The Skye in June

by June Ahern

  Dr. Weissman removed his glasses and wiped them clean with a hankie. “Oh yes, Deborah Schmidt. She was once a student of mine. Such an ambitious young woman,” he said with a delightful chuckle.

  Her heart sunk. Had she said the wrong thing? Would he now dismiss her as a neurotic mother who didn’t understand the purpose of psychiatry?

  “Deborah and I will have a little chat,” Dr. Weissman said reassuringly.

  The cat rubbed against Cathy’s leg. She petted his black face and thought she’d take time to enjoy the art in the hallway on her way out.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 35

  CLEANSING JUNE’S ENERGY

  THE FRIDAY BEFORE Thanksgiving, Cathy met Dr. Weissman for their weekly meeting to discuss June’s situation. He told her June wouldn’t be released for that holiday. Cathy complained to him her daughter had been in the hospital for six months and she wanted her home for Christmas at the latest.

  “It’s a greater challenge than I initially thought,” he told her. He added an explanation of his position; traditional psychological practice would have declared June to be mentally ill. However, he was confident with his judgment June’s case was different. He closely observed how some mentally ill patients, like June, displayed their psychic impressions. He felt such unusual cases allowed him to be more objective.

  There were also a few serious problems he wanted to deal with before allowing June to go home. In good faith, he agreed with Dr. Schmidt the process of purging the medications from their young patient’s system by cutting back the dosage would continue to produce unpleasant mental reactions as well as some unexpected physical. Also, June’s conversations with unseen characters had become more frequent. Dr. Schmidt, who had no belief in psychic phenomena, voiced her concern her patient’s psychosis was only worsening.

  Dr. Weissman was very curious about one of June’s visions that seemed to match some of the details Cathy had given about Malcolm’s death. He told Cathy the vision June had had.

  * * *

  The foghorn sounded louder as June and the red-haired woman moved closer to the beach. The mist was especially dense that morning. June felt mysterious changes in the air. With the red-haired woman she had named Angel, June began picking purple blossoms from a large leafy plant in the forest. The woman said it was time to heal the poison that the enemy had given to her.

  When their hands were full, they went to the cove. The rhythm of the surging waves soothed June’s spirit. They moved farther down the incline and onto the beach. Between two large rocks they spotted a long shape lying half on the sand and half in the water. They rushed over and discovered it to be a young man dressed in a dark woolen jacket with brass buttons and dark pants covering heavy laced-up boots. His face was waxy white and his mouth slack. Two ringlets of his hair dripped down on his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance. He lay in sad repose, his eyes closed to the light of day. Even in death, he looked peaceful and handsome. Seaweed entwined his arms close to his body.

  June looked out to the ocean to see if perhaps a boat had capsized and tossed him into the water. But there was nothing. Angel said his body came as an offering from the ocean deep to lie there on this isle in his final sleep.

  Two shadowy figures came down the beach toward them. One was a tiny woman dressed in black with a shawl wrapped around her head. With her wrinkled face, June thought she looked like an old crone. The other was a younger woman in a flowing dress and cardigan buttoned up to her throat to protect her from the cold wet air. She wore a flowered scarf slipped low on her forehead, somewhat obscuring her face. She carried a yellow daisy chain that was so long it trailed behind her.

  June was taken by surprise when Angel called out to the women, “He’s come home to us.”

  The women walked over to June and Angel. The older woman immediately fell to her knees before the corpse. The younger woman cried “Malcolm!” as she pushed back her headscarf. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders. She started to wail.

  June’s mouth fell open in shock when she recognized the blonde woman. It was her mother, even though her face was much younger.

  “Bidh sàmhach,” the old crone said sharply.

  By the way the word had been said, June could tell her mother was being told to be quiet.

  Cathy paid heed to the crone, and her wailing became a soft crying. She knelt down next to the body and stroked Malcolm’s cold cheeks. Her fingers twirled around his red curls as her salty tears dripped onto his face.

  Angel joined them. She placed her hand on his heart.

  June watched the three––the crone, her mother, and Angel––pull the body from the water and up onto the sand. They gently unraveled the long ropes of seaweed from his body. When Malcolm was free, they encircled his body with the daisy chain. Seeing the women work in quiet unison, she felt a deep bond between them, and she desired to be part of it.

  The crone crossed Malcolm’s arms on his chest and began to speak in a language strange to June.

  Angel said to June, “She’s saying a prayer for his eternal rest in his new home, the after-world.”

  In a voice barely audible against the frigid Arctic winds, Cathy said, “She’s speaking Gaelic, the true tongue of the Highlanders before the Sassenach forbade them to speak it.”

  The crone spoke to June. Cathy translated, “Our journey is not over. You will be the one to reunite us in peace when the truth is known. Until then, your visions will not cease to trouble you.”

  June was puzzled by how her mother knew Gaelic. Cathy handed June the end of the daisy chain to complete the circle around Malcolm.

  * * *

  “Oh Mother of God!” Cathy gasped when she heard Dr. Weissman’s retelling of June’s vision. “It’s true Malcolm was found by another; a fisherman saw his body in the water. His mother and I ran down to the beach when we heard. But all the rest, the angel helping to heal June, I don’t know. If I could just bring her home I could help her understand more,” she said pleadingly.

  “Please trust us. We’re doing the best for your daughter,” the old doctor assured her.

  She didn’t tell him Nurse Morales had confided in her that he had thought of a way to secure cooperation from Dr. Schmidt to release June to his care. He had charmed Dr. Schmidt with a promise to co-author a book on the treatment of schizoid personalities.

  Cathy had no recourse but to trust him and Carla. She planned a Thanksgiving dinner without June.

  The four months it took to wean June off the drugs had been tough going for the slight fourteen-year-old. On a good day, June was again her natural optimistic self. But most days she was agitated and restless. Her swollen body had thinned down and was returning to her normal weight as the drugs drained out of her. Her hair, shorn in the hospital on Dr. Schmidt’s orders, had come back a stronger titian-red. The once wild curls had softened to loose waves that framed her face.

  On her release from the hospital, Dr. Schmidt prescribed sleeping pills to help combat her insomnia. But June wanted better control of her psychic visions and didn’t ask for a refill when the prescription was finished. Still, her jangled nervous system fought to balance the energy rushing chaotically through her slight body, causing uncontrollable facial and body twitches. She would curse loudly at the pains of drug withdrawal when her fingers curled in uncontrollable spasms.

  Cathy pushed for her daughter to be home for Christmas. June was given certain conditions as part of her release from the hospital. As stipulated by her parents, especially by her father and approved by the two psychiatrists, she put aside her stubbornness and agreed she’d no longer have an altar, practice witchcraft, or talk about her visions to anyone but Dr. Weissman. She would have said yes to almost anything in order to be released from the hospital.

  Christmas in the MacDonald household was barely acknowledged. Cathy’s nervous twittering about things being much better now that June was home, went ignored.

  Home life, as June had known it, had changed
drastically. The house was very quiet. Maggie had been exiled from the house. Annie, married to Dave, came home only for Sunday dinner. Jimmy was quietly docile. June noticed that her mother rarely spoke to him.

  Mary, a senior at Mission High School, was like a ghost drifting in and out the house. She kept her odd hours as a carhop at Mel’s Drive-in restaurant on South Van Ness at Mission Avenue. When home, she stayed in Annie and Maggie’s old bedroom, while June shared her pink bedroom with her mother. The only time the two remaining sisters talked was when Mary shared Eddie’s letters. He had enlisted in the Marines and recently wrote he was being shipped to somewhere called Vietnam, where he’d finally see some action.

  The days when Maggie visited were fun for June. The MacDonald females had once again united in secrecy to keep quiet about Maggie’s visits home while Jimmy was at work. Even as her thin body enlarged with pregnancy, she remained typical Maggie, full of dramatic life. Sitting around the kitchen table with tea and Cathy’s homemade sweets, she told them all about The Nomads, a popular band living across the hall from her and her assortment of flatmates. Tim, who was now in college, supported Maggie the best he could with the meager pay from his part-time job. June admired her sister’s brave stance to have her baby without the sanction of marriage and against society’s rules. But June was sad to hear that Loretta hadn’t been so bold. She married the man her parents had chosen for her and moved to the small coastal town of Pacifica. No one had heard from her since.

  Difficult as it was to accept the changes at home, June found solace in her secret study of the pagan religion and witchcraft. Although she had agreed to leave all of that alone, a greater need to clear her psychic visions won over her promise.

  She felt out of balance with her psychic energy. In reading the book, “The Triple Goddess of Time” (a gift from Sadie and Bernice) she found the right ritual. It was part of the celebration of Imbolc, February’s holy day. Paganism, like other religions, had holy days and times. The message of Imbolc was to purify, retreat from the outer world and quietly reconnect with one’s creative magic. Part of the ritual was to choose an item to stimulate a flow of new ideas. Flipping through magazines, June found a picture of a castle sitting on a lake and connected to the mainland by a stone bridge. The caption under it read, “Eilean Donan is a well-known castle in the Highlands of Scotland.”

  “I could be happy there alone,” she had told Brian when she showed him the picture and explained the ritual.

  Since Mary had shied away from helping her make a hidden altar at home, Brian was the only one she trusted to practice her witchcraft in secret. The two friends met clandestinely in Brian’s bedroom to practice witchcraft, because it was only in his room she could safely perform her spiritual rituals. The fearful images of Dr. Schmidt force-feeding her drugs were a constant reminder to keep playing it safe. Like the witches of the past who had to hide their practice, she, too, must keep silent.

  Irritated with her inability to light a match, June tossed the matchbook onto an old oak table that held four candles; white, black, red and green. The candles, set up for their ritual to celebrate Imbolc, were arranged around a small group of seashells and the picture of the castle was propped up against the red candle.

  “Shouldn’t be playing with matches anyway. I could burn,” she said crossly as she threw her scantily clad body onto Brian’s bed to lie amongst the jumbled covers.

  Brian struck a match and bent over the altar to light the white candle, as June had taught him to do. The white candle symbolized purity of heart and mental clarity of intention.

  “Do I light the black one next?” he asked.

  “What’s the book say?” she said, leaning up on an elbow. “Ugh, your crack is showing,” she huffed, cupping a hand over her eyes.

  Brian tugged up his white briefs and squinted at the open book. “The crone’s first.” He lit the black candle.

  It had been her suggestion to do the ritual sky-clad, saying it was the best way for making strong magic. It symbolized they came pure and clean. Brian hadn’t opposed, although he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. He didn’t like showing his naked body to anyone, even to his best friend. He argued it wasn’t cool to be caught together undressed.

  June reminded him at least they didn’t have to worry about Jeannie’s ridicule if she found them semi-naked. Jeannie had moved away from home when she was accepted to a prestigious women’s college back East.

  They had agreed to compromise. They kept on their underwear.

  “Let me light the next ones,” she said as she shimmied off the bed.

  Brian struck another match and handed it to her. As she lit the green candle, she said, “Welcome mother goddess. The fiery maiden is welcomed, too.”

  She pivoted over the altar and the red candle’s wick burst into flame.

  With the jasmine incense floating around them, they retreated to the comfort of the bed to enjoy the flickering glow of the candles that created dancing shadows on the walls.

  The pitter-patter of the February rain on the window enhanced the magic moment in the candle-lit room. A dreamy sensation filled June’s body, mind, and spirit.

  “Let us begin,” she said softly to Brian.

  They stood.

  Dutifully, Brian circled the four corners of the room, from east, south, west, and then north. As he circled the room, he lit the different-colored candles placed in each corner to invite the energy of each direction to give power to their magic.

  When he was finished, June picked up the athame. When she got out of the hospital Brain had given the athame as a gift after reading witches used them as their ceremonial knife. Holding it breast high with the blade pointed outward, she moved it around the room to cast a circle while she said, “The circle is cast. The spell made fast. Only good can enter herein.” Standing in front of the altar she opened her arms wide and said, “I invoke the powers of the crone, mother, and maiden into our circle to guide me to the truth and wisdom of the visions presented me so I can fulfill my destiny. So mote it be.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 36

  JAGGED EDGES

  BECAUSE HER EXPERIENCES with Dr. Schmidt had made her mistrustful, she was still very reluctant to share her feelings or psychic experiences with Dr Weissman at their weekly counseling sessions although she developed an immediate bond with Simon, his Siamese cat. As soon as Dr. Weissman would open the door, Simon would rush up to greet her, entwining himself around her bell-bottom clad legs. Simon would lead the way to the living room. They would sit together on the ottoman. The hour-long session would slowly tick by as June cuddled Simon and enjoyed the refreshments Dr. Weissman offered. She gave very little information about her feelings. Instead, she would say a bit about how she was doing without the medicine and give updates on her sisters’ lives.

  One day Simon didn’t greet her when she arrived for her session. When she asked about him, the doctor assured her Simon would appear shortly. She settled onto the ottoman and graciously accepted a chocolate from the See’s candy box on the coffee table. She nibbled the candy as her eyes drifted over to the large picture window. Unconsciously, her hand moved down to stroke Simon. She bolted up when she realized Simon wasn’t there. She needed him as a buffer, as she always had in past sessions. She preferred to focus on the cat while mostly ignoring Dr. Weissman. So she chose her second line of defense. She rose from the ottoman to look out the window to avoid the doctor’s gaze. Looking out over the bay, she became mesmerized by the sailboats gliding past, and the sturdy, slow-moving tugboats hauling barges behind them. Her mind was traveling to a distant cove wrapped in misty swirls when she heard the muffled voice of the old psychiatrist. She listened closer and realized he was asking if she was ready for school. Her head shook lazily from side to side, still imagining seaweed lapping on a cold rocky shore.

  “June,” Dr. Weissman said in a voice louder than normal, jolting her out of her daydream.

  Although he was kind and polite, she always
kept a small part of herself safe from him or anyone else who might come too close to hurting her again. But more than anything else, she didn’t want to go back to Dr. Schmidt and the hospital, so she tried to participate in small ways at her sessions with Dr. Weissman.

  “Hmm,” she said, turning toward him.

  “I asked if it was better at home with your father,” he said.

  “Basically, we ignore each other.” She held back volunteering any further information.

  “How are you doing without your medication?” the doctor asked.

  “Fine. Better.” She didn’t divulge she was still having lucid visions of traveling with her angel across the sea to a distant shore. She looked out the window and imagined being back at the cove and feeling the seaweed wrapped around her body.

  “Have you been out to sea much, Doctor?”

  “Let’s talk about you,” he answered with his usual response when June asked him a question. She didn’t like to talk about herself. It made her feel vulnerable and besides, her mother had said it’s impolite to talk about yourself.

  June turned back to the room and spotted the artwork above the red couch. She found the piece intriguing and was passionately drawn to it. There was a prolonged silence as her eyes examined it.

  “It’s a Pablo Picasso print called ‘Girl with Red Beret.’ Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, without elaborating as to why. The picture of the girl with two faces sharing one head crowned with a red beret was like her and her angel. Brian had said that perhaps her angel was her own subconscious mind and not a separate entity. June didn’t agree with him. She remembered when her first teacher of magic, Mrs. G, had predicted that she and her angel would be together someday.

  “Where’s Simon?” June asked, unable to restrain her curiosity.