People rearranged themselves into rough concentric circles around Jaqueline. Some of the older folks—two white men and a Latinx—and a young Asian woman with a cane, sat in chairs. Two wheelchair users rolled up next to them.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice. My name is Jaqueline, and I work for the Unitarian church. We’re a disparate group tonight, and I ask that we all set aside our differences and work together. I’d like to introduce Stingray and Ghatso, who will be our main facilitators tonight.”
Stingray waved a hand. “Hello folks, I’m Stingray, and this is Ghatso and Brad. We’re from De Porres House of Hospitality. Moss from the Arrow and Crescent Coven is helping out, too. What we plan to do here tonight is go through some drills on how to work effectively together when placing ourselves between police and people in danger.”
She gestured to some pockets in the circle. “I know some of you here are well trained in civil disobedience. That’s part of why you’re here. We’ll be calling on you to help demonstrate and teach tonight. But before we start, I’d like to ask Barry and some of the other folks from the encampment to explain what the emergency is.”
“I’m not comfortable working with people in masks!” a voice called out.
“We’re not comfortable working with people who want to unmask us!” one of the Black Bloc activists responded.
Aiden and Jaqueline both stepped forward and held up their hands for quiet. Aiden motioned to her to take the floor.
“I want us all to take a moment. Close your eyes. If you are the praying kind, say a prayer. If you aren’t the praying kind, just take a minute to remember what you value.”
There was some grumbling, but people actually did as Jaqueline said. After a couple of minutes, she spoke again.
“Thank you. And now, I want us all to remember that we aren’t here to fight with one another. We’re here for our houseless community members.”
“And none of us can do this alone,” Barry said. “Those of us who live in Open Heart camp take care of each other as best we can. Sure, we fight, just like you do. Sure, some of us act more responsible, just like you. But the thing is…” He paused. It looked like he was about to cry. He pressed his right hand to his eyes, then blinked.
“The thing is, that at this point, we need more bodies on the line, saying we’re important, too.” He cleared his throat and waved a hand, indicating he was done.
An Asian woman squeezed Barry’s hand. She looked like she was from the camp, too. Barry nodded and opened his mouth again. “The cops have been showing up, harassing us, more and more. They cleared the 205 camp just last week. They could give us twenty-four hours notice at any point, and it’s feeling like it’s going to be soon. This means we need your help. But if all you’re gonna do is argue about who you’re going to include, and who is or isn’t worth working with? We know where we always end up when the chips are down. We end up in the group you don’t like.”
The woman spoke then. “We don’t want your pity. What we want is for you to stand with us and help us protect our homes.”
“Solidarity!” one of the socialists called out.
“Solidarity!” responded the anarchist and Black Bloc contingents.
“That’s right,” Barry said. “Solidarity.” Then he raised a fist in the air.
Stingray raised her fist, too, and stepped back into the center of the circle.
“As Sheila and Barry said, this is an emergency. Anyone not willing to work with every person in this room tonight or tomorrow, please leave now. We are literally down to the wire here and don’t have time for anything other than folks wanting to show up.”
She waited. No one moved.
“Let’s do this,” Jaqueline said. “Aiden? Stingray?”
Aiden took a breath, and called upon the holy fire.
“Brigid, if you want us to prepare for battle, please help us now.”
Then he went to try help organize and train the most diverse group of people he’d been around in his life.
29
Tobias
They hurried from one of the big, multistoried parking lots on the edge between the downtown shopping district and the Pearl, where Open Heart camp was located. Apparently the camp was in an empty lot between the big post office and the railroad tracks. Tobias rarely made it up this far. His usual radius extended only as far as the gay bars that bordered the lower edge of the Pearl.
Downtown was fairly deserted. Most of the office workers had hurried home to dinner already, and frankly, the rain had really started coming down. Even the fancy restaurants and the mall with the movie theater seemed empty.
As usual, they passed some folks sitting on cardboard in the doorways of the fancy shops. Tobias really saw them now. He felt a twinge as he realized that for the past several years, he had passed these people by, barely noticing their presence, except to throw the occasional dollar into an outstretched cup.
When Tobias had told Aiden the coven intended to head to the camp that night, he had recommended they not park too close, in case the cops showed up early and blocked them in.
“It’s one thing some of the anarchists talked about after you all left. Don’t park in the same neighborhood as the protest.”
The training had been intense. Tobias was still sore from it, two nights later. Stingray and her crew, along with several of the anarchists and socialists, had trained them to go limp as they were being dragged away. Raquel had a good insight into that. “Imagine that you are one with the earth beneath you. Your body isn’t separate from the earth.”
Once she had said that, it had all gone easier for Tobias. They had also linked arms in formation, as others tried to bust through the lines. They’d practiced standing or sitting still and strong while people yelled directly into their faces.
The group had gone over strategies for working with the wheelchair activists, and with some of the folks who had other disabilities. It was all eye-opening. And it gave Tobias something to do with his natural tendency to spark off. Like the herbs, the physical training grounded his impulse toward anger.
He still had no idea what it meant that Brigid had basically handed him a match and told him to start a fire.
“Does the camp know we’re coming?” Tempest asked.
“Yes,” Tobias replied. “Barry got ahold of Aiden. That’s how we got word that the cops gave them the twenty four-hour warning. Once he told me that, I said we’d come down tonight to do some preparation. Aiden said he’d pass the word along.”
“You really like the guy, don’t you?” Tempest asked.
The Pearl had been an industrial area, and one of the places near actual services like food, shelters, and medical care where the transient and houseless populations of the city could stay. These days, they were getting squeezed into smaller and smaller areas, as large buildings with expensive lofts, breweries, and boutiques moved in.
Hence the order to disperse and move on. The only question was, where? To a neighborhood an hour and a half bus ride from the nearest free clinic or gospel mission? Even though De Porres House of Hospitality was on the other side of the river in another industrial area, it was still close in, which meant the further people got shoved toward the edges of the city, the less able the community would be to serve them.
“Tobias? You avoiding answering?” she said, poking him in the ribs with an elbow.
“Oh! No. Just…thinking. Yeah. I really like the guy.” He smiled. That was only half the truth. He was in love with the man he’d only met just less than two weeks ago. How in the world had everything changed so quickly? Tobias had gone from feeling like he was walking through molasses to feeling like his pants were on fire. He laughed at himself. His pants were on fire in more ways than one.
Luckily, Aiden had decided they needed to have as much sex as possible before the battle began. Tobias was holding off on teasing him about his definition of friendship, figuring he’d just enjoy himself for now.
“Where is this
place?” Lucy asked from behind them.
“I think we’re almost there,” Tobias replied.
Sure enough, there it was, a bright, accordion boundary of painted doors, with cartoon figures, hearts, and “this is our home” painted on them. Some of the Open Heart denizens seemed to be picking the doors up and moving them.
The scene was lit by big, yellow industrial lights from the rail yard.
“What are they doing?” Tempest wondered, as the coven all paused for a moment to regroup and watch.
“Let’s find out,” Raquel replied, leading the way. She approached a short white man with a limp, who was gesturing to two other people near the doors. “Hi! My name is Raquel. We came by to do some protection work for the camp, if that’s okay. Is Barry around?”
“Barry?” the man said. “Yeah, think he’s in the center of the camp right now. Follow the doors.”
Raquel thanked him and the coven trooped into the camp, following the people carrying the doors away. They skirted through tents and cook stoves and wash stations. Tobias could see a row of portable toilets at the far edge of the camp. He wondered who paid for them.
The camp smelled like soup, coffee, propane, and unwashed socks. Even the rain couldn’t wash the cacophony of scent from the air. Camping lanterns cast bright beams here and there among people’s homes of dome tents and tarps.
There was Barry, black watch cap on his head, bulky work coat on his big shoulders, in what appeared to be the center of the large camp. He was coordinating something with the doors that looked like the beginnings of a tight spiral.
“Barry!” Raquel shouted. His head jerked up and he smiled.
“Hey! Aiden said you all would be stopping by!”
“What are you doing with the doors?”
“We don’t want the cops to trash them, or to tip them over onto people’s tents. So we’re moving them inside. I thought a spiral might be nice.”
Tobias looked at the pattern. It was perfect. The spiral shape was going to help the magic they had planned a lot.
“You’re an artist,” Tobias said.
Barry raised his right hand and tilted it side to side. “So-so. What do you all need to do here tonight?”
Raquel spoke again. “We want to lay down some protection magic, but first of all, we want to make sure it’s okay with the people who live here.”
Barry stretched his arms, sweeping the camp. “Everyone here is on board with whatever kind of help you all want to bring. I told them you were cool, and so did Sheila. So, you cool!”
“Can we work with the doors?” Tobias asked.
Barry stopped for a minute, and studied Tobias’s face. Tobias wondered how psychic the man was. It was clear he was looking for something. Something not quite physical. Then his eyes changed, focusing clearly again.
“Why you think I’m forming them into a spiral, man? We’re open heart. But that doesn’t mean we’re gonna let the cops traipse through here in a straight line.”
The coven laughed. This was definitely Tobias’s season of getting his mind blown. Even the homeless camp worked magic in Portland. And why wouldn’t they?
“Okay. We’ll work with your spiral then,” Brenda replied. Her brown hair frizzed out from underneath her coat hood, her face shining in the crosshatching of the camping lanterns and the big industrial railway lights. “Tobias brought some herbs to help the magic. He tells us they’re also good for us generally, so we’ll all be taking them tonight and tomorrow, before the action.”
Tobias swung his messenger bag around to the front and opened the big flap. He showed Barry, and Sheila, who’d shown up to greet them, the small amber bottles.
“It’s a mixture I made to help support us as we invoke Justice, Strength, and Love. I figured we’d need those three things to do this, right?”
Sheila nodded. “What herbs are in it?”
“Comfrey, calendula, astragalus, and rose.”
“Sounds good. When should we take ’em?”
“We were going to take some now, before we start the magical working, and then planned to take some more tomorrow, right before the action.”
Sheila and Barry started calling people over. He passed the bottles out, explaining what they were. He passed a bottle to Moss, so the coven could start dosing with the herbs. When he turned back from giving out all the bottles he had brought, he almost burst into tears.
It was so beautiful. Usually, people raised the dropper and squirted the herbs into their own mouths. That wasn’t what was happening here. People seemed to be saying a prayer, then raising the dropper for their friends, who, heads tilted back, faces wet with rain, received the herbs on their tongues.
Tobias wished Aiden was there. It looked an awful lot like how people described communion.
There was magic every damn where.
“Tobias?” Alejandro stood in front of him in his fancy leather hat and long raincoat. He held the dropper up, a questioning look on his face. Tobias tilted back his head and stuck out his tongue.
The rain felt like a blessing. The herbs were tart, a cascade of flavors running toward the back of his mouth.
“Thanks, man.”
The whole thing took longer than Tobias expected. He had thought people would just take the bottles and head off to their separate camps, but everyone wanted to do this, all at once. So they waited in the rain.
Tobias found that he didn’t mind. He could feel the magic deepening around them, starting to radiate out from the growing spiral of doors. People had been continuously bringing them in during the ceremony, placing a door into the pattern, then pausing to receive some of the formula.
“Strength, justice, love.” Brenda and Raquel began speaking the words in a rhythm, like a chant. “Strength, justice, love. Strength, justice, love.”
The chant rippled out, the coven walked the spiral of the doors, touching each door, imbuing it with the magic of protection. There was no need here to call the elements and form a sphere. The people who lived here were already doing it. The elements were all around them, every day. The ground beneath their feet, the fires of their propane stoves, the air in their voices, and the water falling from the clouds above.
They formed a procession, spiraling out to the edges of the camp. When they reached each corner, Brenda and Raquel touched the ground there, and then raised the energy to the sky. Every person walking with them did the same. And so they went, corner to corner, until they had walked the edges of the camp.
Tobias felt a woman slip her hand into his. He held out his hand to the man next to him. People grabbed hands, or grasped shoulders, until everyone was touching someone else.
“Let this place be a holy place! Let this holy place be a safe place! May the people here be strong! May the people here remain community! May the people here be safe, and joyous, healthy and whole!” Raquel’s voice filled the sky, rising through the pouring rain.
“Strength! Justice! Love!” the people started up the chant again—“Strength! Justice! Love! Strength! Justice! Love! Strength! Justice! Love!”—until everyone who could was dancing in the rain.
“So mote it be,” Tobias whispered to the sky. “So mote it be.”
30
Aiden
The council chambers were packed. The seats downstairs were all full, and people stood at the back. Aiden was up on the round balcony that skirted the room. There were families there—Black, white, and Latinx—and the Asian Seniors Coalition was downstairs, along with the Homeless Health van people. And everyone from De Porres House, of course, including volunteers and guests.
The Portland City Council had tried to pull a fast one and shifted their regular morning meeting to evening. But a little bird named Terry Benson had tipped Aiden off. And Aiden had called in reinforcements. He’d contacted Friends and Family, the free restaurant downtown, and notified the two gospel missions, too. He’d also let Stop Shooting Us Now know, and the Bread and Roses Anarchist Collective, and asked everyone to spread the wor
d.
Everyone, it seemed, had decided to let the city council know, since they’d been so kind to have finally met after most folks got off work, that they would show up and be good, engaged citizens.
Aiden looked at the big arch-framed mural of Oregon trees and sky. It felt right to be here. He knew Tobias and his coven were out at Open Heart camp tonight. He felt the warm thrum of connection between his own heart and Tobias’s. It gave him hope that tomorrow would go okay, and that whatever this thing Tobias and he were hurtling toward together was going to end up being good, too. Explosive, maybe. But good.
The five commissioners that made up the current city council entered the room. Two women and three men. Two African American members, the other three white. They took their seats behind the long, curved desk. Each seat had a small microphone in front of it. They set down bottles of water, and pulled out tablets or legal pads.
At least half of the council members did not look pleased. The other half? Looked like cats that had just polished off large bowls of cream.
“Stop the sweeps!” a voice from behind him yelled.
“Stop the sweeps!” responded a few voices from downstairs.
One of the white men, commissioner John Johnson,—yeah, that was actually the man’s name—leaned into his microphone. “If you insist upon shouting, you may be removed from the council room.”
“Fuck you!” a woman yelled.
“Please. I need to call this session to order.” Johnson’s face was shading into the darker reds. Any minute now, Aiden expected him to start pounding on the desktop, or foaming at the mouth.
Aiden glanced at Benson. Hands clasped neatly in front of her on the swathe of rosewood desk, her curls and lipstick were perfect. She was stifling a smile.
Johnson asked for the agenda and read it out as it flashed on the screen directly above the curved desk, beneath the mural of the trees. Aiden supposed the screen was helpful for those who were hard of hearing, or couldn’t see so well, but it sure was ugly, marring the beautiful old chambers.
By Flame Page 14