Moon White: Color Me Enchanted with Bonus Content (5 page)

Maybe my love of fairies is related to my love of ballet, or maybe it’s something else, but I’ve always admired the delicate grace and sweet beauty of woodland fairies, and when I was little I used to actually pretend that I was one of them. Wearing an old tutu and a set of homemade wings, I’d go flitting around my mom’s flower garden, picking a few blooms and further decorating my costume. My mom even took some candid photos once. She used to keep one of them in an engraved silver frame by her bedside, although I have no idea where it is now.

The fairies seem to take on a new life in the flickering candlelight, and it’s almost as if I can sense a newfound energy in myself as well. Maybe it really is a result of the combination of the color and scent in this candle, or maybe it’s just my imagination, but oddly enough I feel like dancing. I’m still wearing my leotard and tights and, feeling strangely energized, I put on an old Enya CD, one I scavenged from my mom’s music collection, and I begin to dance. I dance and dance and dance until my legs feel like wet noodles.

And then I flop down onto my bed and begin to write in my new Book of Shadows. I fill up three pages with writing, and to my surprise it’s about my mom. It’s
all
about my mom. I describe how much I loved her and how I miss her and I go into quite a lot of detail about how guilty I feel sometimes, especially when I think of all the things I could’ve done differently while she was alive. But more than anything else, I write about how I wish I could talk to her right now. I wonder what she would tell me, what direction she could give me about Lucy, about ballet, about Augustine and Dad, about everything. I might even want to ask her about Wicca. Mom and I never really talked about spiritual things. I know she prayed and even read an old family Bible sometimes, especially as the time
of her death drew near. But she was never a churchgoer, and to my knowledge she wasn’t a Christian. At least she never told me she was. If only she could speak to me now.

I finally close my Book of Shadows and let out a long sigh. Even though it was hard to write all that stuff down, I actually feel better. It’s like a load has been lifted. Still, more than ever, I have this longing to communicate with my mother. But then I see my U.S. history book sitting on my computer desk, and I have a feeling if Mom could talk to me right now, she’d say, “Quit wasting time and do your homework.”

So I blow out my inspiration candle, turn on the lights, change into my sweats, and hit the books. But as I’m researching online for a report on the Louisiana Purchase, I see a pop-up ad that says, “You can talk to the dead.” Like a dummy, I click on it. Of course, I can tell it’s a stupid rip-off to get some poor unsuspecting idiot (like me?) to fork over money to some scam artist who pretends he can connect me to my long-lost loved one. Yeah, right. Then, as long as I’m distracted, I check my e-mail, thinking maybe Lucy apologized that way. But there’s nothing. Not even a piece of junk mail. It’s like no one wants to talk to me. I consider writing a note to Lucy, saying that I won’t hold her words against her.

But instead, I begin to wonder if there might be some legit website about communicating with the dead. I type in the address Willow gave me, and the heading of one particular link there catches my eye. “Eliminate the Middle Man — Talk to the Dead On Your Own.” So I click it and am impressed with the no-nonsense approach of this site. Plus they’re not trying to sell anything. It’s like they simply want to give you the tools to do it yourself. So I print out their short list of guidelines and set it aside. First, I realize, I must finish my homework. I really do believe that’s what Mom would say too.

But when I’m done, or mostly done, I pick up the printout and study it. The writer compares talking to the dead to making a phone call on a cell phone. If you’re in an area with poor reception, you might not get through. Or if you’re in the wrong building, you might be blocked. Or maybe you just have a crummy cell phone. In other words, if you take some time and care in contacting a loved one, you might actually connect. There seem to be three basic steps. (1) You have to be willing to make the call. (2) You have to be willing to listen. (3) You have to be willing to talk back. The article also says that it helps to have a significant item that belonged to the departed or to be in a place where the departed enjoyed being. I walk around my room in search of an item and finally stop at my jewelry box, taking out my mom’s wedding ring — Dad gave it to me when I turned sixteen. I slip it onto my finger and then I think hard, trying to imagine one of Mom’s favorite places. Our house has changed so much that I feel fairly sure it can’t be inside the house. Then I remember how she loved the big old oak tree in the front yard. In fact, one year my dad considered cutting it down to let more light into the kitchen, but she begged him to leave it there.

So, wearing Mom’s ring, I tiptoe down the stairs. It’s quiet and dark down here, and I suspect that Dad and Augustine have turned in already. So I slip out the front door unnoticed, and I go out into the yard and stand under the big oak tree and look up. To my surprise there is a nearly full moon just emerging from the clouds in the east, and although the porch light is off, our entire yard and street is washed in a pale white light. The setting seems perfect. But now I’m trying to remember what I’m supposed to do. Oh yeah, just make the call. So I close my eyes and say, “Mom, are you there? Can you hear me? Do you want to talk to me?” Okay, I feel a little silly. But I also feel a little desperate. And how will I know if I don’t give
this a good try? I say the same thing several times, pleading with my mom to give me a sign, to show me that she’s here, that she’s okay, anything. But all I get is silence. That and a dog barking down the street. And the barking is really distracting. Plus I’m getting cold, and Oliver, who must’ve slipped out with me, is meowing to be let back into the house. And so I give up and go back inside.

I try not to feel too defeated as I get ready for bed. I mean, it’s not like I’m an expert at these supernatural things yet. The important thing is that I’m starting to understand them, and I respect them, and I want to learn more. I remind myself how invigorating and empowering it felt to light that candle and dance to Enya tonight. And what a relief it was to write those things in my Book of Shadows. It’s like something in me is coming alive — things are starting to make sense. And somehow I think the things that happened tonight have something to do with my mom. Somehow I think maybe she was watching me. But maybe there was something wrong with my connection or reception when I tried to make contact with her. Maybe I should try it again, perhaps in another location. Anyway, I don’t plan on giving up. This is just the beginning.

“H
OW’S IT GOING
?” L
UCY ASKS ME THE NEXT MORNING
. I
CAN TELL BY HER
crinkled brow that she’s still worried about something. I’m guessing it’s my spiritual welfare. But at least she’s talking to me. That’s something.

“Fine,” I tell her as I close my locker.

She smiles and seems relieved. “Oh, good.”

For some reason this reaction worries me. What is she assuming here? Does she think that just because I said
fine
, everything between us is peachy? Even if that was possible, I’m not sure that I’d like it. For one thing, I think she owes me an apology.

“I was really praying for you last night, Heather,” she continues with bright eyes. “I was down on my knees just begging God to show you the truth, and praying that the truth would set you free.”

“Really?” Now this actually surprises me because, as ironic as it seems, that’s exactly how I felt. “Maybe your prayers were answered.”

“Seriously?”

I nod cautiously. “Yeah. It felt like I was really freed up from something last night, Lucy. It was this amazing spiritual experience, like I’m on the brink of something that’s going to be life changing, you know?”

“Oh, Heather, that’s so cool.”

“Yeah, it really was.” Okay, even as I say this, I suspect we may be talking about two totally different things. And if Lucy knew exactly what I was doing last night, well, she’d probably freak.

“And I was thinking as I was praying, Heather, remember how Pastor Hamilton told you last year that you need to be baptized?”

I don’t say anything. It’s not like I haven’t heard this before. The pastor nagged me for months to take the plunge into the dunk tank, and according to him, it must be done in front of the entire gaping congregation. He says it’s so that I can “partake in the Lord’s Supper,” but I’m not sure what I think of all that. And the idea of standing down there in front of everyone, sopping wet and holding up my hands like I’ve seen others doing, some of them breaking down in uncontrollable sobs . . . well, it’s pretty freaky. Consequently, I just haven’t been able to make myself do it. I don’t even think it’s exactly necessary.

“So, anyway, I thought maybe that’s your problem. You’re being rebellious against God, Heather. And if you want your heart to be right with God, you need to surrender and be baptized by Pastor Hamilton. Does that make sense?”

I frown. “Maybe to you.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, Lucy, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but my spirituality is different than yours, okay? I need to explore some new things, and I need to figure it out on my own. I’m not like you. I can’t just blindly accept some canned religion and — ”

“It’s
not
a canned religion.” Lucy is giving me that look now. That look that tells me, once again, I have stepped over some invisible spiritual line. Like a lightning bolt might come down and zap me at any given moment. I almost expect her to step away from me
just to protect herself.

“Okay, whatever you want to call it,” I say firmly. “Your brand of religion just isn’t what I need right now.”

“So you’re not giving up Wicca after all.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “How can I give up something that might actually work for me? I know you don’t get it, but there are other forms of spiritual power in the universe. And for the first time ever, I feel like I’m finally on to some real answers, like I could finally get a grip on my life. Why would I want to give that up?”

She frowns and shakes her head now. “Then I won’t be able to be your friend anymore.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. I talked to Pastor Hamilton yesterday, and he made it perfectly clear that I’m not to spend any time with you, Heather.” She looks at me with what appear to be actual tears in her eyes. “I really believed that you’d come around, especially last night when I was praying so fervently. But it looks like . . . like I was wrong.”

I get ready to reason with her now. “But can’t you see that I need — ”

“No!” She holds up a hand like a stop sign. “I am totally serious about this, Heather. Witchcraft is an abomination to God. I cannot be around you if you’re going to continue in it. That’s it.” And then she turns and walks away.

I press my lips tightly together and just watch her go. My best friend is ditching me because of my personal beliefs. Talk about spiritual persecution. Okay, the truth is I don’t feel all that surprised by this. I mean, it was obviously just a matter of time before we parted ways. But here’s the weird thing — I don’t feel nearly as hurt as I thought I’d be. It’s like I knew it was coming and now it’s over with. I need to just let it go. And so I take in a deep breath and
then slowly exhale. It feels sort of symbolic, like I’m blowing away my friendship with Lucy as I do this. As I walk toward the English department, it occurs to me that Lucy brought a lot of negativity into my life. I mean, her religion is so restrictive, it seems like it’s mostly a list of don’ts. I honestly think I’ll be healthier without her around. Sure, it might be lonely, but just the same, it’s time to move on.

“Hey, Heather!” calls a girl’s voice from behind me. I turn to see that it’s Elizabeth Daniels and she’s hurrying to catch up with me. It’s funny seeing her here at school. She looks so ordinary wearing a pair of torn jeans and a light blue T-shirt. Who would guess she’s a talented ballerina? “I thought that was you,” she says as she joins me. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” I say, forcing a smile. “How’s it going?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m still feeling kinda lost. I mean, this school is way smaller than where I used to go, but not knowing anyone is a real bummer. So who do you ask for directions?”

“Well, you know me,” I tell her. “What are you trying to find?”

So she tells me and I point the way.

“Uh, Heather,” she says in a tentative tone. “Do you, uh, do you usually eat lunch with a certain group of friends?”

“Yeah, sure.” Then I realize what she’s really asking. “Do you want to join us?”

Her blue eyes light up when she smiles. “Oh, could I? Lunchtime is by far the hardest part of the day. I feel so conspicuous sitting by myself. And then if someone tries to be nice to me, well, I’m just not sure what their motives are. But at least I kinda know you. I mean, we do have ballet in common.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Okay, why don’t you meet me by the north entrance to the commons, and we can go in together.” I almost
mention that there will be room since I have one good friend who will not be joining us today, but I’m not quite ready to divulge that much. Besides, there’s the chance that Lucy could freeze me out of our little group. It’s possible that Chelsea and Kendall will take her side, although I doubt it. Anyway, I know it can’t hurt to be nice to Elizabeth. After all, she’s Naomi’s godchild.