I wanted to open my heart to him right away.
I had never felt so seen. We had barely spoken to each other, but I knew he felt this way, too. In that moment, I wondered if there was something about the trauma that we had both experienced and if so, that was okay. Like recognized like.
At the same time, I knew that things were shifting. We both wanted to know each other. I thought that in some way, we could heal each other. That was at the back of my head when I looked at him, but at the forefront there was this surety that this was right, that we were right for each other. It wasn’t even a question, it simply was. He got me another drink as we watched people regale us with their talents. One man did stand up comedy and garnered a few chuckles. Another woman, Elena, she sang with her guitar. Her song was about a bird that had flown up to the heavens only to find out that their place was here on the ground.
Then it was my turn. I gave Francis a nervous shrug. “You’ll do fine,” he said. He took my hand in his and squeezed it for a brief moment as it to propel me on. I knew that I could do this but having him believe in my helped a lot. It had taken so much to find myself within the words written on paper, it was another thing to speak them out loud.
“Thank you,” I said into he microphone.
I looked around at everyone and experienced the slightest moment of panic, but then I felt Francis’ gaze on the back of my head and it was a comfort to know that he was watching. “I came out to my parents a few months ago,” I said. “When I told them that I was Pagan, they were so shocked. After them calmed down, my mother patted my hand and told me: ‘Well it’s okay if you need to sacrifice anything darling. Just do it on Sundays because the maid comes on Mondays, that’s a dear.’”
There was an eruption around the room, and I took comfort from the joy that came from that laughter. I was able to look at everyone and not from the notes that were in my hand. I was actually smiling. “My father was really confused about it at all at first. Finally, he nodded, giving his approval. He was like ‘Well, son, if you need to play light as a feather, thick as a board, that’s okay with me. I can tell you a thing or two about different kinds of wood.’”
The crowd roared and I felt elated that something I had written had been able to evoke such a response. I let out a snort of laugher that reverberated around the room because I still had my mouth near the microphone and the laughter increased. I thought it was now or never, I only had the one joke left and I hope that it would go over as well as the snort.
“I told some more of other friends that I was Pagan and I had one of them make a disgusted face. ‘Look,’ they said. ‘I know that a lot of you like to be naked all the time and I have no judgement on that. But all I ask is that you wear clothes at dinner, okay?’”
I marveled that this crowd of people were looking at me with joy and light and not looking at me like I was someone to be pitied or looked at as a project to fix. I had often been made to feel like Quasimodo because of my disability and sexuality. But at that moment, I didn’t feel like that at all and the feeling that was running through me was just so fucking euphoric. At that moment, I felt like I was beyond my body and my spirit was full.
I did a little bow and went back to Francis, who handed me a new beer. “A herald to the victor,” he told me and the image of the Six of Wands slipped into my head. I had always been the one fighting for everything in my life. It felt wonderful to be considered a victor.
I accepted the beer, and we brought our bottles together. The resounding clink was like a bell that rang through the air between us. He looked at me and gave me a smile that just seemed to make everything in my world fall into place. I had no idea of the journey that the bell would signal for either of us, but I was here for the ride.
Spirit of the Wolf 