2.

It’s time I filled you in on my purpose, perhaps answering a question: why tell you all this? I can state it simply (although the full explanation is complicated): It’s not just my story, it’s also yours. And it’s BIG, one that will change reality itself. I wish Ricky hadn’t been dragged into it, but I feel her role may even be more central than my own. I know it started for her approximately one year before I died. This is a time period I must examine closely. I was young and oblivious then to her inner life. Now, old as time, I can watch her more directly and answer a question of my own: how was did events unfold for her?

Ricky’s Worldline, Nov 5, 2024

Ricky was in love. Starr Ann rolled her eyes at this confession, saying, “You don’t have a physical relationship. You can’t possibly know if it’s love.” It was, Starr said, “Infatuation. Puppy love.”

But Alphonso had appeared with the right amounts of kismet and surprise. She and Starr Ann had been at the Student Union of the University, where venders sold street food during the lunch hour. In her effort to meet a college man, Starr Ann was selling wicker baskets filled with pine boughs and sugar cookies.

“These baskets cost you more than you’re charging.” Ricky told her friend, estimating that Starr Ann had so far lost $33.00 profit, not counting the two dozen cookies that had gone home with Ricky for her brother Tristan the night before.

“Those look good,” someone said as Ricky rearranged a sugary moon, in front of a glazed star, in front of a taller pine tree.

Expectantly, she looked up, intending to say, “It makes a great gift basket, literally,” but then shut her open mouth, thinking, Starr Ann picked the wrong time to go for sandwiches.

The man who stood before her was rangy, with black locks long enough to hide behind, but he shook these back and looked out at her from features forming a map to someplace perfect. “Did you know that pine, brought indoors for the holidays, actually protects people from sickness by releasing a natural antibiotic? They knew this in older days.”

He was young, but she didn’t get the impression of youth until he smiled, a white flashing crest atop a full wave of lip. He had an accent that she couldn’t place.

“I think you are someone who would like to know more about such things,” and from his fleece he drew a small printed notice, twice the size of a business card.

He held it out, printed side forward, for her to read.

Druidic Craft of the Wise

Informational Get-Together, November 5, 2024, 4PM

Alphonso Desperdario

870 Portland Avenue

Ricky reached for the card but Alphonso drew his hand back just slightly.

“Actually, I only have one. Can you write it down?”

She copied every word on her school schedule while thinking that Tristan would frown to hear she hadn’t rejected “occult ravings.”

But this man reminded her of a time when she was entranced by the uncanny. Nevertheless, she wondered at herself, how the very act of writing his address seemed to make it more likely that she would attend his gathering. She had read something like that in Advanced Placement Psychology, and that people were often strangers to themselves.

“I’ll see you there,” Alphonso said with a distinctive upward nod of his head. Then, before she could say “Maybe,” he melded quickly into the shifting current of students and shoppers.

“You missed our first man today,” she told Starr Ann, “but he wasn’t buying anything and I don’t think he was a college man.”

“You look dreamy-eyed,” Starr Ann mused. Then, pretending to pout she teased, “Hey that was supposed to be my man!”

The day’s surprising events made Ricky think of a poem she had read, about a girl who gathered olives. Suitors came for the girl, but she ignored them to keep harvesting her crop. Ricky felt like this cold, deliberate reaper. She kept her head down and worked through obstacles. Perhaps this was why other people, even Starr Ann, didn’t see her as a candidate for passion, even though her bedroom mirror showed a face that resembled Tristan, whose looks she loved.

But in this chance meeting, she was given a gift that would illuminate her when she opened it. The light would lift her when she woke before dawn to the slow step of her father as he used the bathroom before the kids got up, would shine on the breakfasts she would cobbled-together, and beam on school sandwiched in between. The gift may be new, difficult, even dangerous, but she would open it.

Elated, light as a telekinetic feather, one lane in her throughway was now clear. It had Alphonso’s picture at the finish and she was going, going, gone.

#

For the meeting in Alphonso’s apartment, five folding chairs circled a central area so small that both bedroom and bathroom were close at hand. Ricky’s chair gave the best view of Portland Avenue through the single window. A couple of cardboard boxes served as tables and a floor lamp eked out an orange corner in the grey twilight. Outside, wet sounds echoed as the wheels of traffic sucked and spat black slush in the busy street.

From the window, Ricky watched across the avenue as a group of older men surrounded someone her own age negotiating an exchange of pocket contents. The youth shook his head, as if standing up to the men’s pressure. Alphonso watched too, standing behind Ricky; everywhere in the cramped space was either in front or behind. Then, drawing the curtains, he separated the seedy neighborhood without from the business within. He handed wine glasses around, each accompanied by an elegant bow.

“So, ‘Druidic’ is like ‘Druids,’ right?” a woman was saying.

“That’s right,” Alphonso answered. He bent over Ricky’s chair with the wine bottle. He asked quietly with a wry smile, “Are you old enough to drink?”

The nearness of him intoxicated. “My mother was French-Canadian.”

Alphonso looked at her longer, then gave his upward nod and filled her glass with two small splashes.

As the sips took effect, Alphonso made promises. There was a direct line of teaching from olden times to the present day. After a year of study, and an initiation, one could go to Arkansas, to a center of learning. At each revelation, she imagined how Tristan or Starr Ann would react, with ultracivilized cuts or sarcastic affronts, respectively.

Alphonso told one inquisitive attendee, “What I provide is access to an ancient wisdom system, not my own personal experience. I’m sorry to disappoint you on that score, but I believe you will never regret taking this step forward in your understanding of universal law.”

Alphonso looked over at Ricky. “You’re quiet.” The spotlight of his attention was disorienting.

He posed the wry smile again. “Don’t you have any questions?”

Beyond Who would believe this? she wanted to know, “What’s your accent?”

“East L.A.” This time no expression accompanied his upward nod, which now looked like a reflexive tic. It was then she knew, he was just like her; he had been through a lot.

Ricky rose to follow the others out the door, but turned to Alphonso at the threshold. “I’m joining,” she said. The card Alphonso now pulled from his shirt pocket was similar to the one she had seen at the student union, but this time he put it in her hand.

“Pay at this web address and you’ll get your lesson. I’ll give you directions.”

“For what?”

“For the coven.” This time his smile was not wry, but flashing.

#

With family and friends, Ricky was quiet about Alphonso, even with Starr Ann, who ridiculed anything out of the here and now. One day early in their friendship, Starr Ann had caught Ricky reading The Hobbit, and heaved a sigh of disbelief.

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocius!” she mocked.

“I’m ten!” Ricky had indignantly explained to Starr’s retreating back.

About Alphonso, Ricky only told Starr Ann that he was interested in exotic studies (“He likes anthropology”). But the two eventually met. Ricky had nixed her friend’s suggestion that they all meet “by accident” at a coffee shop near campus. “Didn’t I see you in Spy Versus Spy?” But in truth Ricky had hesitated to share this handsome man with her beautiful friend.

In the end, it was Alphonso himself who proposed the meeting. One Friday afternoon in late April, he called Ricky to ask for help with a project. He proposed a picnic on the way, on campus, outside the Student Union. “Bring a friend if you like.” As he said it, she realized that this was a chance to have him more embedded in her life.

Starr Ann collected Ricky and they stopped at a Middle Eastern deli along the way. Ricky paid for food to add to Starr’s basket of provisions and Starr Ann packed it, broaching, “It’s pretty dramatic meeting anthro-man.”

“I’m helping him pick up a…er…prop for a party.”

“A prop? Sounds kinky.”

“A May pole. Or rather a pole to make a May pole”

“May pole? That’s something kids do. With crepe paper.”

They were toting their picnic from the closest parking ramp to the stairs of the Student Union. Ricky spotted Alphonso from a distance, which was not hard. Dark hair lay on a white shirt, which stood out against a vibrantly colored velvet quilt. The quilt was spread partway on the grass and partway on the walk, because the lawn was still damp from snowmelt.

Starr sensed the sharpening of Ricky’s attention and followed her gaze. “Didn’t I see him in the Gypsy Kings?” she muttered.

Alphonso had been reading as he waited. When he saw them, he put down his book and raised a hand high, then stood as the girls neared. When Ricky introduced him, Alphonso bowed deeply from the waist, a gesture that seemed natural on him. Nevertheless, Ricky monitored Starr Ann’s face for evidence of disbelief or ridicule. Seeing none, she concluded that Starr shared her assessment that the man seemed easy in his skin, courtly but not goofy or stuffy.

As soon as they arranged the different foods on the spread, they talked, comparing Minnesota and California. Starr Ann wanted to know about L.A. She asked about earthquakes and show business.

“Is that what you want to do? Be a star?” He smiled the blazing white smile. Ricky watched Alphonso watching Starr Ann. It was still cold for an outside picnic and she shivered.

“No,” Starr Ann said, not acknowledging the joke. “But I want to see things I’ve never seen.”

Alphonso responded in kind: serious, as if presenting a challenge. “Where I come from, East L.A. is not L.A. East L.A. is another world. There you would see things you have not seen, and never want to see.”

Then a shadow passed over them. “Lunch looks good.” It was a familiar voice.

“Tristan!” Starr Ann cried, jumping up to hug him. “Try this cheese.”

“Can’t. Class in five minutes.”

For the first time, Ricky felt relief at the prospect of a separation from her brother. Usually, his presence was comfort so basic she could take him for granted, like the unheeded perfection of a hand sliding coins into a pocket, or the neglected wonder of a walk propelled by well-fitting shoes. For her, Tristan was everyday ease that was hard to do without. But she felt awkward meeting him like this, without prior explanation or ability to gauge his thoughts on Alphonso. Then again, what would she have said to prepare Tristan for this moment? That Alphonso was special? That he had introduced her to the occult? Both revelations would be like confessing an embarrassing habit.

She recovered. “Tristan, meet my friend Alphonso. Alphonso, meet my brother Tristan.”

“A pleasure.” Alphonso smiled broadly and extended upward the hand that was not supporting him, as he sat, his legs extended, ankles crossed, out onto the quilt.

Tristan looked down at Alphonso without expression and without moving. Finally, he shook the offered hand impassively. Suddenly Tristan’s expression changed: He had caught sight of the book that was lying in Alphonso’s lap.

“A little light reading?” Tristan asked with a growing grin.

“The Nietzsche, yes.” Alphonso took the book in his hand and seemed to evaluate the binding. “I never tire of reading what Zarathustra spake.”

“You’re Ricky’s first friend who’s interested in philosophy.”

“Not philosophy, but inspired revelation.”

“An interesting perspective on the author who said ‘God is dead.’”

“What could be more inspired and spiritual than the ecstasy of finding the ultimate Right within oneself and becoming a Superman. Or Superwoman.” Alphonso smiled at Ricky as he added this.

“Something makes me think you’re not talking DC comics,” Starr Ann said.

No one acknowledged Starr’s remark. Tristan and Alphonso seemed locked on to the others’ points about Nietzsche as if they were playing a difficult video game. Ricky ignored Starr Ann, since tutoring Starr on weighty topics would bring a cold stare and a question like, “Didn’t I see you in Revenge of the Nerds?”

Ricky looked at Tristan. “I think you’re late.”

“Wow. Gotta go.” Then Tristan jogged away toward the center of campus.

“Smart guy,” Alphonso winked at Ricky, “even if he does have a college education.”

#

Starr Ann pronounced Alphonso, “Night-stalker handsome.”

Ricky knew that this was a mixed endorsement, but only said, “I really don’t see him except for meetings.”

“Meetings? That sounds like AA.” And in a pitch higher than her husky voice, Starr Ann squeaked, “Hi. I’m Ricky and I’m a psychologist.” Then she intoned a deep sing-song, answering, “Hi Ricky.”

Starr Ann had been to a meeting or two. She had rolled her mother’s car on Interstate 94 before even getting her learner’s permit. The cops who were first on the scene recognized her as the daughter of a staunch supporter of Police Department funding and circumvented an arrest. She no longer drank.

“Meetings like…Well, you know.” Ricky had wanted to avoid this conversation.

“Meetings like what?

“Like, well,” she simultaneously frowned and smiled at Starr Ann, who looked incredulous. She finally said, “Covens.”

“Covens! Well, double bubble toil and trouble.”

“Double double.”

“You actually say that?”

“No; Double Bubble is gum.”

“Tell me about it. What’s it like?”

“Actually, joining a coven is like being in AA in one respect. Keeping the privacy of the other members is really important. But the other people are completely cool or normal.”

Ricky admired her coven leader, a mathematician at a high tech firm, and his wife, a stay at home mom. She did not know their real names (not ‘Roderick’ and ‘Hathor,’ for sure) and wondered what name she would get at the ceremony marking one year of apprenticeship study.

Meetings began with greetings, right hands clasped at chest level and “Blessed be’s.” Robing in the living room, they moved to the large dining room, which had been arranged to make room for the group to sit cross-legged in a circle. Next came a teaching from the leader, and finally the coven ended with a ten-minute meditation.

The teachings were simple, but instructive. One meeting, the leader explained, “There are three types of magic: white, black, and green. Each type is distinguished by its intention. White to do good, black to cause harm and, well, green magicians hold themselves above such considerations. The green magician pursues his own self-interest without blame because the pursuit of one’s inner self is the key to ultimate good. As you can imagine, the distinction between the three is not always clear.”

“Are you a green magician?” someone asked.

“I think of myself as a White magician, but intentions and reality can sometimes be at odds. Let me give you an example from a couple of years ago. This coven had just formed and a member at that time had requested that the group perform a visualization to bring love into her life. In order to be sure we were all focused similarly, we asked our sister for some ideas about her ideal mate. She said to us ‘Oh, I can do better than that; I can bring you his picture.’

“At the next meeting, our sister produced an advertisement ripped from a magazine. The product was held by a well-dressed, handsome man, who she proclaimed as her ‘dream lover.’ The page was passed around and we meditated in the relaxed state that our young members are now studying to attain. During the relaxation, we visualized her finding her man. None of us were surprised when she soon reported that she had met someone. But, eventually, our sister told us that there was trouble: Her dream man stayed out ‘till all hours drinking and using drugs. It was only later that I realized that the page we had focused on was a photo from a liquor ad!”

The leader paused for the murmur to spread around the circle. “So, you see, good intentions are sometimes not enough to offset circumstances.”

Ricky was just about to ask what would be enough, but it was time for their relaxation technique. She tried to quiet her mind but it seized on questions about how the imaginings of one person could influence the life of another. It seemed both random and unfair.

Starr Ann’s voice brought Ricky back to the present. “Like you?” Starr Ann asked again. “Cool and normal like you?”

“Way cooler and way more normal,” Ricky acknowledged, returning her friend’s bold smile wistfully.

#

The truck carrying Alphonso and Ricky bounced along a rutted track through pinewoods, headed for the maypole that Alphonso had erected for the Beltane sabbat. Ricky gripped the edge of the bench seat with both hands, as if poised on the lip of a vessel, and about to be poured out, and about to drink herself up, loosed and quenched at the same time.

At every bend, the densely growing trees filtered the light to a deeper shade, until they jounced in indigo. The slow progress heightened her anticipation. The truck’s dives through the ruts jarred her into double vision, almost to a state of altered consciousness, the kind rituals were supposed to produce. Finally the road gave onto a clearing; at its center was a pond banked with golden willows. The pair skirted the water to the sound of voices and laughter and joined forty or so people dotting a dandelion-speckled meadow.

The maypole rose above them, crowned with a circle of cultivated flowers, blue dahlia and yellow daisy and orange tiger lily. Bright ribbons that hung from its top flapped in the breeze. Off to the edge of the meadow, under a shelter of oak and birches, food fanned across a long table around which revelers ate and talked. Some drifted into the open-floored woods, where the scrub had long ago disappeared making avenues of light, as still as monuments.

The Beltane ritual was the spring festival of rebirth, so perhaps some feeling could be born in Alphonso, and she could begin new as his lady love. She kept a sight-line to him among the revelers, as if they were a couple, although his circles of shared greeting did not include her. But the rite seemed promising: It bound a man and woman.

The leader from her coven announced: “Fair ladies and kind gentlemen, we are ready to name the most important person of today’s ritual. As is the custom, the coven leaders have chosen the Lady, an unbetrothed young woman whom we feel embodies our beloved Mother, the fecund goddess, huntress, enchantress. In turn, the lady will choose the Green Man, representing the primal energy of spirit entering matter.”

All during this introduction, Ricky imagined being picked as the Lady. She saw herself choosing Alphonso and taking his hand. But Alphonso did not meet her gaze. Then the announcement: “Branwyn!” Of course it would not be me, thought Ricky, I haven’t studied a whole year to earn a goofy Celtic name.

Branwyn, a girl of about twenty, spun to face a young man, who did not look surprised. “I choose Sedwick!” Then there were cries of Sedwick’s name and he was encouraged into a green felt vest. “Sedwick you are the Green Man!”

Branwyn took Sedwick’s hand and led him to the maypole, where they stood back to back with the pole between them. Ricky fell in with the other single folk to pick up a streamer. Childish, she thought, about as mystical as a children’s tea party. She tried to catch Alphonso’s eye across the spokes of ribbon, but he gazed straight ahead. Half of those people holding streamers walked counter-clockwise to the pole, and the other half moved clockwise, ducking under to weave the streamers that shortened as they lashed the pair to the bright pylon. After the young lovers had torn themselves free of their crepe paper restraints, the event ended with Alphonso’s sideways nod: time to return to the truck.

Despite her disappointment in Alphonso, she strategized. In Arkansas, she would have his full attention, without distractions. Show him you’re not too young, not too serious. In Arkansas she would prove their equivalence: She, by embracing strange ideas without proof and he, by discovering the beauty of science.

#

Later that night, Ricky hugged her knees in Starr Ann’s bedroom. As Starr laid a fire and lighted it, Ricky wondered morosely how the rug that bordered the hearth stones could be so white.

“It was a stupid ceremony.” Ricky’s discontentment unsettled everything; even the room mocked her with its perfection. “And he’s leaving for Arkansas next week.”

Starr Ann said quietly, pushing more kindling into a balky spot in the small blaze, “You’ve got it bad and that ain’t good.”