by B. G. Thomas
Wyatt could. His skin was crawling with it. He could scarcely breathe from the power of it. He couldn’t remember feeling anything like this in Ritual before. Surely he had. But this was amazing!
“Now feel it fill you,” he continued, his voice trembling. “Feel it penetrate you in waves. Into you and through you and out of you….”
It was powerful. Something very powerful was happening. Was he doing this? Or was it all just in his mind? Some flight of fancy?
It couldn’t be, though, could it? Because if what happened during Ritual was only in his imagination, if he thought that his religious practices were just some kind of flight of fancy, he would have given up this spiritual path years ago.
Like he’d given up growing his own vegetables. Or the remake of Battlestar Galactica, a show he’d liked for about a year and then he’d gotten bored with (especially with a woman playing Starbuck!). Or knitting (or trying to). Or making his own soap and trying to sell it at Camp Sanctuary (but then after one weekend at Midwest Pagan Festival, sitting at his table day after day instead of being able to run around and do what he wanted, he was cured of that for good).
No…. This was real! His spiritual path was real. What he was experiencing right now was real!
Keep talking. Stop thinking! Go with this. Use this! Go on!
“Let this energy wash away all from last year that brought you hurt,” he said, voice growing with his determination. “Let it wash away the things that brought you pain, brought you discouragement, made you cry.”
Wyatt wondered only for one tiny second what the others might be thinking of. Then shook it away. That was not what he needed to be thinking about. That was their magick. This was his own. His own pain, and of course all of his pain was Howard.
The fights. The screaming. The insults. A man that he loved—laughing at him, telling him that the only reason anyone liked him at all was because he was with Howard. How everyone liked Howard, not him. He was only a silly little homo. An annoying little bone-smoker. How often had Howard said things like that? Things that Wyatt had believed. Believed to his core.
“The only reason you get laid is because of me. I tell them they have to have sex with you if they want me.”
Except of course that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Howard had “let” people have sex with him when Wyatt wasn’t there.
Then—in one brief flash—he saw the word “FAGGOT” scratched across the right quarter panel of his beloved Mini Coop.
Another image. A horrible night at Camp where he and Howard fought over something a dear friend had told him—that Howard had supposedly raped a young fellow festival attendee named Blue. How impossible that had seemed. It was like watching a scene from a movie. He saw his anger at Scott for telling him such lies! He felt that deep knowledge that it wasn’t a lie. Saw Howard convincing him that it was all just a role-playing game gone wrong—and saw himself choosing to believe it despite the fact that he somehow knew Howard wasn’t telling the truth.
And worse, a vision of coming home early with a bag of Nilgiri chicken korma and samosas and seeing Howard fucking some stranger bent over their coffee table while he—Howard!—was taking a huge cock up his own ass. Howard. Who didn’t get fucked…
…at least not by Wyatt.
The pain was so huge and gigantic that it almost took Wyatt out of the magick. Out of the moment. Out of the ritual. Out of all that was happening on this powerful night. It was only grabbing the cliff’s edge by his fingernails—nails that almost tore away from his fingertips—and focusing all of his will—
(you will not fall!)
—that allowed him to stay. To stay in the moment.
With reserves he didn’t know he owned, he opened his mouth and let the words flow.
“The waves of energy,” he managed, “are wearing the pain away. The hurts and pain and imagined failures are nothing but dust. They are blowing away. It is past. It isn’t real. There is only the now. Yesterday does not exist. Yesterday’s pain does not exist. There is only the perfect love and perfect trust of this Circle. The perfect love and trust that we have, brothers, friends—the Fab-ulous Four!”
And somehow it was working. For a moment, at least, the images faded and crumbled and blew away in a strong breeze. Pictures of Howard sailed away into forevers, gone. He let his shouts fade away. Let Howard’s if-only-you-were-mores slip into nothing but quiet echoes and then die away completely. Saw only his four best friends. Sloan (of course) and Scott and Asher. His four friends and more. Max. Cedar. Peni.
In that moment he was very suddenly nearly rocked off his feet by the love he felt.
People did love him. Wyatt. They loved him, and their love had nothing to do with Howard. Most of his friends didn’t even like Howard. Hell! Did any of them like him? How many times had they told him that Howard wasn’t worthy of his love? Worthy!
Right then—in that moment—he finally knew they meant what they’d said. What they had told him weren’t words designed to make him feel better.
Tears began to run down Wyatt’s face.
So much love! Enough love to allow him to face anything. He wasn’t alone!
And that gave him enough strength to finish what he had begun.
“Now,” he called out in a clear and strong voice, “as this new year begins, as the sun rises, as the Oak King wins—can you feel him win? Can you hear him call out in triumph? Can you hear the Holly King concede?—see something new! Imagine what you want this year to bring. What is it you want? What is it you need?”
And unbidden: Someone to love me. Someone to cherish me. Who loves me just as I am. Someone who won’t tell me that I’d be better if I was only more of what he thinks I should be! Someone I can care for and who will care for me, love me….
The strength of the desire, the depths of it, surprised Wyatt. It wasn’t at all what he’d planned to wish for and try to manifest tonight. He’d been simply wanting to be able to afford to get by. To, for once, not owe anyone anything.
Finish the Ritual! You’re leaving everyone hanging.
“See whatever it is…! See it. Welcome it. Embrace it. Know that it is real.”
Love.
Gods, it was love.
More than anything, he wanted love. Real love. Someone who loved him like these six friends. And more.
Love.
And then quite suddenly, to Wyatt’s complete and total surprise, an image filled his mind. Wyatt. Sitting in the shade of the branches of a tree. Sitting with Scott. It was at Camp Sanctuary. He could hear the breeze in the leaves and feel the dirt under his bare toes. And now… the sound of gravel crunching under tires. A big white pickup truck coming out of a tunnel of trees and pulling up in front of Wyatt. And a big man with barely tamed muttonchops stepping out of that truck.
The man, who Wyatt had known for years but with whom he had rarely exchanged words—how could he when that man rarely said more than one single word?—walked up to him. Stood over him. His big hazel eyes were shining. Shining with want—
(he wants to register for Men’s Festival)
—and…
…something more?
He reached out and placed his big manly hands on Wyatt’s shoulders. Then bent his head down, down, and… gods! Kissed him! He could almost feel the lips against his own, full and soft, and so sweet.
Gods. The man was…
Wyatt let out a gasp.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KEVIN’S EYES snapped open.
He was back at the fire, his friends Cauley and Theresa to his left and right, and the snow was still falling—they were frosted with snow—and there was no Wyatt. No sweet Wyatt kissing him.
“Wow!” cried Theresa, her eyes wide open.
Cauley didn’t say anything. But there was something in his eyes. His Cossack hat was pushed back enough that the light from the fire—dying though it was—now illuminated his face.
Kevin gulped.
Wow, indeed.
They sat for wha
t seemed forever, and then the chill hit Kevin and he knew he had to get Cauley inside. Finish this….
He took a deep breath.
“And so now let us end our little ritual,” he said. “On Monday the days will begin to lengthen, bit by bit. Soon, instead of deep dark filling every morning, the new sun will slowly brighten the sky in the east and chase the darkness away. Soon we will wake with the light and perhaps even climb into our beds before the last of the light has vanished in the west. Summer is coming!”
He stood.
“Summer is coming.”
“I wish it would get here,” Cauley said. He let out a strange little laugh. “’Cause I am fucking freezing!”
Theresa laughed too, and Kevin couldn’t help but join in.
The moment was gone. The “magic” done. And the feeling of soft lips on his own just a strange memory.
With that thought he helped Cauley to his feet and brushed him off and, with Theresa, helped him inside. She gave them both a big hug, declined any hot chocolate that Lois tried to push on her, and left. And after forcing just a bit on Cauley, Kevin helped him undress and get into bed and then lay down next to him, lending his old love his warmth.
Cauley sighed. Cuddled closer. Kevin gave him a hug.
“I so wish I hadn’t fucked up,” Cauley said quietly.
“Shhhh….”
“And you are so lonely, Kevin. That’s what makes it worse. Worse than me being lonely.”
Kevin’s brows came together in a knot. Where had that come from? “Cauley, I’m fine. I’m not lonely.”
“Yes, you are. I see it in your eyes. The way you look off into nowhere. And I hate myself that I can’t take that away.”
Kevin pulled back just enough to look down into Cauley’s eyes. “Please don’t hate yourself,” he said. “Ever. It hurts to think that you hate yourself. You are a wonderful man, Cauley.”
His ex sighed again, and then after a very long pause, he said, “Promise me you will find someone?”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to find anyone.” Because I just can’t go through anything like that again, he thought and tried not to feel even that occasional twinge of anger toward Cauley that he had not quite exorcised from his heart. “I’m fine. I’m happy.”
Cauley sighed again. Then: “Read to me?” Cauley asked, his voice foggy.
“Read to you?” Kevin rested his upper weight on one elbow and looked down into Cauley’s face. “Read what?”
“I have that book you gave me. That book of essays by Emertson.” He pointed over Kevin’s shoulder.
Emerson, Kevin mentally corrected him. Ralph Waldo Emerson. “Have you tried to read it?”
“Tried,” Cauley said and yawned. “It’s easier to understand when you read it to me.”
So Kevin got up and grabbed the book and then quickly scrambled under the covers again. He paged through the book, found an essay he liked, and began to read,
We have a great deal more kindness than is ever spoken. Maugre all the selfishness that chills like east winds the world, the whole human family is bathed with an element of love like a fine ether. How many persons we meet in houses, whom we scarcely speak to, whom yet we honor, and who honor us! How many we see in the street, or sit with in church, whom, though silently, we warmly rejoice to be with! Read the language of these wandering eye-beams. The heart knoweth.
He’d read for perhaps ten minutes when Cauley began to softly snore. Then Kevin kissed his troubled brow, which had relaxed at least somewhat in sleep, and carefully climbed from the bed.
Lois had already gone upstairs.
Kevin microwaved Cauley’s leftover hot chocolate and drank it in a few quick swallows and then let himself out into the snowy night. He stood for a moment. Watched the snow. Especially in the bright glow around the street lights. It looked magic. After a long moment, he climbed into his F-150 and headed home.
And thought of a cute little bear. Couldn’t help it. Remembered what those lips, which had never touched his own, felt like.
Wyatt, he thought.
The images left as he drove. The snow was falling thickly now. There would be more than a couple inches. The road demanded his attention now.
But in dreams that night, Kevin saw those big brown eyes again….
WYATT’S EYES snapped open.
He was back at his living room, his friends Sloan and Scott and Asher and Max and Cedar and Peni all around him.
And there was no big man holding him, kissing him.
“Wow!” cried Peni, his eyes wide and electric.
There were murmurs of agreement and nods, and Wyatt couldn’t believe all that had happened. From their expressions, they meant it. Had their experiences been anything like his own?
And what had happened to him?
Something that had never happened before, that was for sure!
“That was frigging awesome,” Cedar said. He laughed, and then they all joined him.
Awesome indeed.
Then, as Wyatt saw their expectant expressions, he knew. End this. It was time to close the Circle.
Somehow he found the words.
“And so the Oak King has won. The Holly King submits and awaits his turn at the Summer Solstice. Our magick is done. The old is done. The new is coming. The new is here. Forming and manifesting even if we can’t yet see it. Rest in that knowledge. And let us thank the Guardians of the Watchtowers and release them from the duties they graciously performed for us tonight. Cedar?”
Cedar nodded, stepped forward, and turned around to face the north. “Thank you, Elements of Earth, for your presence tonight. Stay if you wish, depart if you must. Thank you for your blessings.”
Then Sloan, wide-eyed and clearly not realizing his duties for the night were not done (oops!), managed to stumble through his thanks to the Spirits of the Air and the East.
Asher, always an actor, blustered through his quite well, and then Peni, full of excitement, finished with aplomb.
“Thank you, Elements of Water and Ocean and Sea!” Peni cried. “Thank you, Element of blood, and cum—”
That surprised Wyatt, and he almost laughed. Bless you, Peni, for being brave enough to shout that!
“—and thank you To Sua—water exists within. Thank you Tangaloa-fa’a-tutupu-nu’u and spirits of Tilafaiga and Taema and Samoa. Stay if you wish, depart if you must. Thank you for your blessings.”
He turned back to face the group, his face flushed and glowing.
Wyatt felt the power of this night return.
“Thank you, oh Holly King and Oak King,” he called out. “Thank you for your presence. Thank you for eternally turning the Wheel of the Year. Stay if you wish, depart if you must. Thank you for your blessings.”
Wyatt raised his wand over his head, turned full circle, then placed it on his altar. Finally he picked up his athame. He faced the north and then made an upward, cutting motion. “The Circle is open, yet ever unbroken,” he declared. “Its power flows with us and through us always. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again. Blessed be!”
“Blessed be,” chorused both Cedar and Scott, who were in the know.
“Blessed be,” echoed his friends.
Blessed be indeed.
Wyatt staggered. Almost fell.
Sloan was there in an instant and led him to the couch, sat him down.
“You okay?” his friend asked.
“More than okay,” Wyatt said in awe, skin still crawling with something wondrous, like St. Elmo’s fire.
And the ghost feeling of soft lips.
Soft lips that had never touched his own.
Where had that image come from? Him of all people! Had he ever spared the man much serious thought? Except that he had always considered the man sexy? But why would he, he, appear in Wyatt’s thoughts tonight?
Wyatt shook his head and smiled. “Time for wine and cakes,” he said.
“All right,” exclaimed Cedar.
Wyatt tried to stand and
found he couldn’t.
“We’ll do it,” Asher said. “You just sit.”
“It’s all on the dining room table,” Wyatt managed.
Sloan sat with him, and Peni pulled a hassock next to him and sat on it and began to jabber excitedly. Wyatt couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. There was laughter from the dining room and the pops of wine bottles, and then he was being offered a glass and a sugar cookie.
“Is that what you meant by cakes?” Asher asked.
Wyatt nodded.
“Is it all right that I gave you one from your altar instead of the package on the dining room table?”
Wyatt nodded again, words hard to form. He took it and broke it and handed the other half to Asher and the look in his friend’s eyes showed that he understood the gesture. Wyatt ate his half in two or three bites. He was quite suddenly ravenous. A moment later Asher handed him another and Wyatt ate it almost as quickly.
He was starting to come down from the high of the Ritual and beginning already to take on the high of the wine.
He still couldn’t talk. He was too amazed.
Those lips….
Finally he joined the conversation, which was mostly congratulations from his friends. Words of encouragement. Compliments. But at the same time, to his joy, they seemed to be excited by the events of the evening. Most were sharing their experiences, sharing what they’d hoped to banish from their lives and what they hoped to draw in. Even practical Max appeared to have enjoyed the Ritual.
Someone to cherish me, thought Wyatt. That had been his wish. Someone who would love him for who he was. Someone he could take care of and who would give him caring and love as well.
He was finally able to stop thinking about the tall man in his mind’s eye and focus on his companions instead. They didn’t stay long. A half hour or so. Then the group began to break up. Max wanted to check on his son. Sloan seemed eager to join his lover. Wyatt could feel the sexual energy crackling between the pair. And Peni was all but crawling all over Asher. Cedar was eyeing Scott with lust as well. Wyatt knew what they would be doing tonight.
