan,’ she said, ‘If you ask three Wiccans to define their beliefs you’ll probably get about four different answers.’ So all I am saying is, do not let anyone tell you what Wicca is. Wicca means something different for each practitioner and it is up to you to decide what it means to you.”

Collette had difficulties understanding this. Although Catholics all practiced their faith in different ways they could all refer back to the Bible when asked about their beliefs.

“I must also give you this warning. The Craft is not for everyone. It is not for people with chips on their shoulders or beefs against Christianity. It’s not for folks who ride high on power trips or step on others to achieve their success. It’s not for bigots, or braggarts, or those too big for their britches. It simply isn’t built this way,” Megan was looking at Collette expectantly, so she nodded her understanding. Even though Collette knew her issues with Christianity had driven her to Wicca that did not mean she was practicing it to spit in the Christian God’s face. Megan opened the book to the first page and Collette read for herself the first paragraph as Megan continued to talk.

The Craft is accepting, generous, and loving. It’s gentle, unobtrusive, and supportive. It’s an ethical way of life that, once embraced, brings immeasurable joy and wonder to everyday living. Simply put, the Craft is a serious religion.

It did not sound like devil-worship thought Collette hopefully.

“Neither is it a role-playing game. It has nothing to do with canned magic, or flying through the air, or snapping lightning from your fingertips.” Now that information Collette had already known, Leo having explained it quite clearly in her argument with Jonas.

Megan flipped a few pages into the book and said, “Despite what I said before there are two very important tenets of Wicca that nearly everyone recognizes.” She pointed at what looked like a poem. “The first and foremost is found in the Wiccan Rede and that rule is: ‘And it harm none, do what you will.’ Adhered to strictly, this rule encompasses a lot of what is covered in Christian ethics.” Collette doubted that. Christian ethics hardly even implied that you should do what you want. However, she did not interrupt

“This rule keeps us mindful that every action we take – every word we say and every thought we think – is similar to ripples on a pond, one following another and spreading outward. Our actions affect the lives of other people; so much so, in fact, that we must take great care not to harm another living soul emotionally, mentally, physically, or on any other level. It’s a pretty tall order.”

This is not what Collette had expected. There were only two rules? How could that be? If she were to follow Wicca then that would mean a lot of thinking and trying to figure out which actions followed such a general statute.

Megan continued, “The second tenet is the Threefold Law. What this means is that every action taken and every deed performed – whether good or bad – is calculated by karma at triple value, then sent back to us.”

Now that seemed a little far-fetched to Collette. Who or what great power was enforcing this law? And why three times? Could it not just as easily be equal or double the value? Despite her confusion Collette continued to listen to Megan. Megan’s soft voice reminded her of Father Thom’s, but most of what Megan was saying made more sense than most of what she had heard from Christianity.

“Witchcraft encompasses three sides of belief: love, creativity, and spirit. Love can soothe the soul, open a door, and make us all one. A witch does his or her best to love all creatures great and small. The foundation of our craft is love. The second aspect is positive creativity. Wiccan belief states that the main purpose of being human falls under the art of creation or how one invests their time. It does not really matter what people do as long as they create in a positive way. Spirit makes up the third side. Witches believe that god – in whatever form – exists, is within us and around us, and is willing to help if only we ask. We often refer to our god as either the Lord or the Lady, because witches see god as both masculine and feminine. Other times, god is simply called spirit. Allah, Jesus, and Buddha are all said to be faces of the masculine side of god.”

“Wait,” Collette said, bringing a halt to Megan’s enthusiastic lecture. “Jesus? Jesus is worshipped by Wiccans?”

“Not exactly,” said Megan. “Many Wiccans see Jesus simply as a wise teacher and prophet. Although some have Jesus or other Christian saints as their own personal deity, we do not believe he is the one, true god; he is only a form of the Lord. Imagine the Lord and Lady as each being a brightly, shining jewel. The lesser deities make up a single facet of this radiant jewel.”

“Or like a giant stained glass window and each god or goddess being a piece of the whole?” said Collette with dawning realization and excitement.

“Yes,” said Megan. “Like Christians some of us also believe in a Triad of Divinity. We worship the triple Goddess. Maiden, Mother, Crone. We also worship her counterpart, the triple God. Horned God, Green Man, Oak King. Your friend, Leo believes strictly in Wicca as a matriarchal religion because Christianity offers the patriarchal counterpart. I have my own opinions on this, but whether you worship the spirit as a dual or singular entity is for you to decide.”

“Well, even if Christianity leans toward focusing on a male God, I think I would worship both the masculine and feminine equally because my religion should be able to stand on its own,” said Collette, offering her opinion on the matter without really thinking about the fact that she was already hypothetically considering Wicca seriously. “You still have not mentioned anything about magic and I thought that was an important part of being a witch.”

“Magick is important, and although some would disagree with me. I think the ethical aspects of Wicca to be the most important part. Anyways, magick, spelled with a k at the end to separate it from stage magic, is defined as the change of any condition by ritual means. It is nothing more than a simple matter of channeling focused energy toward a specific goal. In fact, Christians do it all the time. They pray for someone and they get it. Whether God answers their prayers or not is anybody’s guess, but one thing is for sure – a prayer that brings wants and wishes contains at least four components: intent, focus, concentration, and a hefty dose of strong will. And those are precisely the components necessary for successful results in spellcasting,” Megan kept right on going, now without order, jumping to whatever aspect of Wicca that struck her as important.

“Wicca is an Earth religion, and instead of worshipping within the confines of a church building, we often hold our rituals outdoors. We celebrate the changing seasons and the beauty of the Moon, the Stars, and the Sun. We live in harmony with Nature, and believe that all things – even inanimate objects such as stones – have a life and spirit and purpose equal to own.”

Collette wondered. How could a stone be equal to a person? That was ridiculous, but she liked the idea of being freed from the walls of a church.

“We also believe that we are perfectly capable of handling whatever comes our way, and that we have the tools and the power to change our personal realities; that we can be whomever or whatever we want to be and hold any station in life that appeals to us. This means, of course, that we must be totally accountable for ourselves, the goals we reach for, and the paths that we choose to follow. That being the case, though, we have no one to blame but ourselves when things go awry or get out of hand. It is an enormous amount of responsibility.

We do not believe, however, that it is the will of the God or Goddess when something terrible happens or when things don’t go according to plan. We strive to live in perfect love and perfect trust.

Wiccans value things like playing nice, using good judgment, and knowing when to listen rather than speak. But the most important thing is something your parents constantly impressed upon you day in and day out. It, of course, is good manners. Respect the gods, your Wiccan brothers and sisters, and most importantly respect yourself.

“Oh look at this. I like what Dorothy mention here: ‘To know, to dare, to will, to keep silent; these are the four words of the Magus.’ To know we must free our minds. Only then can we accept the gifts of knowledge and truth. To dare we must have the courage to overcome our own personal ignorance and outdated beliefs. Only then will we gain the personal strength necessary to walk the path of the Craft. To will we must want our goals so badly that we become one with them. This is necessary for our efforts to reach success. Lastly, to keep silent is a twofold matter. First, we must acquire the trait of inner peace and quiet, in order to hear the truth within and the messages of the gods. Secondly, silence is often necessary to protect ourselves and the ways of the Craft from bigoted and narrow minded outsiders.”

It seemed that Megan could have kept going on and on, but then the door opened bringing with it a cold breeze that swirled around the pair on the floor and awakened them from their trance-like exchange of teacher and pupil.

“Geesh, has it already been forty-five minutes?” said Megan. Collette’s legs were asleep and prickled painfully when she stood up, but Megan rose gracefully, rushing to greet the newcomer.

“Leo,” she said, “merry meet.”

Collette walked over more slowly, but said just as warmly, “Hi Leo.”

“Hey, Meg,” said Leo her nose and ears were pink from the cold. “Collette, this is a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I dropped by to see you,” replied Collette. “You know for that tour you promised me.”

“I have been telling her about Wicca.”

“Really?” said Leo. “But I thought you were a straight and narrow by-the-book Catholic.”

Collette shrugged, not knowing what to say.

Megan looked at Collette and said, “People change, and it is not very nice of you to call her ‘narrow.’ Collette’s been very open to everything I have said.” Megan looked down at the book.

“Gosh, we have gone through like half this book already. I guess there is not any reason for you to buy it.”

Collette felt like she had to repay Megan somehow, so she asked what she would recommend for a beginner witch. Megan suggested a couple other books and a light-blue candle for a beginning spell. Collette used up her month’s allowance and bought them all, knowing she would have to hide the purchases from her mother. This thought prompted her to ask, “Leo, how do your parents feel about your being a witch?”

Leo played with the silver pentacle around her neck as she thought about her answer. “My dad, being a college prof and all, is pretty liberal, and when I came out to my mom, who is a Lutheran, she told me something I had never known before. I am only telling you about it now because I think it might let you see things in a different light.

A few years into my parents’ marriage and before I was born, my mother went to Japan to visit an old friend. She was pregnant at the time, but was not due for a few more months. However, while in Japan there was a complication and my mother suffered a miscarriage. There is little acknowledgment in Western culture of miscarriage, no ritual to cleanse the grief. Christianity has traditionally been silent on pregnancy loss – on most matters of pregnancy and childbirth, in fact.

My mother told me how for days after the miscarriage, she walked around in a gray haze, not knowing what to do with her sadness. She soon discovered a fourteenth-century temple called Zozo-ji, where it was common to make offerings to Jizo, the ‘enlightened being’ who watches over miscarried fetuses. After she found this temple, she brought an armful of toys and arranged them at the feet of the Jizo statue that was adorned with a little knitted red baby bonnet. She said a prayer and asked the monk to chant a lotus sutra for her and the fetus. My mother told me that she did not feel any guilt for worshipping a ‘false god’ instead she said she was glad that she had gone there. Glad that she had done something to commemorate the event; she said goodbye. She was grateful to have had the opportunity. This ritual helped her grieve and provided her healing for her brokenness. My mother understood that Christianity was not giving me the spiritual support I needed.”

Collette wished her mother and father would be that understanding.

“The only rule my mother set down for me was that I had to by my own supplies. Since it is my religion and not hers that makes sense. That is why I got the job here, so I could buy an athame and other stuff.”

As Collette walked home she thought over all that she had heard and seen at Any Witch Way. She was grateful for Megan’s warmth and welcome. She admired the thought and effort both Leo and Megan put into their religion. More than anything she wanted to be them. With each step her envy grew. Collette thirsted for their power and their grace. As stifled and coddled as she was by Christianity, Collette envied this religion, which encouraged her to take responsibility and to grow up. She wanted to believe in something that offered her freedom and the chance to grow. “And it harms none, do what you will.” So that is what she would do. She stopped, struck by the power of her realization. There was no point in envying them if she could become like them. And she resolved to do so.

+ Lust +

Collette, numb from the cold, walked in the door of her house. She had come all the way from Any Witch Way, which took a good twenty minutes. Warmth spread over her frozen extremities, a mixed blessing. It restored feeling in her fingers and toes, but it was a painful tingle that took a while to dull into a faint tickling sensation. Her time at the spiritual supply store had also been a mixed blessing, but like the warmth of her home the pain it brought was necessary and would eventually be entirely good. She was filled with a fresh and curious awareness. Drained from concentrating and listening for so long to Megan’s lecture Collette, at the same time, was grounded and steady, as though she had sprouted roots connected to a pulsing and limitless supply of energy.

“All right, sounds good, I’ll meet you tonight at eight.” Collette overheard her mother on the phone. She could hear her giggle like a school girl before adding, “No I won’t be late.”

No, she won’t be late, Collette echoed wryly in her mind. That is when she remembered her own plans for the evening. Wrapped up in her thoughts and entertaining so many new convictions Collette had nearly forgotten about her promised meeting with Jonas. However, this type of absentmindedness was not that uncommon. Collette often forgot about Jonas. Then reality would sneak up on her and she would remember with a shock. Oh yes, I have a boyfriend. How did that happen again? Their relationship never felt quite real for her, like a puddle of mud she had accidentally tripped into. She was ashamed of this, knowing that Jonas was a mere afterthought, a shadow in her mind.

And then there was the fact that she had slept with him less than two weeks ago. That night she was trying so hard not to think about and until now she had succeeded in her denial. But recent events brought that transgression to the forefront of her mind. Collette stomped up the stairs still wearing her winter coat and her snowy shoes. She couldn’t run from it anymore, and she wanted to be somewhere safe and private when reality struck. Once in her lavender bedroom Collette locked the door and slipped the plastic bag containing her recent purchases under her bed. On top her bed the multi-colored stuffed animals welcomed her with open arms and vacant beady-eyed expressions. She sat on the edge of her bed and slumped over putting her head in her hands. The snow on her boots melted and pooled onto the floor. Her hands clenched and pulled at the roots of her hair, as she waited for the tears to come.

But she did not break down into sobs, so instead of losing herself in the gale storm of roiling emotions, Collette was forced to wrestle and sort through them. How had she felt when in the dim light of his bedroom Jonas had taken off her clothes, trailing soft kisses wherever her pale skin was left bare? Exhausted after a life of overanalyzing every action, word, deed, her brain chose the most inopportune moment to shut down, to just give up. Collette knew she had thought nothing, but lost herself in the pleasure and giddy happiness derived from feeling his body press against hers.

Now, she wondered at that. Why had she felt no guilt? After all those religion classes since kindergarten and all those Sunday masses attended ever since she could remember, it all came to naught in that moment Jonas unhooked her bra. As she reached to unbuckle Jonas’s belt there had been no guilt to stop her hands. There was no shame, not even nervousness. Her hands did not tremble as she lifted off his shirt and held onto his waist, while her face was held between his firm hands, his lips on her lips. She followed him without thinking to his bed.

Later, when the deed had been done, Collette picked herself up from his side. Jonas dozed on as she bathed in his shower. Still with the there had been no guilt or feeling of remorse. Again she lost herself in sensation. The water was so warm it burned and Collette staved off thought by focusing on the heated pain on her skin and distracting herself from the aching pain between her legs. When the shower was done, when all traces of sweat and pleasure were washed away, and when Collette was dressed looking down at Jonas’s sleeping form that was when the uncertainty snuck into her consciousness. Bible verses ringing out in a priestly voice pounded her conscience demanding that she feel guilty. But had this deed really distanced her from God? And this question dug at her until it became almost unbearable.

That is when she went to confession. At confession she sought reconciliation and God had offered his complete forgiveness, stretching out his hand to welcome her back to the fold. However, reconciliation would have come at too great a price. He asked her to give up the pleasure she experienced with Jonas. It was selfish she knew, but she did not want to give that up. Her previous regret turned to stubborn rebellion, as she resolved to treasure that night shared with Jonas. This rebellion had been strengthened and armed by all that she had gained in her friendship with Leo.

It was this reflection that Collette realized for the first time that her apostasy (note to self: uh-pos-tuh-see) did not come with the discovery of Father Thom and her mother’s affair. It was a day before when she had deserted her religion and when she refused to feel sorry for her actions.

She did not bother to think of what Jonas felt about the whole affair, brushing off any misgivings with the practical belief that boys were boys – just grateful to get some tail. A new form of guilt filled Collette. She had used Jonas. He had been the outlet for all her pinned up emotions, restrained through the years. “And it harm none.” Perhaps, by not talking to Jonas about it, Collette had harmed him. There had not been many indications, but she recalled the angry set of his mouth and his waspish comments.

She was glad she would meet with him later that night. Someone knocked on her door. With a deep sigh Collette took off her winter jacket and slipped off her boots.

“Collette,” Her mother’s voice snapped, “what’s the meaning of this?”

Collette unlocked the door and opened it to see her mother, hand on hip and face twisted in a peevish scowl.

“Christ! I would expect something like this from Troy, but really,” Mrs. Duffy said pointing at the ground. “Look at this mess.”

Collette looked down the hallway. There were muddy puddles covering the wooden floor leading all the way to her bedroom, effectively pinpointing the culprit.

“No need to freak,” said Collette disgust tinting the tone. “I’ll clean it up.”

Mrs. Duffy simply rolled her eyes and walked away. Collette had expected more than that, perhaps a lecture on respecting your elders or a punishment of some kind. By the time Collette cleaned up the mess and procrastinated on her homework by reading one of the Wicca books, it was time to leave. At seven she drove to Jonas’s house.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Come on in,” said Jonas opening the door, and Collette stepped inside. As he took her coat she made small talk complaining about the cold and asking about work.

He stopped her babble with a kiss. Collette’s heart pounded, but she resisted and pulled back.

“But your mom! She will freak.”

“She is not home,” said Jonas looking away from Collette.

“Your mom did not know I was coming over did she?” Collette asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.”

Collette sighed and told Jonas they needed to talk. He agreed and they sat on his family room couch. On this couch they had passed countless hours basking in each other’s presence while watching old horror movies. It was an effective technique for staving off loneliness, but neither had come to really know the person next to them. Now they had finally reached the point where this was no longer possible.

Collette started by explaining that recent events had changed her. She did not hesitate to say that if Jonas wanted to stay in a relationship with her, she would not be the same girl Jonas had known when he had first asked her out. Jonas countered with the fact that he had never really known her, so it would be like starting over. Before Collette could say more, her stomach growled loudly. Jonas laughed and knowing her poor eating habits offered to make her dinner.

Jonas’s skills as a cook were limited, so it was sandwiches and ramen. As he went about preparing the meal, he talked to Collette. They had never talked about his ethnicity before, but now he went on about how being one of the minorities at St. Eloi affected him. Collette had always known how important school was for Jonas, but she always assumed it was his passion for knowing things that drove him to excel. He admitted that was a part of it, but he also felt driven by a need to prove himself. It was something everyone experienced, yet he had always felt this pressure more than most. He gave in to the pressure and resented that fact. The only thing preventing him from failing on purpose was his love for learning, more specifically his love for reading.

As they ate, Collette shared her own woes, how difficult it was going to be to break away from her old habits of trying to please everyone and for the first time attend to her own needs. Then she talked about Wicca.

“That hocus-pocus hippy stuff?” The tone of Jonas’s voice stung Collette out of her enthused rant about Wicca’s love for the earth. “It is the twenty-first century. Who still believes that crap? Hugging a tree to get recharged or on trying to get power out of a rock? Seriously?”

Collette was hurt by his condescension. He had always treated her like a child, and before she had always ignored his coddling, but she had warned him she was not that girl anymore.

“Yes. Seriously. What is so wrong about that? Tell me what is so wrong about acknowledging and respecting the awesome powers of nature? Why is that silly? An astronomer observes the phases of the moon and the movement of the stars? Why is it different if a Wiccan does the same?”

“Never mind,” said Jonas, “Forget I said anything.”

Jonas did not even bother to argue with her and that bothered Collette all the more.

“I think I should leave,” said Collette standing up, “I have homework to do. Thanks for the food.”

“Wait. Don’t go,” said Jonas standing as well.

“Why?”

“I – I feel like I am just getting to know you,” he said taking her hand. She put her other hand on her cocked hip and gave a sigh showing her limited patience.

“Oh Collette,” he said and then to Collette’s surprise he bent down on one knee. “Oh Collette, my darling, you are the smell before rain, you are the blood in my vein. Never leave me. For I know-”

“Stop,” she said before he could go on much more. “Fine, I will stay a bit longer, but I really do have homework that still needs to get done.”

He stood, laughed, and kissed her.

As Collette spent an hour on Jonas’s couch doing things that did not involve watching movies, Father Thom sat on his couch trying to put the pieces of his life back together. He had discovered his problem and the problem was loneliness. His loneliness and her loneliness finding each other and with their finding came the slaughtering. Although their individual burdens had been killed off there was a mess left by their banishment.

Clara Duffy and Thom Nolan had met innocently enough. It was at a staff meeting where they first forged a small bond. He was relatively new to the dioceses and had proposed a relaxing of the dress code. It was not a radical proposal; the school was cold in the winter and he wanted the kids to be allowed to wear jackets in class. However, he was new and did not know if anyone would support him. Mrs. Duffy had been the first to speak up on his behalf. From then on whenever they met in the faculty lounge they shared smiles and idle chitchat between sips of their coffees. Their conversations about the weather or the kids or some other such mundane topic had somehow led them to friendship.

But that friendship had fallen apart two nights ago when Clara offered to help him finish grading tests. The ticking of the classroom clock had filled the comfortable working silence between them. Then Clara Duffy’s normally lilting voice filled that silence and with a voice made husky with pain she talked to Father Thom about her loneliness, how her husband was over 5,000 miles away; nine time zones between them. Father Thom did not want to talk about God being there for her, so instead he stepped in to offer his comfort. And for the first time shared the story of his love for Nora Casey. After that they both had said little, each feeling ashamed of their outbursts, but also relieved to have found someone to share the pain with.

Later he offered to drive her home. Soft rock played on the radio setting a relaxed mood as Clara rambled on lightheartedly about a book she had just finished reading and enjoying. Something about a woman discovering her royal lineage, but Father Thom was not really listening anymore. Instead he was thinking of the empty apartment he would be going home to. So when he pulled into the driveway beside her dark house, like a true gentleman he got out of the car to open the door for her. She kept talking, as though she was too were reluctant to say goodbye. She kept going on and on her voice becoming more and more strained until finally she stopped and almost stumbled forward as though her words had been the only force keeping her standing. He leaned in, and looking into her blue eyes frozen into sapphire by the twilight, he kissed her. The kiss was soft and chaste, but she pulled her body against his and his world lit up.

Snow was seeping past the thin barrier offered by his sneakers. The cold wet sensation on his toes snapped him out of it and he stepped back from Clara. He nearly apologized, but something stopped him from doing so. Instead, he said goodnight and drove off into the night.

The next day after school she had come to his office. She knew he would be working there. Clara Duffy asked for something from him that he had never given to another woman. They went to the Starlite Motel on 3^rd and stayed there until the sun went down. At 9:00 she said she needed to go home.

Last night Father Thom did not sleep and while teaching his classes he had been so wracked with guilt that a few of his students had stopped to ask if he was feeling well. His guilt stemmed from breaking his vows of priesthood and from committing adultery, but the greatest source of his shame rest in the knowledge that he had not made love to Clara, rather he had made love to the memory of Nora. Now he sat on his couch in his empty living room steeling himself for something he knew had to be done. He was just so afraid to be alone.

He saw the headlights shoot across the wall, as Mrs. Duffy pulled into his driveway.

+ Greed & Gluttony +

The warm steam rising from the mug cleared her sinuses. Collette sat in Leo’s kitchen sipping tea and watching her friend bake cookies. The kitchen was a large one, plenty of space to spin about in. But Collette could see that it was unorganized. All sorts of cooking supplies, knives, pots, spices, ladles were stowed about in random places. For example a majority of the measuring cups were in a drawer near the sink, but a couple of them were stowed in a cabinet beside the oven. Collette guessed that only Leo and whoever else had devised the insane storage system would be able to work in this kitchen without pulling out their hair in frustration.

“Leo, how does one become a witch?” Collette asked in a nasally tone and then sniffled loudly. She had suffered from a head cold for the past couple days now. Leo had given her the mint tea telling her that mint was good for healing illness, and it was working pretty well for now, but Collette knew it would only bring temporary relief.

“Haven’t you read any of those books you bought?” Leo poured chocolate chips in to the batter and then popped a couple extra in to her mouth.

“I looked at that one, the one with all the different spells, but it did not say how one gets to be a witch? In Christianity you are baptized when you are a baby and then you go through confirmation later on. Does Wicca have anything like that?”

“You should have looked at the other one, the blue one with the rainbow colored pentacle,” said Leo now stirring the chips in to the batter with a large spatula. “All right, it goes like this some traditions dictate that you can not become a witch until you are properly initiated and that you can only be initiated after you have studied for a year and a day.”

“Huh…a year and a day?” Collette wanted to ask what the extra day was for, but instead asked, “What about other traditions?”

“Well, a few Wiccans say that initiation is unnecessary and that you become a witch as soon as you start spell crafting.”

“Well, I’ll go with that one then,” said Collette, “that sounds easier.”

At this Leo stopped stirring. Her honey colored eyes lost their warmth and in utmost seriousness she said, “It does not pay to be too hasty. Even though I personally do not think much of standardizing any requirements for becoming a witch – I was not even initiated myself – I do think the year and a day of study is important, no vital, to casting spells.”

“Why?” breathed Collette. Leo was putting large dollops of cookie batter on a silver cooking pan.

“Collette, spells should never be treated lightly. Magick is very real and can come back to harm you. When you cast a spell you summon powerful forces, not all of those energies are good. Of course Wiccans do not believe in an absolute being of evil, like Satan, but we do recognize that there are wicked spirits out there, and that it is necessary to exercise caution whenever you open yourself up to them. This happens when you become a witch and start practicing spells; spiritual entities forces will be drawn to your enhanced aurora, which is part of the reason why I wear a pentacle. It protects me from any negative forces. If you study you will know how to protect yourself from unwanted spirits. Terrible things have happened to inexperienced and bumbling witches, who are to lazy to study and do not follow the proper steps in spell casting.”

“Terrible things? Like what?” Collette asked. She was a tad frightened, but she also drawn to something so dark and mysterious. It was so different than fluffy Christianity.

Bending over to put the pan in the already heated oven, Leo sighed, “I do not really want to get into it, and even talking too much about it can bring bad luck. But a girl once came to Megan looking for help. This girl was being haunted by voices and visions. She had been trying to channel energy through one of her friends without proper shielding when both of them felt a flutter of unprotected power and then felt like there was a presence watching them. They fled house and thought they had escaped it. Anyways, the short and long of it is this girl and her friend were still being shadowed by this unwanted spirit. Megan helped them, but if they had not gone for help things could have gotten real bad.”

Collette did not exactly brush off this warning, but she did change the subject asking Leo what it meant to be a kitchen witch. From that topic Leo launched off in to a spirited lecture about the power of different types of herbs. She even opened up some cabinets to pull out rosemary, cinnamon, and thyme. She also talked about the purifying qualities of salt.

The timer dinged and Leo pulled out the chocolate chip cookies. Collette could not smell them that well with her stuffed up nose, but she still relished biting in to the sweet gooey morsel. Leo and Collette proceeded to gorge themselves on the cookies.

The next day Collette made a trip to Any Witch Way. This time she drove instead of walked there, but she tried to be careful because she was tired. The previous night, after finishing up the cookies at Leo’s house, Collette had finished reading through all of her books on Wicca, staying up past four in the morning to do so. She told herself it was because she was spurred on by Leo’s speech about the magickal properties of herbs, but if she had been honest with herself, she would have admitted that it was because of Leo’s warning. The vague story had been scary, but that had only whet Collette’s appetite. It had made everything seem all the more real.

The Goth boy was not in front of the store this time and when Collette opened the door a bell rang heralding her entrance. She looked up at it and frowned in surprise.

“Oh do not mind that,” said Megan. “We just had that installed. Is there something I can help you with Ms. Duffy?”

Collette – happy to be remembered – smiled at Megan. The friendly store owner’s twinkling green eyes reminded Collette of Turnip’s cat eyes. Collette explained that she wanted to perform a spell on the next full moon, which was in a few days.

“Is there any reason for this sudden interest in Wicca?” asked Megan.

Collette tried to explain, “Well, at first it was just because Christianity was not working for me anymore, but that alone would not have been enough to draw me to Wicca. It is just that this stuff is so much more real, more tangible. It is real proof that the supernatural exists.”

Megan chuckled, “But Collette there is no such thing as the supernatural. Nothing supernatural can exist. We may not understand all the natural laws under which the universe operates, but all things, living and nonliving, are governed by them. A cat will not grow wings, winter will not follow spring, immortality cannot be reached via alchemy, a tree cannot be a maple one summer and become a sycamore the next, and gravity will always hold us in its grip. These are the natural laws. Logically, these natural laws must include the laws governing magickal operations.”

Collette pretended to listen, but was tuning out most of this speech. When Megan finished Collette nodded to show she understood and then went about picking out her supplies. She splurged and bought a wand, a chalice, an athame, a pentacle, some basic herbs, and a couple more candles. While Megan was ringing up the merchandise she tried again to get through to Collette, “Wicca is not about material items, like these; they are tools to aid, but in the big picture are really unnecessary. That is what separates us from so many other religions. ‘If you take the Christian Bible and put it out in the wind and the rain, soon the paper on which the words are printed will disintegrate and the words will be gone. Our bible IS the wind and the rain,’ said one particular wise woman.”

Collette remained silent.

“Against my better judgment I will sell you these things, but Ms. Duffy, please be careful and wait to know what you are doing before you do it,” Megan said as Collette sailed out the door.

When she got home Megan’s words of caution would not stop ringing in her head, and whenever she tried to pull out one of her new items her stomach would clench up. Frustrated Collette called up Jonas and went to hang out with him instead.

+ Vanity +

In the mirror was a goddess. Black tresses spilled and wound itself around smooth luminescent skin. Icy blue irises surrounded enlarged pupils drinking in the sight with evident pleasure. They were striking eyes shrouded by long, smoky lashes and framed by darkly arching brows. The curving of shapely arms and strong legs stood out from the dim background. A slender hand rose and starting at the neck trailed down the body. Traveling lightly over the swell of a breast and across the soft, flat plain of her stomach, the pilgrim came to rest in the crux of the legs. The corners of the mouth curled and stretched fleshy pink lips in to a sprightly smile.

Collette stood naked in her bedroom, examining herself in the mirror. She had always been too modest before to look that closely, but now she was reveling in its beauty. And in its power.

She remembered the first time she aroused Jonas. It had been over a month ago. They had been watching North by Northwest. About midway through the movie Eve Kendall protested that she could take care of herself saying, “I’m a big girl.” And Roger Thornhill (a.k.a. heartthrob Cary Grant) replied flirtatiously, “Yeah, and in all the right places, too.” Collette had laughed aloud and leaned against Jonas. Later, when she pulled herself off of him she noticed the bulge in his pants. Did she really have that much power over men?

Then she remembered how Jonas had treated her like a child. She looked at herself again in the mirror. Large doe like eyes and her skin as smooth as a child’s, no scars or blemishes. She frowned; she was no longer a child and should not have the skin of a child. She dressed herself and picked up the phone to call Leo.

“Hey.”

“Collette?” Leo’s tinny voice carried through the phone.

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen. Can you do anything tonight?”

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” which was not true Collette already had something in mind, but was too afraid to just come out and say it. “Well, I want to practice Wicca and maybe cast my first spell, but I want to do something significant that will mark the beginning of my journey. Something radical. Not like drinking sow’s blood or getting naked and swearing to the devil or anything creepy like that. I just want…hell, I don’t know.”

Leo was silent and Collette pretended to be letting ideas swirl about, while hum contemplatively. Then she faked a eureka-like gasp as though, she had just struck gold.

“Wait, I’ve got it. Meet me at Skinsignia.”

“The tattoo place?”

“Yep.”

“All right,” said Leo, but she sounded hesitant.

Skinsignia was the nicest tattoo parlor in town. It was clean; the staff was friendly, albeit appropriately devious looking. Unfortunately, they also abided the law and refused to give Collette and Leo tattoos. They walked outside, looking dejected.

Leo scuffed her shoe on the pavement before saying reluctantly, “If you really want to get a tattoo I know a place that is a few miles out of town that might be willing to bend the rules.”

So, Collette followed Leo to a slummy shack that was a few miles off the road. It was situated in the middle of the woods. A small sign above the door read Felony Tattoos.

“Leo, what is this place?” said Collette stepping out of her car.

“Heh, well it comes with the highest recommendations,” said Leo laughing nervously. “Do you remember that guy at Any Witch Way, who shadowed you in to the store? This is his second job.”

They walked in together and it took a while for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.

The Goth boy walked out a back room and exclaimed, “Leo! It is about time you made it down here. What took you so long? And look you brought a friend. Hey, you look sort a familiar.”

“Hi Derek, this is Collette. She was the girl who came Any Witch Way the other day. Actually, I would never have gotten the nerve to get a tattoo, but since Collette said she wanted to I decided if she can do it I can do it. Sort of a macho thing, I guess.”

Collette felt shy and did not say much to Derek, as Leo got a small black cat tattooed onto her ankle. When it came to her turn, Collette did not know what she wanted and felt foolish because this had been her idea in the first place. She explained to Derek that she wanted something to mark her new life as a witch. He went on to explain different magickal symbols.

She was impressed with the extent of his knowledge. Derek explained the pentacle, as being the most recognizable symbol of Wicca, representing the integration of both body and spirit. He pulled off his necklace and talked about the Egyptian ankh, expressing that his interest was a result of its direct tie to the afterlife, as well as its vampiric nuances in popular culture. Collette did not show interest in magickal runes or Egyptian symbols. Derek was running out of ideas, but then Leo mentioned Celtic knots and Collette was hooked. Despite of or perhaps because of its Christian connotations she choose the triquetra, a series of three interlocking vesica pisces.

Derek explained that many Wiccans and Neopagans believes the triquetra symbolizes the triple aspects of the Lady (maid, mother, and crone). Each of the three represents a vesica pisces or a fish-shaped oval, which was derived from an early symbol of Venus, one representing female generative organs- making the triquetra an appropriate symbol for a goddess revival. The triquetra is also considered to represent the mind, body, and soul, as well as the three domains of earth, sea, and sky.

Collette wanted the tattoo drawn between her shoulder blades. So she pealed off her shirt, surprising even herself with her boldness and lack of modesty. She lay on her back tensed and ready for the pain. Derek traced on the design and then pointed out the mirrors from which she could watch if she so wished.

The needle felt was a hot scratch, like cat claws were repeatedly scouring her skin. She was tempted to turn away, so she would not be able to see the needle and Derek wiping away the blood. Instead, she forced herself to watch her chosen rite of passage and bore the pain grimly. Watching her pure skin being marked with the ancient symbol, Collette felt as though she were being infused with its powers. She was one with the goddess, no she was the goddess, and she was powerful.

+ Wrath +

The day after Collette got her tattoo the child of morning, bloody-fingered dawn was there to greet the day. The sun was a bold fuming crimson. Red sky at morning, sailor takes warning thought Collette. Most of the snow had melted from the ground and that which remained was dirty and sullied. It looked so desperate in the harsh rays of the morning sun. Collette felt tense and unsettled when she woke up that morning – a definite case of waking on the wrong side of the bed. In fact she had slept differently; she had turned to sleep on her stomach because her the tattoo on her back burned, but the pain was no worse than the sunburns she got in the summer.

Collette picked up her polo shirt that she would wear to school, but before putting it on she went to inspect the tattoo in the mirror. The angry redness that had been there last night had mostly disappeared. Collette smiled knowing that although she would sit quietly and obediently in class she would be secretly rebelling. She loved how the tat looked nestled between her shoulder blades.

“Collette Abigail Duffy!”

Collette twirled around and saw her mother in the doorway of her room. She quickly yanked the shirt over her head. Although it was too late, perhaps concealing the offending display from her mother’s sight would mollify her and alleviate the rain of wrath that was to come.

“What is that? What did you do?”

“I – I…” Collette did not know what to say. The answers were obvious. It was a tattoo. She got a tattoo.

“What were you thinking? Were you thinking?”

Collette stood there. She was tempted to look down at her feet in shame, but forced herself to meet her mother’s eyes.

“This is something I wanted.”

“Something you wanted? You are not old enough to know what you want! And you are obviously not mature enough to decide something like this on your own. Where did you get your that thing? For Christ’s sake, Collette, you are only seventeen. Do you realize that thing will be there for the rest of your life?”

“Yes mother, I do realize that tattoos are permanent. That is why I got one.”

Her mother stared at her in disbelief. Collette had never spoken to her mother, like that before. They had never had a serious argument before. Temper tantrums when Collette was younger had been the extent of their fighting. But Mrs. Duffy’s outrage could not be silenced for long.

“God,” said Mrs. Duffy. Collette looked at her mother. She looked worn and grasped her head with one hand, as though suffering with a migraine. “I can not deal with this right now. It is too early in the goddamn morning to deal with this. Later, we will be having a long talk about showing the proper respect for this gift God has given you.”

“Gift?”

“Your body, Collette, your body. Your body is a temple. You have to show more reverence for it, instead of defiling it with – with unholy marks. Also you will be telling me who was stupid enough to give a seventeen year old a tattoo with out parental consent. I also hope for your own sake that your attitude is more respectful by then. ”

At this abuse Collette was tempted to storm out of the room, stomping past her mother, but she was not going to act like that. She was bigger than that. Remembering the reflection of power she had seen in the mirror last night, she glided past her mother with out a glance. However, Collette was radiating with cold fury. It was all Mrs. Duffy could do not to shiver; even so, she stepped away from this daughter that had suddenly become a stranger.

As Collette walked down the stairs she was a paragon of serenity. She thought about her situation with as much calm as she could muster. She planned to deal with her mother in as evenhanded a manner as possible, taking the upper hand by being the one with the cool head. She would not demean herself by allowing things to degenerate to a screaming match. And most importantly: even if her mother took on the role of Grand Inquisitor, Collette had no intention of ratting out Derek

She sat at the kitchen table and said good morning to her brother. Collette finished a bowl of cereal and wondered why her mother had not come down stair yet. She was drinking orange juice when a tight grip clamped around her shoulder. A thumb jabbed in to her new tattoo and a searing pain flared up around it. Spluttering and coughing up orange juice Collette turned to face her mother.

“Fuck,” shrieked Collette. “fuck that hurt.”

“What the deuce? Mom, what is going on?” asked Troy emerging from his morning stupor.

“Stay out of it Troy,” said Collette. Her mother was deadly calm.

“Mom?” Troy tried again.

“Troy, for now this is something between me and your sister. I will talk to you when the matter has been resolved.”

Resolved in a way you, mother, will probably not like, added Collette silently.

“Collette, I threw away that crap that was under your bed. After school you will come down to my room. Right now I am so disappointed in you. I… I just do not know what to say. I do not want to hear a word from you.”

Collette’s vision blurred with rage. Her mother had thrown away her Wicca stuff. She could not decide which she was angrier about her mother invading her privacy and searching her room or her mother’s stupidity and cruelty in throwing out her most precious belongings. How could her mother condemn something so important to Collette? What a bitch.

“Oh, but isn’t that the problem, mother?” Collette bit out the words, the dark sarcasm lurking beneath. “You never want to hear me. I am just a little doll that fits so perfectly in our bloody perfect life. Look at Collette. Isn’t she smart? Isn’t she beautiful? Yes, she is on the honor roll. And of course she has a Catholic boyfriend. God forbid, mother, that I do something to disappoint you. Wake up. I do not want to try and please everybody. I am not that girl anymore.” Collette did not bother to add and neither are you.

+ Pride +

…before the fall…

Collette did not pay attention in school and did not listen when Leo and Father Thom got in to another argument, although their arguments were becoming more and more like friendly debates. Collette simply shrugged off Jonas’s arm when he draped it possessively around her shoulders. She told him she was not feeling well and did not want to get him sick as well. The day passed as a blur. That night was the full moon and Collette had decided to perform her first spell, despite the morning’s altercation with her mother.

When school was over Collette did not go to see her mother as she had promised. She walked out the doors of her school and in to the cool air. Along back allies and in to neighborhoods, she wandered around the various parts of town for almost an hour, pride in who she was building with every step. She had refused to give in to her closed and narrow minded mother. With the cool air brushing against her cheek, teasing the locks of her hair, and then rustling the branches of a slender birch, Collette felt at one with the world around her. Everything felt so magickal. All that was needed to enhance the moment was a fresh pure snowfall to cover the black buildings, the ugly streets, and the old polluted traces of snow. Collette wished for it to be so.

And then the smell of approaching snow tinkled her senses. She looked up at the sky and watched the first flake descend from the heavens. It was as though she had summoned them. Snow started to fall thick and fast. The side walk Collette was walking on iced over and became dangerously slick. But she was unafraid and strode on confident in her powers. She walked until shades of twilight frosted her world. It was winter and the days were short, so it did not take long for the day to slip in to the pale crystal blue. The snow reflected the azure sky.

She maintained a steady pace, but when Collette turned the corner she slipped and fell. Her knees slammed on to the ice and her palms scrapped the rough sidewalk. On all fours she rested panting, trying to recover not from the pain of the fall, but from the sudden shock and fright. When Collette finally rose, she stumbled over to a bench. Leaning her head back and opening her mouth she swallowed the falling flakes. Before she had not been cold, but her fall had stretched her tattoo and it burned. This small warmth was enough of a contrast to awaken Collette to the cold around her. Chilled, she started to tremble, as church bells all over the city began to ring. A single bell brings a soothing resonant sound, but when all the bells in the downtown area began to ring at once it created a jarring and overwhelming cacophony.

Collette’s eye lashes and cheeks were damp, not from tears; the falling snow had melted. The ring of her cell phone first joined the bells and then outlasted their humming echoes. It was her mother. Although tempted to ignore it, Collette was urged by some otherworldly force to answer.

“Mom?”

“Collette,” Mrs. Duffy was strained almost to the breaking point.

“Mom? Are you all right? What is the matter?” Collette was gripped by an irrational fear.

“Troy, Collette, it is Troy,” and then all that followed were sobs.

“Mom? Mom! What? Is Troy all right? Mom? Oh God, Mom, answer me!”

“Oh, C-Collette he is hurt. Troy is hurt pretty bad. He was driving home and – and the roads were slick. We are at the hospital. Please get here as fast as you can.” Sobbing was all that carried across the airwaves.

Collette was frantic to stop it. “It is okay, Mom. It is okay. It is okay.” She kept repeating this phrase, even though she knew it was not okay. Nothing was okay. Her world was shattered, and it remained to be seen whether or not it could be put back together again.

She ran. The hospital was seven blocks away and she ran all the way there with out a care for the ice. As she ran, all her sins were burnt away until nothing remained but concern for her family.

(Author’s Note: There is more to come. Here is a brief summary: Collette’s brother was in a serious car accident and is now in intensive care, bordering on life and death. After several hours at the hospital, Collette returns home to feed Turnip and stays to perform a Wicca healing spell for Troy. Her mother walks in interrupting her daughter, and the two of them hash some stuff out. The next day Collette’s brother is stabilized. It has been a month since Collette’s last confession, so she heads to confession, where she confronts Father Thom. Both come to learn something new about the importance of faith, friends, and family. Yay!)