The fear is not mineCaleb chose Yule this year to spend over the holidays. Solstice. The longest night. He's been talking of it quietly to me all week. A walk on the beach at sunset to say goodbye to the light. Lighting the copper lantern by the woods to see us through the dark. A fire already laid in the stove to light when we return. A hearty feast with beef stew, bread and wine to close out the evening. A quiet exchange of our fondest and most fervent wishes for the new year as a solemn marking of this change into the beginning of the cold season. Lighting the tree. Exchanging presents. Seeing each other through the night until the sun rises again so long from now.
The fear is not my end
Though you attempt to keep me in it
The weight is not mine
The weight is not mine alone
Though you pretend to comprehend it
It's already beginning to grow dim already as the moon chases the sun back over the horizon while the Devil chases new traditions into our lives wrapped around old ceremonies, played out simpler once, though much the same.
He pulls the stolen lighter out of his pocket as we all stand in a circle in the woods in the snow.
Where did you get that?
My uncle left it in our truck, Caleb says confidently, flicking it several times with the typical surety of a fifteen-year-old who's seen it done a few times but only ever lit matches before now.
Mom's going to kill you. Cole is sure he'll be the victorious brother, though he hangs on every word Caleb says.
So what do we do now? Lochlan has his own lighter and so he finds this amusing but he watches the flame, hypnotized as always by the way it dances.
Are we supposed to sacrifice a fair maiden? Christian asks, not totally unseriously.
All eyes turn to me.
I'm not a maiden. I'm only nine! It's really cold and my boots are leaking. My toes are about to fall off but I have to wait for them because if we're this far down the path I'm not allowed to go back to our street by myself. I have to wait for Lochlan or Caleb to bring me. Unless they sacrifice me, then I won't have to go home.
No, dirtbag, we're not sacrificing Bridget. Caleb winks at me as he gets down and starts a tiny fire on a rock that isn't snow-covered, snapping small branches off, adding them to a pile along with some homework pages he had in his back pocket. Today was the last day of school. He gets the fire going and then passes out slips of what's left of the paper. We all have to write down one thing we want to say goodbye to in 1980.
I take the proffered pen and turn to write against a rock that sits just outside the circle. It's wet so the pen doesn't work very well.
I fold it up and wait for Caleb's instructions. Each of the boys throw their slips into the fire one at a time, watching them burn before moving on to the next. Finally they get to me and I throw my slip at the fire but the fire is hot and very tall now so the paper falls short, opening as it lands a foot away from the flames.
Caleb picks it up and reads it silently before folding it back up and putting it into the fire. His eyes meet mine.
Rob asks what it says.
I'm the firekeeper so I can see them but they're supposed to be private. Caleb tells him with bravado. I don't think she'll get her wish though. He's not looking at me anymore. He's watching Lochlan, who is staring at me from our curve in the circle, probably wondering what I wished for, not realizing that it would take so many more solstices to come true but my hope for this year is that my nine-year-old's wish finally has.
What was your wish that night? I snap back to the present as Caleb comes back into the room from sorting out a couple of details with Lochlan. Namely when I'll be returned and confirming what Caleb doesn't get (Christmas eve through Boxing day) because he gets tonight and tonight is somewhat sacred to the Collective, something we've observed every year since.
That we would spend this night alone together. I think tonight we can celebrate the realization that our wishes came true at the same time.
Until one of you throws a punch, you mean. (My wish? That Locklen and Calib stop fiteing. Ha. The spelling skills of a grade five student who daydreamed instead of working in her practice book.)
Right. Until then.