Solstice - Of The Heart (13 page)

“I just think you need to branch out a
little. Talk to someone your own age.”

“I have other friends.”

“Who?”

“How about Charleen, Sandra, and
Brittany? And Jason and Robert.” I ticked them off one by one for
Dierdra.

“It’s nice to hear you are making
friends. You can bring them by anytime, you know.”

No chance!

“And I met a boy.”

“Who?”

“His name is Aaron Delmon.”

“You like this boy?”

“A lot.”

“He’s your age?”

“Yes, Mom. He’s sixteen.”

“He lives around here?”

“Yes, up above the tracks.”

I smelled burnt food. I got up and
pulled the chicken pot pies out of the oven.

“Did they burn?” Dierdra said, as she
poured another drink.

“No. Spilt over is all.” I turned the
oven off and sat the pies on the table.

“Good.”

The warmth of the oven sent chills
through me. I realized how chilly it was getting in the
cabin.

“I’ll go get some wood,” I
offered.

“Eat first. I’ll help you after
dinner.” Dierdra motioned for me to sit down.

I stabbed at the crust on my
pie.

“Tell me more about Aaron.”

“He’s just a boy I met.”

“Sounds like he is more than just a
boy. Is he cute?”

I didn’t think telling Dierdra, Aaron
is a golden Adonis who, in my opinion, has super powers, would work
in my favor for staying out of the peer counseling
group.

“Of course. He’s tall, has blonde
hair, blue eyes that sparkle, and he’s smart.”

“Sounds like a nice young man. Do I
know his parents?”

I picked at my pot pie, found a piece
of chicken, stabbed it, and slipped it in my mouth. It was hot—too
hot. I swallowed hard. My eyes watered.

Dierdra leaned forward. “You
okay?”

I waved my hand over my mouth.
“Hot.”

Dierdra handed me her glass. I took a
slug of the whiskey sour. I don’t know that it helped the burn, but
it sure did help settle the nerves.

I was hoping mother would forget her
last question. She didn’t.

“So, do I know Aaron’s
parents?”

“I don’t think he has any,
Mom.”

The concern roared back. “Then who
does he live with?”

I wasn’t sure how to label Bernard and
I wasn’t one to lie to my mother.

“He lives with Bernard. He’s the
janitor at our school. I think he is Aaron’s uncle or
something.”

Dierdra seemed satisfied with the
answer. After all, I had just met the boy. How would I know all the
details of his family life? She put down her glass. She nibbled on
her pot pie.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she said.
“I know we don’t get to talk much anymore with me busy with my
clients and trying to make sense of my life. So this is
special.”

“I miss it too.”

I lied. But I lied to myself. I didn’t
like the idea of drifting away from my mother, but at the same time
I felt distancing, normal under our circumstances. She was
exploring a new life and so was I. We were just two people
traveling at different speeds in different directions. That
reminded me of the maroon beanie. I felt like sharing, so I
did.

I pulled the beanie from my head.
“Aaron bought me this,” I said. I corrected. “Actually, I bought
it, but he sold it to me. He works at the Fifth Season.”

I saw Dierdra’s face cloud over. “Your
father shopped there.”

“Yeah. I know. Carson Gruen told
me.”

Her face lightened. “Well, let me see
it.”

I handed the beanie over.

“It’s pretty. I like the
colors.”

“Aaron picked it out.”

“He has good taste. Are these
clouds?”

“Yes. Wave-clouds. There’s a picture
of them over Shasta.”

“Really. Clouds in the form of waves.
How does that happen?”

“Aaron told me, two layers of air
moving at two different speeds in opposite directions cause them.
He said it doesn’t happen very often.”

“Aaron seems to know a lot about the
mountain.”

“He does. He’s climbed Shasta a bunch
of times.”

“Alone? Isn’t that
dangerous?”

“No. He goes with Bernard and his two
cousins, Belmont and Beaumont.”

“What kind of names are those? Belmont
and Beaumont.”

“They mean beautiful mountain. Aaron
means mountain of strength.”

“You’ve been busy. How do you know all
this?”

“The internet, Mom.”

“You can’t trust everything you read
on the internet.”

I thought about everything I had read
on the Lemurians. What Dierdra said was true. I sank in my chair.
So much of what one reads on the internet is suspect. How could I
share with my mother what I had read and assumed of
Aaron?

Had my imagination gotten
ahead of me? Was I smitten by puppy-love, as Cherrie kept saying?
Was my judgment clouded? Had Aaron really pulled the car off the
cliff on Shasta? And bringing pigs back to life? And sucking energy
from other human beings?

Maybe I did need therapy. Maybe the
peer group thing wasn’t such a bad idea.

After two whiskey sours, Dierdra
needed help getting to bed. So what else was new? I tucked her in,
kissed her on the forehead, and said good night. Her eyes closed
before I shut her bedroom door. I heard her say, “I love you,
Julissa.”

I stepped out into the chilly night
with the wood tote. The air stood crisp. Stars hung low, so low I
expected if I reached up I could touch them.

There goes that imagination
again.

I stumbled through the dark to the
wood pile and filled the tote. I took a breather and looked north.
Mount Shasta loomed larger than life. Her white crested top
stretched into the star studded heavens.

I remembered what I had read about
Shasta; it’s the cone of an extinct volcano, it stands 14,179 feet
high, and it is considered to be one of the most sacred places on
earth. I read about its mystic powers and about how its roots
reached down to the core of the earth and the energy that radiated
from within. It was said to be filled with tunnels and caverns
where the survivors of ancient Lemuria lived in a city called
Telos.

In stark daylight, much of what I read
sounded like folly. But on a starlit night, Shasta appeared to be a
breathing, living entity, capable of living up to the spiritual
needs of those who visited her, including my father. I was hoping
Aaron would eventually share why he and others were attracted to
the mountain, to the point of death.

10 DREAMS

I slept fitfully during the night,
mostly because around midnight something more than rain beat down
on the cabin’s metal roof. I learned the mountain created its own
weather patterns. The sky could be clear—like it was last evening
when I went out to get wood—and then, hours later, a full blown
storm could ensue.

I snuggled under the comforter feeling
warm and secure, but disturbed. Dreams took over as I drifted in
and out.

I dreamed I was walking through my
high school. I was in my senior year, just finishing up with my
classes, but I didn’t want to leave. I knew the administrators
would force me to depart if I didn’t fail a class or hide away. My
grades were more than good and I didn’t have it in me to deceive,
even if I was cheating by failing. So my only option was to hide. I
found a door in the school I hadn’t noticed before. When I opened
it I saw stairs leading to a basement.

In the cellar I saw a huge swimming
pool, which nearly filled the room. In the middle of the pool sat a
stage. A man stood on the stage. He was tall and wore his blonde
hair shoulder length. Because he kept his back to me at all times,
I could not see his face, but somehow I knew him to be beautiful.
He was in the process of arranging microphones, tuning guitars, and
manipulating the amplifiers. He also took turns singing various
songs.

Testing his voice, I
imagined.

I got it in my head that if I could
sing and join the band I would be allowed to stay in school. After
all, I had reason to believe there weren’t any jobs to be had
outside in the world. I circled the pool. I listened to his voice.
I listened to the words, and I listened to the harmony. I began to
hum and then sing right along with this man.

At first he ignored me, always turning
his back toward me, always looking away.

I sang louder. I surprised myself
because I ordinarily do not have a good voice, nor can I carry a
good tune. But here I was, in the clearest voice I could ever have
expected, belting out the words in perfect harmony.

The man finally took notice. He turned
to me. I still couldn’t see his face, but I heard his
words.

“Do you want to make music?
Together?”

And I said, “Yes. I do.”

Morning came, the alarm clock sounded.
Rain, sleet, snow, a mixture, pounded the tin roof. I found it hard
to get out of bed, but I was determined not to have any more
infractions, lest the administrators and Dierdra would force me to
attend peer group counseling.

After drinking a mug of instant coffee
and eating a bowl of fried oatmeal sprinkled with brown sugar and
raisins and doused with a dab of half and half—another Minnesota
staple—I bundled up and headed out the door.

There would be no escaping the
weather. Rain, sleet, and snow fell and blew in from all angles. In
Minnesota you might get rain, you might get sleet, you might get
snow, but you got them at different times of the year and on
different days. In the sunny state of California, it seemed,
inclement weather had to be squeezed into small timeframes. Either
that, or, as I looked in the direction of Mount Shasta, the
mountain needed to vent upon the populace.

Getting to school without
falling and having to sit on a wet bottom all day would be
challenging. Once again, as I walked by Cherrie’s place, I envied
her schedule. There was no doubt in my mind she was hard at work
sleeping while I blazed a trail to school. I wondered how hard it
would be to transfer to Jefferson High. At the rate I was going,
adding up the infractions, I might get the offer, but then I would
never get to sing with the man in the basement.

I was halfway to school when I saw a
dark figure standing on the snow and sleet crested sidewalk ahead
of me. As I drew closer I could see he wore a heavy parka with a
hood, but he wasn’t wearing the hood. Instead, even though the rain
turned into full blown snow, his long blonde hair remained
untouched.

“Aaron,” I said, “what are you doing
out here?”

“I came to walk you to school. Figured
since I couldn’t walk you home last night the least I could do is
meet you half way this morning.”

“How did you know where I
lived?”

“It’s not hard to find someone in this
town.”

“Well, thanks. Shitty weather,
huh?”

Aaron looked to the sky, more or less
in the direction of Shasta.

“Yep. Mother’s throwing a
fit.”

“Mother?”

Aaron nodded. “Mother
Earth.”

I couldn’t help but notice, despite
donning my rubber soled boots, I kept slipping and sliding. Aaron,
on the other hand, seemed to glide over the slick surface. I
thought it ironic. I was the Minnesota flatlander where winters are
nine months long, lakes freeze over, and slick surfaces abound much
of the year; he hailed from sunny California.

“How do you do that? Walk on this
stuff without slipping.”

“Practice.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s a technique.”

“Show me.”

“Give me your hand.”

I did.

Aaron led me down the
sidewalk. It didn’t feel any different.

He walked, I slipped.

“Okay,” he said. “Give me your
backpack”

I gladly handed him the
backpack.

“And take your glove off.”

I looked at him with concern. The cold
bit into us. Did he want my fingers to freeze?

“It’s okay.” He took a glove off his
hand and stowed it away in his pocket. “We’ll hold hands. It’ll
keep them warm.”

I was all for holding hands with Aaron
and, if that meant losing a finger or two to frost bite, so be it.
I pulled my glove off and tucked it in my pocket. I felt the bite
of cold on my hand, but only until Aaron took a hold of it. My hand
not only returned to normal temperature, but I’m pretty sure my
whole body, including my heart, ramped up a degree or
two.

As we strode forth, I felt sure
footed. It was as though someone had come along and, in an instant,
taught a baby how to walk. That’s how dramatic the change
felt.