morgan10

Morgans BOS

Poor Dagda is still clomping around the house in his kitty cast. He has another week before it can come off. In the meantime he keeps giving me baleful stares, as if it were my fault that he ran in front of that car.
   Since Hunter dropped the bomb about Sky’s lead on hi parents, I’ve been waiting for him to say “Today’s the day –I’m off.” But he hasn’t yet. Hunter. He makes me crazy; he keeps me sane. He seems so –English sometimes, kind of distant and reserved, but then he’ll look at me, and his eyes see right through to my soul, and I go all shivery and want to kiss him. He makes me feel safe, and at the same time he makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. Does love always feel like this?

Goddess, I feel so stupid. Stupid and childish and mad and guilty about not being able to go to Canada with Hunter. Why am I only seventeen? After what I’ve been through in the last five months, you’d think I would be at least twenty-three by now. I can’t stand being my age. I want to live in my own place, make all my own decisions, study the craft as much and as openly as I’d like. I want to be an adult. I should be an adult. Until I discovered Wicca, I’d always assumed I’d finish high school, go to college, and get a job that was incredibly satisfying, fun, creative, and that paid a ton of money.
   Now the whole rest of my life seems up in the air. Eoife wants to me go to Scotland to study with some important teachers. I want to be with Hunter. My parents expect me to go to college. What for? I have to take the SAT’s this spring, have to start collecting college brochures. Suddenly everything seems so pointless.
   Oh, Hunter, how long will you be gone?
-Morgan

I can’t believe Hunter is leaving tomorrow. I feel a sense of dread when I think about him being gone. I tried to scry last night but really didn’t pick up on anything except images of the woods. Frustrating.
Now, on to the main thing. I’ve read in Maeve’s Book of Shadows that blood witches can do spells to either get pregnant or not get pregnant. I went yesterday to Practical Magick and I tried to find a spell, but I couldn’t and was too embarrassed to ask Alyce. So this afternoon after school, I drove over to Norton, to the Planned Parenthood office there, and got a three-month supply of the Pill and a prescription to fill if I need to. I parked down the street (so original) and crept up the block to the building, which of course had humongous letters on the side screaming Planned Parenthood! Catholic teenagers having premarital sex against their parents’ wishes, step right up! Goddess, by the time I got inside the building, I was shaking with mortification.
    If only I were Bree! Bree has had her own gynecologist and suavely went on the pill when she was fifteen. The whole thing only underlines how immature I am. Yet I do absolutely feel ready to go to bed with Hunter. I mean, I’m dying to. I’ve been wanting to, but things just haven’t worked out. But tonight is going to be the night –I feel it.
    I came home and took the first pill as instructed. We’ll need to use a condom, too, because the pill doesn’t kick in for a month, and even though I trust Hunter, I’d rather be safe then sorry.
   I can’t believe I thought about doing this with Cal. I still feel incredibly sad when I think about him –sad that he’s dead, that Selene destroyed his life, that I had anything to do with it. But I’m so glad I’m not with him and didn’t go to bed with him. What I feel for Hunter is so different than what I felt for Cal. I love Hunter truly and deeply; I trust and admire and respect him. I feel sure that he loves me, that he will take care of me and not hurt me, and that he respects me as a person and doesn’t want to remake me into what he thinks would be a perfect girlfriend. I feel comfortable with him; I feel safe. I trust him.
     And physically, oh Goddess, he makes me crazy. So tonight’s the night. Tonight I am going to quit being a kid, a little girl. By tomorrow morning, I’ll be a woman.
    -Morgan

This morning I woke up, and yes, Hunter was still gone. My heart went thunk, and I thought of the days stretching before me without him, no Hunter to talk to or see or hold. Dagda and I were pondering this bleak reality then Mom tapped on my door and asked if I was going to church with them. Spontaneously I said yes, knowing that services would take up about two hours of Hunterless time and maybe distract me for a while. So I showered and dressed and went downstairs and got sent back upstairs by my parents because I looked like a schlub. I borrowed a dress from Mary K. that fortunately is too long for her.
   It started when we stepped outside. At first I thought I was imagining things –it didn’t make sense. But then I thought, Oh, Goddess, and realized that Hunter must have crafted a spell before he left town yesterday. It was beautiful magick. I had no idea how he had done it, but I knew that he had, and I almost started crying. It was almost everywhere I looked, all morning: in the shapes of trees branches, in the plume of smoke from Dad’s car’s exhaust, in the curve of Mom’s scarf as it lay over her shoulder. Somehow Hunter had woven letters and symbols and runes into almost everything I saw: crossed branches made an H, for Hunter. A crooked line of leaves in the street made an M, for Morgan. I saw the rune Ken, for fire and passion, and blushed, remembering Friday night. My heart lightened when I saw Geofu: One of it’s uses is for strengthening relationships. And in the line of pale gray clouds floating above us I saw Peorth: hidden things revealed and also female sexuality. Oh, Goddess, I love him so much.
    -Morgan

I haven’t heard a thing from Hunter, besides his phone message on Tuesday. (Why did he call while I was at school? Was he trying to not talk to me?) I’m starting to get worried. Either he’s run into trouble and hasn’t been able to contact anyone, or he’s having a great time, doesn’t want to come home, and hasn’t been able to contact anyone. Either way, I’m scared.
    I finally sent him a witch message last night, but I have no idea whether it reached him since I haven’t heard anything back. It’s getting harder and harder for me to concentrate on the rest of my life. I think about Hunter all the time. I thing about last Friday night, how close we came, and wonder if we’ll ever finally go all the way.
    I went to Bethany’s apartment yesterday after school. I’m comfortable with her. We talked some about healing herbs. I told her the research I had done on–line, and she lent me one of her own books: A Healer’s Herb Companion. I can’t wait to get into it.
Bethany asked me about my plans for this year’s garden, and I admitted I hadn’t gotten far with them. She told me that she has a plot in the Ninth Street Community garden, two blocks from her apartment. Without being pushy or making me feel guilty, she helped me think about mine a little more, and now I’m excited all over again about my first one.
    Right now, though, I would give anything to hear the phone ring. Hunter, where are you? What are you doing? Are you coming back to me?
   -Morgan

Today is Saturday, but I feel so incredibly bizarre that I need to come up with a whole new name for this day. “Saturday” doesn’t cover it.
   Last night, to take my mind off things, I agreed to go ice skating with Mary K, Aunt Eileen, and Paula at the big outdoor rink outside of Taunton. I haven’t seen Eileen and Paula in ages –I’ve been busy saving my grades, and they’ve been fixing up their new house.
   It was one of the last times we could go skating –spring is coming, and soon they won’t be able to maintain the outdoor ice. I felt a like a little kid, lacing up my skates. Mary K. brought a caramel apple. Eileen and Paula were happy and lighthearted, and all four of us were being incredibly silly and goofy. I felt happy, and I didn’t think about Hunter more than about a thousand times, so that was good.
   Then Paula was zipping along backward when she lost her balance and went down hard. The back of her head slammed against the ice with a crack so loud, it sounded like a branch breaking. Immediately Eileen and I were there, and Mary K rushed up a few seconds later. I watched in horror as a spreading, lacy design of blood seeped across the ice.
    A little crowd had gathered around, peering over our shoulders, trying to see what was happening, and Aunt Eileen rose on her knees and shooed them back. I could tell she was starting to freak out, so I took hold of one of her shoulders and told her to go call 911.
   Her eyes took a second to focus on mine, then she nodded, got shakily to her feet, and skated carefully to the side of the rink.
   Mary K was trying not to cry and failing. She asked me if Paula was going to be okay. I told her I didn’t know and gritted my teeth at the amount of blood I was seeing. Paula’s eyes fluttered open once, and I took her hand, patting it and calling her name. She didn’t respond and closed her eyes again. I had seen that one of her pupils was tiny, like a pencil point, and one was wide open, making her iris look black. I didn’t know what that meant, but I had watched TV often to know it was bad. Crap, I thought. Double Crap.
   I stroked Paula’s cheek, cool beneath my hand. My hands felt so warm, even without gloves. My hands…a couple of weeks ago, Alisa Sota had been very ill. I had touched her, and all hell had broken loose. Did I dare try to touch Paula now? The situation with Alisa had been really weird, way different from this one. But what if I made Paula worse?
Cautiously I traced my fingers over Paula’s hair, now cold and wet. I hoped no one was paying attention to what I was doing. Beneath my fingers, I felt Paula’s life force pulsing unsteadily, becoming overwhelmed by a cascading blood of injuries it couldn’t recover from.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. It took me a moment to orient myself, to feel my consciousness blend with Paula’s. But then I was at home in her body, and I could tell what was wrong. There was bleeding inside Paula’s skull. The blood on the ice was from her skin being split, there was also bleeding inside her skull, and it was pooling at the back of her head. It was compressing her brain, which had no where to go. Her brain was swelling dangerously, pressing against her unmovable skull, and it was starting to shut down. Paula was going to die before the ambulance got here.
My eyes flew open at this knowledge. Eileen was white-faced, crying, trying to be brave. I saw Mary K stroking Eileen’s arm and weeping.
Very slowly and quietly, hoping no one would stop me, I closed my eyes again and rested my fingers lightly beneath Paula’s head. In moments I had sunk into a deep meditation, had sent my senses into Paul again. Now I could see all the damage. Without having to search for them, ancient words came into my mind. It was a spell from Alyce, I realized. Silently I repeated them as they floated toward me, hearing their powerful, singsong melody. I pictured the pooled blood dissipating, seeping away; I thought about gently opening the collapsed veins, branching off smaller and smaller, infinitely delicate and perfect and beautiful.
As Paula’s systems steadied –her breathing more even, her heart pumping more strongly, her brain returning to its preaccident state –I felt a wave of exhilaration that almost took my breath away. This was beautiful magick, perfect in its intent, powerful in its form, and gracefully expressed by the ancient voices through me. There was nothing more wonderful, more satisfying, more joyful, and I felt my heart lighten and a smile come to my face.
Then Paula’s eyes fluttered open, and my happiness increased. I sat back on my heels, exhausted, and glanced at my watch. My hand was covered with blood; I wiped it hastily on my jeans. I had done everything in three minutes. Three crucial minutes that meant the difference between life and death for someone I cared about. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t even take it in.
The ambulance came almost ten minutes later. Paramedics raced out unto the ice, stabilized Paula’s neck and head, then moved her carefully to a stretcher. Aunt Eileen went with the stretcher, promising to call us later with news. I said I’d take her car back to my mom’s house, and she could come get it later. She tossed me the keys and then ran to catch up.
After the flashing red lights had disappeared and the crowd of anxious bystanders had drifted away, Mary K. and I got stiffly to our feet. We were chilled through and bought some hot chocolate from the stand, then walked back to Aunt Eileen’s car.
As I unlocked the door, I told Mary K. I thought Paula was going to be all right. She had stopped crying but still looked very upset. She got into the passenger seat without saying anything, and I looked over at her before I started the engine.
Mary K.’s large brown eyes met mine and she asked me what I had done. I looked out the windshield into the salt stained street –winter was ending, and it seemed like I was seeing the bare ground, bare trees, bare sidewalks for the first time. I thought of Alisa and her brief illness, how Mary K. still seemed to think I’d healed her.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Nothing,” I whispered.
        –Morgan