How then, were they supposed to mount a wooden stick, and get it to fly them around in the air? He figured it would be either hopeless or dangerous, or both.
“Now you may be wondering why we’re progressing to broomsticks,” Malcolm said as they stood in the field as if reading Charlie’s mind (he had to remind himself that witches couldn’t do that). Twelve clunky-looking training brooms lay in the wet grass, one next to each kid. The ten adult helpers stood on the side, each of them carrying their own sleeker, smaller riding sticks.
The young witches in training, or WITs as Malcolm liked to call them, all wore helmets, elbow-pads, and knee-pads. They looked like they were trying out for hockey or about to go rollerblading.
“… especially since it seems to you that none of you have made any progress. That’s okay, that’s okay. Frustration is part of the process. What’s our motto?”
“Fail and recover,” they responded in dreary unison.
“That’s right, good,” Malcolm said. Charlie had to give him credit. He seemed utterly undaunted by his pupils’ inability to work any of the spells that he had been trying to teach them.
“The reason we’re switching to flying next,” he explained, “is that activating a broomstick is a relatively easy thing to do, much easier than the things we’ve been attempting so far. Riding it is a bit tricky, but that’s less about witchcraft and more about balance.
“These broomsticks, like many of the objects we witches use, have been charged with spells to make them work. In this case, the broom makers invoked the power of the wood to stay solid and true and to fly straight. They invoked the power of the wind to allow the wood to rise in the air and to carry a body or two on them. They’ve already been imbued. You don’t have to do it.
“All you have to do is learn to activate the brooms, then hope like hell you can hang on,” he laughed. None of the adult helpers seemed to think this was funny.
Malcolm gathered them in the center of the clearing, which was about the size of a football field, and explained that the other adults would be there to help out once the WITs learned how to get the brooms off the ground.
He taught them the few Words that were needed to activate the broomsticks. He had been teaching them many Words since they had arrived the day before.
“Words are very powerful. Don’t go around saying them willy-nilly. Not until you’re ready for something to happen,” he said.
Charlie was still getting used to the idea of the Words. He couldn’t really understand them, even when Malcolm or one of the other adults helped him form each sound individually. It was as if they were in a language so foreign, mumbled so quietly, that they would slip right out of his mind before he could hold them in.
When the adults said the Words, Charlie felt them. He remembered going to a birthday party as a boy. Somebody’s dad had rubbed an inflated balloon along the kids’ arms, then lifted it a few inches away so the kids could feel the static electricity pull at the hairs on their arms. The Words pulled at him much the same way. And when he heard the Words, it sounded like several people were whispering them at once.
When he and the other WITs tried to say them, nothing happened. No hair-raising electricity, no multiple whispers, nothing.
“It’s okay, kid,” Malcolm said when Charlie hadn’t been able to reproduce the right sounds. “Try again. Fail and recover.”
Now the kids stood in a wide circle. They had each laid a broomstick on the ground beside them. One by one, a WIT would place his or her hand over the broom, whisper the quiet Words, and see if the broom would do anything.
They went around the circle several times. Nothing happened.
“Like this,” Malcolm said, standing in the middle of them and placing one of the training brooms down in the grass. He pretended to concentrate very hard. His lips began to move.
Just as he finished mumbling the last Word, the piece of wood popped up from the ground and snapped into his hand, and he affected a surprised look on his face. The WITs laughed at his antics.
“You have to clear your mind and let the Words work the way they’re supposed to.”
“Yeah, whatever that means,” said Jenna Tompkins. She looked bored half the time, angry the rest, and was continually rolling her eyes or huffing when Malcolm offered her corrections.
Now it was Roberto Sanchez’s turn. He was the pudgy kid who’d worn the navy blue sweater at the warehouse when they had all been popped. Charlie was pretty sure they had talked together at some point during that fuzzy night, but he couldn’t remember any of their conversation.
The boy moved his lips, squeezed his eyes shut and held his hand open.
“Easy, easy, not quite so hard,” Malcolm said.
Nothing happened. The boy opened his eyes, then shook his head.
“Nope, sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry, kid. Just wait your turn and try again.”
Several more WITs gave it a try. Not a single broomstick rose up in the air. They didn’t even wiggle on the ground.
Charlie’s turn came around again. This was his fourth time. He was cold and hungry, but it dawned on him that he was having a strange sort of fun. He just couldn’t believe he was standing out in a field with a group of witches, trying to learn how to activate a broomstick. He didn’t even care if he succeeded this round or not. He believed what Malcolm said about failing and recovering. At some point, one or more of the kids would make it work. The adults had all started where the WITs were now, standing in a field somewhere, cold, hungry, and failing. Even his Aunt Beverly had started out not being able to do anything.
Charlie took in a deep breath, cold air with the scent of pine and damp earth filling his lungs. He closed his eyes, held his hand over the long chunky piece of wood in the wet grass, and moved his lips. As usual, nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing.
“Good try, Charlie. Next,” said Malcolm.
But something felt different this time. Almost … almost as if what he really should have done was open his mouth a little and let the Words say themselves. That was strange. How could that be right? But it did feel right, somehow.
“Charlie, time to stop and give someone else a chance,” Malcolm said.
But he didn’t stop. He felt a stirring in his chest, a sensation of rushing forward, as if a wide expanse had opened up in front of him. He could feel the thrilling vastness of something just beyond his reach.
“Charlie,” said Malcolm, his voice sterner.
Charlie opened his mouth, and this time the Words themselves moved his lips as if tiny invisible fingers were lifting and pulling at them. He heard the Words near him, not as if he were saying them, but as if a crowd of people a short distance away were mumbling them, and the sounds carried to both of his ears simultaneously.
A sensation of vertigo descended on him. He felt sure that if he opened his eyes he would find himself standing on the edge of a cliff with endless miles of drop-off just beneath the tips of his rain boots.
He could feel the Words inside his ears, as if they were small live insects tickling the nerve endings along the rows of cartilage inside his ear drums.
With a soft whooshing sound and a hard smack against his palm, the broomstick landed right in the middle of Charlie’s hand. He closed his fingers around it before he could drop it, then opened his eyes.
At first, there was no sound. Only the sight of the other kids, Malcolm, and the adults that he could see standing off to the sides, eyes and mouths wide open.
Then one of the kids shouted, “Hurray!” Soon everyone was clapping and cheering. Malcolm’s smile beamed, and some of the younger kids even jumped up and down.
“I did it,” Charlie muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
The broomstick quivered with tiny vibrations in his hand, confirming that he had, in fact, been successful.
After the cheering died down, Malcolm spoke.
“Now, my boy, do you remember the Words to return it to just a
piece of wood?”
He nodded. He knew how to do it now. All he had to do was stop trying to make it work and instead let the Words say themselves through his mouth. He closed his eyes, the Words came through, the feeling of vertigo left him, and the broom dropped to the ground. It seemed so obvious, so easy. How could he not have seen it before?
More clapping, more smiling from Malcolm, even more of a sense of understanding on his part about how it all worked.
“Okay, do it again, Charlie. Call up that baby, and you can take it for a spin.”
The Words came through with even more assurance. The sense of vertigo and slipping forward wasn’t as strong the second time. The broom snapped up into his hands in a way that felt right, like catching a stick someone had tossed to him. Its weight felt good in his hand. Familiar.
“Okay, kiddo, hold on a second,” Malcolm said. He called two adults over from the side. Charlie wished Beverly had been there to help. He would have appreciated her calm caring attitude.
“I’ll be here when you get back on Sunday night. I’ll help you practice all the things you’ll learn with Malcolm,” she had said as she handed him a sleeping bag and helped him load his things into the minivan that was taking a group of kids and adults to Malcolm’s place.
“I’ve got to stay here and make sure this community keeps itself going while you’re all off having fun,” she had said, giving him a wink.
One of the adults called over by Malcolm was the tall black man who helped subdue Charlie when he had started breaking things after learning of Principal Wang’s heart attack. His name was Sean Crenshaw.
He smiled at the boy and said, “Good job, Charlie. Looks like you’re getting the hang of it.” He lifted his right leg up and over his own broomstick and stood ready.
The other adult was an older white woman he didn’t recognize. She had arrived earlier in the day and had been observing the training for most of the time. She gave him a nod and mounted her broomstick too.
“Rose and I,” Sean continued, nodding to the woman, “will go with you as you take your first solo flight. Now remember, you steer by moving the tip of the broom up or down, side to side, with your hands. You only need to move it a little bit to change direction.”
“How do you speed up or slow down?” Charlie asked, coughing slightly. Now that they were about to take off, his mouth had dried up and his hands were shaking.
“Mostly from leaning forward or back. But it’s hard to explain. You’ll figure it out as you do it. Don’t forget to wrap your feet up on the bristles behind you to protect the family jewels,” he added, motioning below his waist with his hands. The girls in the group laughed. The boys’ faces turned green.
Malcolm told the WITs to open up the circle and stand out of the way. Charlie pointed the broom toward the far side of the field.
“Nice and slow, Charlie,” said Rose to his left. Strands of gray hair were loose beneath the hood of her jacket. She had on purple gloves and smelled like flowers. She gave him another nod.
Charlie lifted his leg up over the broom and grasped the shaft with both hands. It seemed lighter than it had before. Was it hovering? He couldn’t tell. He brought it right up between his legs, bending his knees a little.
“Have you ever surfed before, Charlie?” asked Sean.
Charlie shook his head.
“Oh well,” Sean said, shrugging his shoulders. “Forget that metaphor then.”
Charlie looked out across the field.
Is this really going to work? he wondered. The idea of flying on a broomstick had seemed fun. But now he wasn’t so sure. He wished another WIT had activated a broom first so Charlie could have watched.
“Just push off gently with your feet and …” Rose said.
Charlie shuffled his feet a few steps, then pushed.
The broom slid forward, causing his boots to drag along the wet grass. He felt the handle dig into his crotch.
Charlie winced. “Ow!”
“Feet up and beneath you,” Sean said from his right side. The man had mounted his own broom and was gliding along next to him. Charlie turned his head to try to see where the man put his feet, causing the front of the broom to jerk to the right.
Before he knew what happened, he slipped over the side and flipped upside-down. He held tightly to the handle and managed to wrap his legs around the back near the bristle end, hanging bat-like from the shaft.
Cheers and laughter came from the group of WITs behind him.
He continued to float forward at a snail’s pace, his head only a few inches above the grass.
“I can’t …” he grunted. “I don’t …”
Rose giggled as she flew on his other side. “That’s certainly one way to mount a broom. See if you can climb back on top.”
“We can give you a hand if you can’t,” said Sean. He and Rose were flying at the same slow pace to match his.
Charlie tried not to look at the trees coming slowly toward him, upside-down. Instead he focused on righting himself. He attempted to swing his body upright, but that only forced the broom to shake from end to end, nearly prying it from his fingers. For just a moment he tried to recreate the move he had done back in Diego’s bedroom when he had flipped the boy onto his back, but since he had no idea how he had done it, he dropped the idea. Eventually he pressed his chest to the broom handle and squeezed his legs to the side until he slid back on top, huffing and puffing the entire time. He stayed stretched out along the length of the broom, not quite ready to sit up. He was glad he was wearing kneepads. Somehow it had been his knees and his ankles that had helped to right himself.
“It’s working!” he shouted, voice shaking with laughter and relief. The slight breeze on his face cooled him off.
“Way to go, Charlie,” said Sean. “Now, scoot back with your feet underneath you. You’ll have more stability.”
He slid back until he sat almost completely on the bristled end and felt much more anchored. He extended his forearms until he sat straight up. His arms shook from effort, but a thrill ran through him.
Oh my god! I’m flying! he said in his head. It wasn’t what he expected. He thought it would be like riding a bike. But a bike was heavy. When he rode one, he could feel all the bumps in the road as he pedaled along. This was softer. The broom floated up and down on the air currents, and the sensation of having nothing beneath him, of being three or four feet above ground, was pure heaven.
“Kind of fun, isn’t it?” Rose said from his left side.
“Yeah!” he yelled, the word carrying out across the field. They were inching along, so a quieter tone of voice would have been appropriate, but he was too excited to be able to manage talking normally. He lifted his face and enjoyed the soft droplets of rain sprinkling down on his cheeks and nose.
Rose reached over and put her hand on the tip of his broom.
“Hold on, okay? We’re going to steer clear of those trees.” She guided him to the left.
They were approaching the outer ring of the forest at the far end of the clearing. Together, they turned in a slow arc, eventually flying parallel to the trees.
He was reminded of riding a small pony at the county fair when he was little. The handler had kept her hand on the saddle’s horn as they had walked about the corral.
“There you go,” said Rose, letting go of his broom.
Charlie heard Sean’s voice above and behind him.
“Charlie, pull up a little on the tip. Give it a try, but don’t lean back too …”
He pulled the broomstick end up toward his chest, which caused him to slide backwards, the shaft burning his palms. The broom shot skyward, going from a snail’s pace to what felt like lightning speed in seconds, nearly yanking his arms from their sockets. His entire body slid off the end of the broom, his hands barely managing to maintain their grip. He was about to crash into the treetops, which were approaching at breakneck speed.
“No!” he screamed.
Sean appeared in front of him
, then slid off his own broomstick so that he was hanging from it by one arm.
“Let me!” he yelled to the boy. He grabbed the end of Charlie’s broom with his free hand and pulled up toward the sky.
The two of them climbed at an even steeper angle. Charlie clung tightly to the broomstick, sure that at any moment his fingers would lose their grip and he would plunge to his death. Both he and Sean had to tuck their knees to avoid hitting the treetops with their feet.
Once clear of the trees, Sean let go of Charlie’s broom, letting it level out, and in one swift movement pulled his own broom down and swung up and over it, once again in a mounted position.
“Right as rain,” Rose said as she and Sean lifted Charlie up into a sitting position on his own broom. Somehow she sounded calm even as she shouted to be heard above the wind.
Charlie’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His palms stung where the broomstick had slid between his hands, and his thighs felt weak and wobbly from their vice-like grip on the shaft. He shook his head, then looked at the witches on either side of him. He was in awe of the grace and casual confidence they possessed as they rode their brooms.
“I have a lot to learn,” he yelled to them.
“Fail and recover,” Rose reminded him, giving Charlie a warm smile.
“Welcome to the friendly skies,” Sean shouted. “The only way to fly.”
Together, the three of them soared higher above the treetops and circled the perimeter of the clearing a few times. Charlie had just relaxed enough to enjoy the complete rush of flying so high in the air before Rose pointed back to the field.
They descended slowly. Charlie only had a moment to panic, having no idea how to actually land on the ground. Malcolm had barely covered Takeoff 101 in their lessons, let alone landing. Was he supposed to slip off the side of the broomstick, or touch down with it still between his legs?
Before he knew it, the ground slammed into his feet while he was still straddling the stick. Because the broom was activated, it continued flying straight ahead. Not knowing what else to do, he gripped tightly to the handle while it yanked him forward for a good twenty yards, his legs stumbling along in an awkward run on either side of the broom. He could hear shouts coming from the crowd of adults and kids watching him.
The Boy Who Couldn’t Fly Home: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (The Broom Closet Stories Book 2) Page 3
