Chapter 1
TRISTAN
Breathe slowly and calm your mind, Tristan.
Ascend into your true place of being.
Clenching tightly onto my rough amethyst crystal, I relax my body as I sit before my altar, focusing on my inner thoughts and searching for an answer to at least one of my many questions.
1-2 Inhale deeply. Show me what I need to see, Spirit, show me what I need to see.
I allow for communication through my third eye.
My place of power begins to take form. The grass is a vibrant green, emanating the smell of a freshly cut lawn in the summer. It nestles me in like the warmest hug from the universe, beginning to make me less tense.
1-2 Exhale.
I slump further into my vision, my private sanctuary of peace, the spot in nature that lives so vividly and freely in my mind. The bewitching ambiance completely pulls me in. There’s a sensation of floating, and I feel right at home as I’m once again entranced by the sweet scent of various flowers as they bloom simultaneously, welcoming me home.
Breathe.
My body suddenly feels weightless, but fully aware, now noticing the subtle scent of patchouli from the incense I have burning, as it seems to dance in sync with me midair as my worries melt away.
Ezra, my spirit animal, the loyal hyena who helps me navigate through the hard times, is somewhere near me; I can sense their energy encouraging me to take this journey.
Show me what I need to see, Spirit. Show me...
***Bang Bang Bang ***
“One second...” I blurt out, shocked back into reality from the jolt of the abrupt knocking.
“No, open the damn door now, Tristan. I can smell that freaking devil shit I told you not to be burning in my house!”
Crap, I thought she worked late tonight.
I quickly snap out of my meditation, place my amethyst crystal on my altar, and attempt to put my incense and candles out as quickly as I can before my mother enters my room.
***Bang Bang Bang***
“I said open the God Damn Door!” she screams, her voice shrill, that undertone of her usual slur I’ve become so accustomed to adding a sinister decoration to her already menacing voice.
“Sorry, coming, Mom,” I respond calmly, hoping, if anything, not to add to her rage.
I make my way to the door and attempt to open it to a slight crack as I anxiously approach my mother, nerves rushing as my body grows tense because I can never tell just how irrationally she might act.
My attempt is quickly averted, and she lunges her hand at the wooden separation between us, flinging my door open and stumbling inside, obviously infuriated.
“W-what the hell is this, Tristan?” she asks, stumbling over her words.
She points to my small glass altar, which is adorned with stones, books, and spiritual items I’ve collected over the years.
I should have just kept it all hidden. I knew she’d react this way.
I want to answer confidently and say it’s my belief system. It’s what gets me through my days, but my reply is nothing of the sort.
“I-it’s my meditation area. I just need to clear my mind sometimes, so I —”
She cuts me off, and I see her grow red—no, red is an understatement. The color she is turning is indescribable. I don’t think this shade even exists yet.
Please, Spirit, if you’re there...
Before I can even finish my thought, my mother becomes angrily animated as she stomps toward my sacred space.
“Your meditation space?” She snarls, her voice so sharp it sends a slicing feeling of discomfort through the many layers of my skin.
“I know what you’re thinking, Mom. It’s not evil. Many spiritualists meditate and try to get closer to nature. It’s...”
She interrupts me once again, looking even angrier than before, which I didn’t even think was possible.
I watch as she picks up my amethyst geode, and her lips tighten.
“You know what I think of you and your beliefs, Tristan?” she asks, making sure to lock eyes with me intensely.
“Mom, please,” I beg, hoping she’ll find a bit of kindness in her heart and leave my crystals alone. They are the only things I have that make me feel okay, that make me feel somewhat normal, somewhat sane.
“I think it’s the work of the devil, and in this home, we do not do the devil’s work.” She barks matter-of-factly.
I watch as she raises my crystal above her head, ensuring to maintain eye contact; she wants this to be a statement, that much is clear.
“Mom, please no!” I scream desperately, instinctively reaching out, predicting her next move.
My attempt to deter her actions is a miss, and just like that, in a matter of seconds, I see her smash my amethyst into my glass altar, shards spreading across my wooden floor, followed by a crash of all the items I hold sacred as they fall helplessly to the ground.
I feel my eyes welling up, but I take a deep breath and try to remain calm.
“Mom—”
“For God’s sake, Tristan! If I see you shed a tear, we’re going to have bigger problems than cleaning up the remains of this Devil temple you’ve brought into my home.”
She stumbles as she makes her way to exit my room. She’s clearly intoxicated, but for her, that’s nothing other than normal.
“Y-you are a man now! Act like one! Get a job instead of praying to rocks. I’ve raised you better, and alone at that. I don’t see you thanking me for anything I’ve sacrificed for you, but yet here you are, playing S-spiritual Chutes and Ladders.”
“Grow up, Tristan. G-grow up and learn to have some damn r-respect!” She slurs as she makes her way out, slamming the door so hard I can feel the vibration throughout the room.
At the slam of the door, I finally let the tears escape, and as if in line, one by one, they begin rolling down my cheeks.
I try to pull myself together to salvage what I can of my magical items, and I try to do it quickly because something tells me she might be back and even angrier if she sees the mess still there, even if she’s the one who created it.
As I head across my room to grab the broom and dustbin in the corner, I can’t help but come to a halt in front of the mirror of my armoire and stare at the second mess in the room, the very mess that is me.
I see my brown eyes glossy from crying, and my mother’s words echo in my head about how I need to be more of a man. I guess to her that means showing less emotion, but I can’t help but display how I feel, no matter how hard I try to fight it.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s her fault that I lack the all-American male persona she wishes I had. I mean, I’ve never had a strong male figure in my life. I don’t even know who my father actually is. I guess it’s something I’m left here to always wonder because the one time I asked, I faced her anger again, so I tucked that question unanswered in the back of my mind.
Pulling myself together, or at least trying to, is a task in itself. I’m lost in a daze, tussling my dark brown hair in the mirror, and hoping my skin loses its now crimson tone and returns to its natural tawny beige.
Thoughts of my father continue to creep in. I can’t help but wonder if I look like him, or if he’d treat me the same, or even why he left in the first place…
Whatever the case, I refuse to see any part of my mother in this reflection. I am nothing like her, not in looks or spirit. The only thing we share is DNA. There is absolutely no resemblance, not one that I will ever let myself see.
Breaking my gaze away from my mirror, I grab a small chest from beneath my bed, the original home of my crystals, and start sorting through the broken glass and other items.
As I carefully pick through the pile of rubble and box up what I can, I hear a ping from my phone lying on the bed. Even though I’m pretty sure I already know who it is, I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief because I could use a friend right now, especially someone who gets it.
My cleaning is picking up pace, and I’m able to collect, box, and tuck away my items safely underneath my bed. I finish up by sweeping up the remnants of glass and broken items, dumping them into my trash can, and hopping onto my bed to reach for my phone.
Once unlocked, my heart grows warm as a text notification sits at the top of my screen from my best friend, Seki, the only one who seems to get me.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Seki
Hey, Hun, how’s it going? I hope you’re like alive and stuff, seeing as how you never text me first, lol.
Tristan
*waves* Hey, I’m alive. Sorry, I do that to everyone. I’m a bad texter.
Seki
Yeah, bad’s not the word. You are HORRIBLE. What if I needed something like an emergency taco night or something, and my fingers were all broken, so I couldn’t text first?
Tristan
lol, then how would you text back?
Seki
This is hypothetical, smart ass, lol.
Seki
But how are you? I miss you.
Tristan
I miss you too. It’s been a long day. Moms on a rampage again.
Seki
When isn’t she? No offense, I know she’s your mom and everything, but you have to get out of there, Trist. I worry about you.
Tristan
I know, but it’s complicated, and I’m not exactly rolling in the dough here.
Seki
Yeah, me neither.
Seki
We’ll figure it out, though...
Seki
But I was wondering what you are doing tomorrow night. Wanna catch a movie?
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
A smile stretches across my face; a movie seems like the perfect distraction; a night with a friend is what I need right now, so I hastily type my reply.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Tristan
Honestly, I’d love to.
Seki
Perfect. I’ll look up the times and get back to you because I know you won’t be the one checking in, lol.
Seki
Love you, and stay strong, sir.
Tristan
Love you too, see you tomorrow.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
I exit the messaging screen, lock my phone, and slide it into my pocket, still overwhelmed with emotion from the earlier encounter with my mother.
Seki’s right. I do need to get out of here.
But how?
The thought lingers, and I do a quick scan of my room, which is now missing my spiritual corner that not long ago I was so happy to have constructed.
I decide I need to get out, to free my mind, if even temporarily.
I grab a light jacket and throw my shoes on so I can take a quick walk, even just for a moment, to get lost in the whimsy and magick of nature, to somewhat heal.
The last thing I need is another run-in with my mother, so instead of taking the front door like a normal human being, I decide to make my escape through the window and take the path along the side of my house.
The air outside is brisk, but somehow still inviting. I just love autumn. The pumpkins on the doorsteps, the sense of the veil lifting, even the coffee smells more pungent and aromatic, calling you in. But most of all, the colors of the fallen leaves are especially intriguing to me.
How can nature be so beautiful even in death?
The world truly is such an oxymoron, but then again, why wouldn’t it be?
I manage to playfully kick a few leaves along my path as I walk with my head down through our drab little town. I can hear the kids playing games in their yards and notice a few people driving by aloofly, probably stuck in their own worries.
I don’t know where I’m going yet, but I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders just being out of my home for a little while. Though our homes are supposed to be our safe havens, I can’t help but compare mine to a prison at times, a prison with a ridiculously sinister warden who also happens to be my mother.
It’s at that moment that my path is decided. I alter my route and make my way to our local park before it gets late, so I can escape into my own little fairytale for maybe just a few more livable chapters.
There’s a tiny bridge there that I’m particularly fond of, which sits above a creek. Though the water looks dingy, the sounds are relaxing, and I’m usually able to gather my thoughts while gazing into the flow of the stream.
It’s not long before I arrive there, at Cobblestone Park, and finally feel the relief I was searching for. You would think that a town called Angel’s Grove would be saturated with spots to relax and connect to your spirituality, but it’s quite the opposite for me. This is the one and only place I’ve felt connected to after many years of living here.
In all actuality, maybe it is a truly spiritual place, and it’s just my memories that destroy its reputation. Either way, I’ve found a spot I’ve connected to, and that’s all that matters to me at this moment.
As I approach the wooden bridge, I stop dead in the center and begin to watch the water gently splash over the rocks. The sound is so soothing, I cannot help but close my eyes and relax into a fantasy, my inner fairytale that makes my reality look humorous and mundane.
I start to think about what it would be like to escape and have a life that I would truly consider perfect.
What would perfect even be for me?
I open my eyes back up, closing the book to my inner whimsical story and gaze back off into the creek, wishing to the rocks and stones or anything that will hear me.
I’m wishing for a better future, wishing to be understood, secretly hoping I could meet that someone, that someone who truly gets me.
Sure, I have Seki, and she’s amazing, but I can’t deny that my heart wants more. I want someone who understands me beyond her, the parts even I’m afraid to explore...
Then maybe, just maybe...
… my strange little life would be a little bit closer to perfect.
