ENTRY ONE

You might be wondering how I got into this situation. Well, the thing is, I'm kinda wondering that too. The situation? Being caught by darling mom, dancing stark naked in the woodsy clearing behind our house. Yeah, I'd call it a predicament myself.

I was flying. I whirled, lifting my arms into a pirouette above my head. As soon as my feet landed back on ground I kicked off, leaping into the air like a stag. I opened my eyes, for they had been closed during my performance, and stare up at the sky, the moon looming above. Standing still, head tilted upwards, I breathe in deeply and spread open my arms, as if to embrace the night sky, a soft smile on my face.

Normally I am just the rebellious daughter of Sharon, the greatest mother on earth. People would think to themselves while looking at me “How did a woman as wonderful as Sharon get a daughter like that?” They'd look their eyes down at me in disdain, feeling pity for my mother for having a child such as me.

I guess I'm the way I am because of my mother. A rebel, a free-thinker. When I was younger I used to worship the ground she walked on, I'd try to emulate her by helping others just the way she did. Charitable acts. I quickly learned that no matter how hard I tried, it wasn't enough.

“Here you go, kitty. All nice and clean now.”

I set the tiny, emaciated bundle of wet fur down on my pillow, warm and still slightly sudsy from the bath my seven-year old self had given it after finding it dirty and hungry next to my school dumpster. I couldn't understand why such a wonderful creature was out on its own, so young, so scrawny. Where was it's mommy, to feed it? Why hadn't someone helped it?

“Don't worry,” I said, stroking the purring kitten's back. “I'll take care of you. My momma will make sure you get nice and big. She's real nice.”

I heard the front door open, and I flew down the hallway to the living room.

“Mommy, mommy! Guess what I found?” I chattered excitedly, eager to show my new friend to her, yearning to receive praise for my generosity in helping another.

“Not now, darling. Mommy's tired and needs to get started on dinner.”

“But-”

“Fine. What did you find?”

I grabbed her hand and dragged her to my room. Her expression was of complete disbelief when she saw the poor kitten on my pristine white bed.

“Mommy? I helped it, I did good right? She can stay?” I asked imploringly, my adorable eyes filled with hope.

“Get that thing out of here, now.” she told me, her jaw clenched.

“Mommy?”

“NOW!” she screamed, and then left, slamming my door so hard the floor beneath my feet trembled.

Shaking, my eyes filled with tears. My first rebellious act against my mother came next. I grabbed the kitten, who came to be known as Snookums, and my blankie, and left out the door in my room.

I was found at two in the morning by a nice police officer, and he found me there every day after for the next five days until my mother realized that to get me to stop, she had to let me keep that “thing” as she called him, since he turned out to be a boy. Snookums got to stay, whether she wanted him or not.

“..Janie? Is that you?” a querulous female voice called out from behind me.

I froze, and then quickly dived behind a fairly large oak tree, attempting to hide my naked body. I succeeded partly, but it was too late.

“Janie LeAnn Adams, you turn around and look at me this instant! Don't think I don't recognize the birthmark on your tush!”

Cringing, I silently debated whether to make a run for it, or to turn around and face my accuser. Upon the realization that there was no where that I could run, for the obvious reason that I was as naked as the day I was born, I slumped my shoulders in defeat and turned around, arms crossed over my breasts and keeping my lower half covered by standing behind foliage.

I met my mothers vehement eyes before dropping my gaze to the ground, feigning studious interest in my toes.

“Janie!” my mother said sharply, and I quickly looked up.

“Yes?” I mumbled.

“What has gotten into you?” She looked so flabbergasted I couldn't help but inwardly chuckle. Whether it was the look on her face, or the fact that I had actually thought of the word 'flabbergasted' is undetermined.

“Somethings gotten into me?” I shot back at her.

Her face seemed to get a little more stiff.

“Dinner will be at six. I expect you there. Clothed.” Her voice was icy, and full of restrained anger, before she turned on her heel and walks up back to the house.

Some mothers may be a little thick-headed, and not too bright. Not my mother. She's sly, witty, conniving, and has a college degree in psychology. She's a Catholic, a brutally devout one.

This was all for her, and for her God. Oh, how she hated being related to me, how she and her friends would talk about me. They couldn't understand how I did well in school with my 'attitude' and style of dress.

Even though I had long since gotten used to my mother not accepting who I am, it still hurt like a sharp knife in my heart, that to be loved by her I would have to give myself up.

I redressed, my clothes had been lying in a pile near where I had been dancing. Most people described my eclectic style as “edgy”, others as “artsy” and even a few as “bohemian”. I wasn't really sure what to call it, but it fit me.

I walk up to the house, and stand outside the front door, taking a good look at the house I've lived in my whole life. It looks great on the outside. We have a nicely manicured lawn, flowerbeds, and homely decorations. Normally, there might have been witty sayings on the mat in front of the door, but instead it says "God Bless You!". Not a bad saying at all, but I think the way my mother meant it was as a threat. You have better carry God's Blessing when stepping through our door- or else.

OK, I might be coming off as a little judgmental. My mother truly is a great person, I admit it. But not if you have to live with her as I do, and attempt to match her standards, only to fail.

She does a lot of community service and organizing for the community. She's very independent, reliable, and confident. She can also outwit anyone. A social butterfly, an “angel sent from God himself” our church pastor once told me. I happen to like this pastor, and I agree with his opinion, to an extent. My mother, Sharon, is also an extremely prejudiced person.

I step through the doorway and into the house. It's minimalistic inside, with gorgeous decorated with hardwood flooring, a burgundy color, and cream furniture. Oh, there's some pictures on the walls, and a bookcase with biblical studies and inspirational books, but there's no clutter, no 'family' feeling coming from the decor. We're the 'perfect' family; we're organized, educated, and completely cold to each other. And some people wonder how I became mature so fast. I didn't eat macaroni and cheese for dinner and then play with Barbie dolls, thats for sure.

I'm now in my room. It's not much. White, twin-sized bed, off-white walls, a dark wooden desk, a dresser, and a mirror. On my desk sits my beloved computer. Unmonitored by parental facilities, and where I can learn all I want.

I click open the Internet, and go to my history, selecting the site I'd found earlier this afternoon, before I went on my dancing spree. The website at the top of my history was titled 'Unleashing Your Inner Spirit'.

It had seemed like a good idea when I had read about it, Sharon being at the bake sale and all. I had never had a thing for dancing, my body being awkwardly long and skinny. But the article even addressed that, saying that it would improve self-confidence, not that anyone needed to know behind my rough exterior that I wasn't confident! No one ever got that close to me, anyway. The only thing the dancing required was accepting your body as it is, and agreeing, for at least a short term, that it was beautiful.

I had done that. When I had been dancing in the clearing, no clothes on whatsoever, I had felt unimaginably beauteous and graceful. Undeniable in my freedom and joy. Which was stomped to nothing when my mother appeared, of course.

I quickly go back to the site, and scan the navigation. "Find pagans in your area", huh? I clicked it.

Inputting my area code and specifying to show results only within a 15 mile radius, I pressed search.

It seemed to take forever. I was holding my breath, and only once the results appeared did it all come out in a whoosh.

7 results. Eagerly, I leaned forward, and read off the names.

Laura Clevin. Age 32, wiccan.

Shane Marks. Age 51, chaos magician.

Todd McLarty. Age 19, celtic druid.

The Bold Hawk That Knows All. Age 46, shaman/druid/pagan/psychic. See desc for prices.

Lena LaPorte. Age 21, eclectic neopagan.

Patty Griffins. Age 73, family tradition.

Eunice Earnhardt. Age 97, hedge witch.

I stared at the two youngest names. Todd McLarty and Lena LaPorte. What was a druid? Was it different then in World of Warcraft? Lena LaPorte.. the name seemed vaguely familiar. I shrugged it off, and jotted down both of their addresses. Maybe I'd pay them a visit this weekend, on the pretense of visiting my friend Alice in the next town over. After I had done some more research, of course. I wanted to be able to intellectual have some grounding before meeting them. I had only read on site on the subject so far, one site thats ad on google had instantly caught my eye.

"Janie! You better be doing your homework!" Mother's voice seemed to be able to find me anywhere. I sighed, and told my computer to shut down.

Homework, when done properly like I did it, could be drawn out for hours.

It was six by the time I finished, and sat down at the dining-room table for dinner.

My mother made polite inquiries about my day, as if she hadn't caught me naked in our backyard, dancing. Is that a trick psychologists can do, mask over how surprised they are that you did something socially unheard of, revealing a poker face more professional then the best gambler can manage?

After dinner, while I'm drying the dishes, mother washing, she easily states that she'll be gone for the weekend on missionary work. She then continues on, saying that I must confess it Sunday, while she's gone, the 'sin' I committed this afternoon. I don't even flinch. Inwardly, I'm proud of myself, hoping she was looking for a reaction. Maybe hiding your true emotions is something that runs in the family.

Later on, I curl up on my bed with my cat, Snookums, and read a book the school librarian lent me. It's Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors.

"A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,

We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;

But were we burdened with like weight of pain,

As much or more we should ourselves complain. "

Tucking the book under my pillow, I stared at the ceiling, wondering why fate had dealt me the cards it had. It wasn't until much later that night that that I finally fell asleep.

--------------------------------------

I woke up before my alarm clock went off, the sun not even up yet.

Yawning, I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to take a shower.

While the warm water sluiced down my back, I pondered what to do with my Saturday. By the time I had gotten out of the shower, I had an idea.

I was going to the library.

The ride didn't take long, the library was in the nearest city about 20 minutes away. And damn, the thing was huge.

The large building towered over me, imposing on even the sky. It was unusually large for the city, but hey, the more books the better.

Once inside, it took some scurrying around to find the 'new age' section, as the library labeled it. But in the end, I found it. It was in the corner of the fourth floor, nestled in a tiny niche between Taoism and and about a hundred books on two-thousand and twelve.

Scanning the titles, I found some interesting reads, including a few obviously bad reads by the author Silver CrowWolf.

Underneath all the corny Wiccan titles, something snagged my eye.

I took it out gingerly, eying the dark leather book, so old that the leather had started to crack off. The binding was fraying apart, and the pages were yellow. In silver script in the front, it said “Wild Wings: Tales of Wild Magick”. The author was under the pen name “The Animist”.

Intrigued, I opened it up to the first page to find the only words were a rhyme:

By sea and stone

By flame and stream

May those who are in chains or need

find freedom from binding within

By Mother Earth and Father Sun

Tell this tale

and spin it well

My lips formed each word as I read them, and each breath of air seemed to let the words linger in the air in front of me. When I finished, I shook my head, shaking off deja vu. Somehow, just from reading that one page, I knew I'd be taking this book home with me.