THE HOUSE INSIDE ME

by Camelia Wheatley

  “Your ancestors performed this exact ceremony years and years ago,” Maw Sue said, her voice dark and mysterious like a gypsy. She stared deeply into our eyes with her gaze of gray. Hanging on her wrist were two necklaces made from owl bones and feathers wrapped with twine, and clinging to each one was an owl talon.

  “I have been waiting for this moment for years, girls, I just didn’t know when it was coming. But today is the chosen day. You see, girls… Owls have inner light.” Her words seemed to disperse glitter fragments when they left her lips. “This is why they travel in the dark with the unknown. When others are blind and helpless and lost, the owl has wisdom in its eyes because the eyes are the inner light of its soul. Never leave a wounded owl to its own death. It will suffer needlessly. Tradition requires a sacrifice. The sacrifice allows the owl to pass its inner light of vision onto others. Today is a special day. From this moment onward, each of you will have the capacity to find your way in this life, no matter how dark it gets, no matter if you are lost, are without hope—look for your inner light. It is your wisdom. It is your heritage. The blood you spill tonight will mix with the blood of your ancestors who also shared the inner light. My ancestors did it, I did it and now you shall do it. I will place a symbol of seven on your palm, like mine,” she said, holding out her palm with the seven scars. “Seven is symbolic of the ancient tribe. The divine wholeness of your inner light.”

  There was a mystery in the atmosphere. The necklaces, the owl carcass, the fiery flames, Maw Sue’s words about blood and her strange seven scar. I was scared but even so, something inside me begged for it, as if it was meant for me. Meg brushed against me and we looked at each other. I gave her the big sister look of assurance it would be okay.

  “I’ll go first,” I said, holding out my arm.

  “This will hurt a little, girls, but only for a minute and then I’ll spread some healing salve on it and the pain will stop right away, I promise. Okay?” Meg and I looked at each other and nodded. Every scratch, cut, insect bite or scrape we ever got had seen salve and it did take the pain away. We called it her magic goo.

  “I am so excited, girls. You are about to be joined with the Seventh Tribe. A spirit world of seven that few people ever experience.” Her voice was raspy and she had a dip of snuff in her cheek but her voice held a sense of expectation to it I yearned for. I held out my palm and she wiped a thin clear salve across it. It had a strong smell like alcohol. She bent down by the fire and placed the tip of the knife inside the owl’s eye bone while the flames licked it. She pulled it out and waved her arm like a flapping bird with one wing. I tried not to pant but I couldn’t control my breath because my heart was beating so fast. Meg was nudged up so close to me she was nearly attached to my side. I put on a brave face as Maw Sue said some strange words and placed the knife tip on my palm and cut it into the shape of a seven. It stung and hurt a bit but not for long. The blood rushed out. I felt faint, yet oddly connected to something beyond me. Maw Sue turned my hand sideways while the blood pooled into one stream and dripped seven red drops into the open mirror bin at my feet. Each drop of blood soaking into ancient wood gave me a sense of something I didn’t have before. I felt a gleam in my eyes, an inner light flicker. A lightness in my chest and a spring in my step. My face felt as if it was shining. My lips parted slightly and a calmness of breath exhaled. I felt a flutter in my belly and a jolt, then a floating sensation as if all my burdens had been removed. Mostly, I had a sense of belonging. I was a part of something bigger than me.

  Maw Sue was chanting her strange language, prayers and incantations. The abundance of shadows inside the mirror bin were now in the world around us, circling the fire like shadow dancers, all holding Mason jars full of assorted dried flowers. They spoke the same words Maw Sue was speaking, in unison, till it sounded like the whole world was speaking.

  When the last drop of blood spilled, it stopped. The voices, the chanting, the sounds, the dancing shadows, all of it ceased. Maw Sue’s face turned to stone momentarily then back to her usual self. I felt a sense of unsteadiness, wobbly on my bare feet. Maw Sue grabbed me and said, “Well done, my child, well done. Welcome to the Seventh Tribe.”

  The atmosphere seemed odd, as if I had drifted from the netherworld. I could hear crickets and the fire crackling and the wind howling across the pines, but the shadows and sounds were gone. I felt a tinge of sadness. Of longing. I did feel different, changed, almost re-born.

  “Girls, I need you to keep your wound hidden until it heals. Others don’t understand our old ways. Can you do that?” We both nodded. We knew a long time ago to keep the secrets and the stories Maw Sue told to ourselves because other people think Maw Sue is crazy, but we knew the truth. She had just finished doctoring my wound with healing salve and a bandage and I felt no pain. Meg was practically a zombie attached to my shoulder now.

  “Just a pinch. No worries, Meg. It’s over quick. It’s worth it. I swear.”

  I reached out and held her hand to give her some reassurance. I watched Maw Sue carve a seven into Meg’s palm and drip the blood into the mirror bin, the amulet of our ancestors. My sister was wearing Aunt Raven’s green scarf around her neck, slung over her shoulder. To my surprise I got to see the dancing shadows again, as if the magical vision was in me to stay. It was Aunt Raven’s shadow who caught my attention, dancing around Meg admiring her old scarf. Meg noticed it too because her eyes were as wide as pies as she followed the shadow dancers around. With the last drop of blood, the vision stopped. “You did wonderful, Meg. Welcome to the Seventh Tribe family,” Maw Sue said, bandaging Meg’s hand.

  “Girls. Now we shall finalize the ceremony with the wisdom of the owl. We’ll end it with three words to seal the amulet when we’re done.” She bent down and picked up a wooden bowl of blood. Meg and I were breathless. She dripped seven drops into each mirror bin, then dipped her forefinger in the owl’s blood and stirred it around. She turned to face us. “This is the blood of the owl who has sacrificed his inner light so you may have it in your journey of life.” She stood in front of me first, and placed a streak on my face, one for every word, inner light, divine wisdom, vision and love. Then she drew swirls and designs. I looked at Meg and she looked at me. We laughed. Then she stood before Mag and repeated the process. Before it was over, Maw Sue said we looked like traditional Seventh Tribe warriors and our ancestors would be very proud.

  We didn’t know it then, but everything we just experienced would usher in a storm. A battle was coming that very night. A battle that would tragically upend us all.

  Maw Sue sat the bowl down and bent down on our level. She was smiling and her gray eyes glowed milky white like they were lit from the otherworld. She placed the twine necklace of bones and feathers around our necks and placed the owl talon in our carved seven hands. She bent her forehead to ours and embraced us in a circle of three. A heaviness surrounded us, as if every shadowy presence was encircling us. I saw them in my inner vision; an embodiment of protection, love, spirit, enlightenment, vision, guidance, leading, wisdom—all our inner lights glowing at once. While Maw Sue prayed over us, I shook with the intensity of a thunderstorm, and in my mind, I saw the barn owl soar above us, outstretched wings, and eyes glowing like fire. I sobbed with gushes of tears and snot till I heaved with deep breaths. It was one of the strangest, most emotional and spiritual moments I’ve ever had. Of course, leave it to Meg to interrupt emotion. Ms. Unemotional Meg could not handle a lick of pain, so she caused a diversion by singing our favorite tribal song and dancing around the fire holding up her owl talon. Maw Sue and I were not ones to turn down a good song and dance, so we joined her. We sang Minnie the Moocher so much over the years, we finally made up our own tribal song and we sang it to the heavens.

  “Heyyyyyy-oo-ohhhh (Whoa-oaaa-aohhh)

  Whoa-a-a-a-ahhhh (heyyyyy-oohhhh)

  Whik-kiii, whik-kii, whik-kii (it’s getting kinda sticky)

  Heyyyy, whoa-oaah (the Gods are very picky)

  Jiggy, jig
gy, jiggy (get on down-touch the ground)

  Crown, crown, crown. (and we don’t mess around)

  We are the Seventh Tribe (break it down, down, down)

  Whoo-whaa-whaa, whoo-whaa-whaa

  Heyyyyyy-oo-ohhh (Whoa-oaaa-aohhh)”

  We danced and sang and laughed and held up our owl talons until we wore Maw Sue out. Meg and I collapsed in the dirt beside the fire and Maw Sue sat on her tree stump tuckered out.

  In the silence we all stared into the fire with an alert gaze and a solidarity we’d never felt before. Just when I caught my breath, I turned to talk to Meg. I caught it in the corner of my eye. Out of the dark a shadow emerged, pale skin, black hair and angry blue eyes. Gabby stood in the mist of smoke like a deranged ghost. Our mother did not look happy. At first, she just stared blankly, no words, only a disconnecting glare which parted tree branches, made insects scurry, and night birds cry out. Something told me that we were toast. Everything spun out of orbit. She ripped off our bandages, threw the bowl of blood across the lawn and screamed when she saw the owl carcass in the fire.

  “Have you lost your mind?” she yelled and made a dodge at Maw Sue.

  “Now Gabby…” Maw Sue stood up and paused. But it was too late to reason. The whole world spun out of control. Our mother flipped smooth out and went toe-to-toe with Maw Sue, screaming and cursing all sorts of obscenities. Meg and I pulled on Mother’s arms and begged her to stop and try to understand, but no matter what we said, she pushed us away and would not listen. The rattling bones of our necklaces gave a chatter and must have undone her. She hadn’t noticed them until now. She reached down and jerked them off our necks and threw them in the fire. My eyes burned white hot. I lost all the air from my lungs. Meg fell to the dirt bawling. I was trembling to the core. I gripped the sides of my head as if to cover my ears from the animalistic sounds coming from my throat. It was the scream that shattered the night like black glass breaking. It shook the pines and made every primal creature scream within the woods.

  I watched in agony as the feathers curled and singed and disappeared, leaving black quills amongst the ashes. The visions and enlightenment burned away the gifts bestowed to us, in the flames of the campfire. Beneath the logs, the owl’s empty, hollowed-out eye sockets glowed like a haunt burrowing a hole into my soul, and the talons seemed to claw their way out without escape.

  In my dreams I did not stop screaming. The rest of the night was a traumatic blur. The next thing we knew, we were dragged home kicking, screaming and crying. Maw Sue was pouring water over the campfire as the vision of her grew smaller. We passed Mama C and Papa C standing on the porch with confused faces.

  “Sit down and don’t move!” she spat, slamming the door to the house. She stormed over to the phone and called Dad at his work. She hung up and dialed another number. The next thing we knew, there was a policeman at our door, and a van in our driveway. It was black and had a gold castle drawn on the side of it with the letters CPH. I heard mumbling and the door shut. I felt it in my bones. By this time, Mother was pacing the house talking all sorts of nonsense. How we were never seeing Maw Sue again, it was a goddamned massacre, and the crazy bitch better not ever touch her children again or there would be hell to pay. Meg was pale as a paper plate sitting beside me. “This is bad,” I whispered. “I’ll be right back. If she asks tell her I went to pee.” Meg nodded but I could tell she was scared to death. I didn’t waste a minute of time. I ran out the door cutting a swath through the darkness until I reached the edge of Maw Sue’s yard. I could see Mama C and Papa C standing a distance away, and two men in white uniforms putting Maw Sue in the van with the castle on the side. It hit me like a timbering tree. Castle Pines Hospital. CPH. They were taking her to the mental hospital. My heart sank.

  I barely remember the rest of the night. Just bits and pieces. Me running after the van, hitting the sides of it, screaming at the top of my lungs, and Papa C pulling me off and wrestling with me until they got me to their porch. When they finally took me back to the house, I was a mute. I would not let my mother touch me. She had already scrubbed the blood off Meg’s face, clean as a new cup till she smelled of lemon dish soap. Meg was saggy and limp as the dishrag. Her eyes were more lost and torn than I’ve ever seen them. I wanted to motion to Meg but she seemed preoccupied, and there was no way I was talking to my mother. I walked straight past them and into my room and slammed the door. I don’t remember how long I lay in bed with my skin heated and my tears soaked with owl’s blood and staining my sheets, but I was still awake when my door opened. The shadow of my mother approached me with a bowl and a washrag. All I remember is opening my mouth and screaming at the top of my lungs till the ceiling vibrated and she huffed and left.

  I wore the owl’s blood for two days and stayed awake as long as I could, afraid she’d come and wash me down, but on the third day I awoke to find my face clean and smelling like lemons. I had exhausted myself from protest and finally must have fell asleep. She won. I was so mad. Not only did she ruin our ceremony and burn our necklaces, but now she’d wiped away our tribal insignia. Every trace gone. Maw Sue was locked up in Castle Pines. It was all her fault. It was a good thing Mama C retrieved our mirror bins, or she’d have destroyed those too.

  A day after the tragic events, I was still traumatized. And angry. My hand was throbbing. The bandage on my hand was spotted with red blood. I unwrapped the gauze a little to see the cut perfectly sliced into the shape of a number seven, still raw and fresh. Emotions overtook me and I ran out of the room dragging the gauze attached to my hand like a snakeskin. My mother was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes. I held up my hand and screamed from the hallway as loud as I could. “YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS FROM ME. YOU CAN’T BURN THIS IN THE FIRE! YOU CAN’T WIPE THIS OFF, CAN YOU?” and then I stormed back inside my room and slammed the door as hard as I could. But that wasn’t good enough. I opened it again, then slammed it a second time. I cowered to my bed sobbing. I was empty, lost and numb without Maw Sue.

  For the next few days, and weeks, I did not speak to my mother. She talked to me as if nothing had happened, typical Gabby denial. I returned silence, my mother’s native language. And avoidance. Blank looks. Distant gazes. I pretended she did not exist. I laughed out loud brashly and unashamed when she sat Meg and me down and told us we were to never tell of what happened to anyone. The story she told was the cuts on our hands were from playing with Coke bottles when we shouldn’t have. I can’t remember how long I flagrantly rejected any semblance of my mother’s presence, but over time, a child wears down, and in the journey of my youth, I surrendered to the upheaval of adulthood and all its lies and manifestations of disfunction. Whatever control or approval-seeking methods my mother had over me sank in. Over time, and through her methodology of persuasion, I came to believe the lies and erased the truth. If anyone asked me how the scar came about, I told the Coke bottle lie. The ceremony and the ritual were erased and replaced. A month later, Maw Sue returned. This was one rule Gabby had no control over. She could not keep us away from her, though she tried.

  27

  Burn It Down

  It is finished.

  ~Jesus of Nazareth

  I have so much to tell Doc at my next appointment. It’s killing me not to pick up the phone and dial her number, but I’ve come too far to regress now. I’m trying to apply the boundaries she has taught me. It is hard though. All I’ve been doing for the past twenty-four hours is trace the seven scars on my hand and stare at it, remembering the ceremony. My emotions are all over the place. I feel anger for what my mother did, and the lies she told. I feel this magnetic pull toward Maw Sue for instilling a sense of purpose and magic and the belief in something bigger than myself. I can also see, in hindsight, why my mother was pissed off. She saw her daughters cut with a knife in some blood ritual. Even if she were told every single fact, she wouldn’t have understood. She wasn’t part of the tribe.

  Knowing these newfound memories made me sad and emotional, but relieved t
hat I could finally tell the truth. Exhausted enough to lay down, I fell asleep rubbing the scar. I woke up in a dreamscape with flames lit up everywhere, the couch, the rugs, the table, the curtains, my whole house was on fire, everything except me. I wasn’t on fire, not in reality, the only thing burning was my mind. It was on replay—rewinding the descent and downfall of Cassidy Cleo Collard. (Formerly Reed)

  Marrying Sam Reed was a mistake. We fought constantly until the fights grew tiresome and exhausting, and then we simply ignored each other. I could only go so long without trying to make up, but Sam would have none of it. He had moved on to some new shiny object and pushed me out of his life. His cheating was only intensified by his lack of acknowledgment. The phone call to my mother in desperation was my last plea for help, for an answer, for someone to just say they loved me and everything was going to be okay, regardless of what choices I made. I didn’t get it. I didn’t know what I know now about my mother. I was looking for answers, for affirmation, something. I reached out, the one and only time I reached out to my mother—and she shot me down. Make the bed—live the lie. And unconsciously, I did exactly what she said, somehow believing that I deserved to live this way. I made the bed and lived a lie until it almost killed me. Sam became my quest for approval, for love, for acceptance. It didn’t matter he was still cheating; I thought I could change it. Love him more. Love him better. Love harder. Not getting what I needed from my mother, only rejection, pushed me to the brink. Those little girls appearing to me were just the beginning of my descent into madness. Day after day they returned.