Danu

by T L Harty

  “So, whatever will we do?” I mused.

  “It would be fun to see if you could pull some more history from your visions,” Tina suggested.

  “Oh, sure,” I agreed, sarcastically, “loads of fun. Tell me what it’s like to be on the council,” I said, changing the subject.

  “I’ve only been on it for a couple of weeks,” Tina confessed, “so I’m not really the one to ask. If you’re approved, you will take my seat on the council. There have only been four people on it lately because the line of Enya has not been represented. The council should have five people at all times, in case there is ever a tie.”

  “Does that happen a lot?” I wondered.

  “As far as I know, it’s only happened once in the council’s history,” Tina answered. “Toec women rarely split on any decision. Because the good of the whole is always considered, it makes arguments a rarity.”

  “Does everyone on the council have to go through similar training?” I wondered.

  “No,” Tina replied. “You would be the first council member that was recruited like this. We all knew about our birth rites at the junction age or before. I think Macy knew in the womb.”

  We both laughed, and bid each other goodnight, but my curiosity was getting the best of me. What would make the council split their votes? It was time to use my newly discovered vision recall to see if I could get to the bottom of it, without having to ask.

  After entering my room, I relaxed on the bed, closing my eyes. I thought of the council and a split vote. It must have taken ten minutes before the vision finally came into focus. The voices were a little muffled initially, reminding me of my first vision so many years ago.

  Tina was standing in front of the council. It figures that my first attempt would be a colossal mistake. This couldn’t be the right vision because Tina had only joined the council a short time ago. She was shaking her head up and down, affirmatively.

  “That settles it,” Macy confirmed, in my vision. “We are inviting Muriel here for training. Thank you for being the tie-breaker, Tina.”

  The vision left me, but that was not a very satisfying ending. I tried to concentrate to get it back- to find out who voted against me and why. It wasn’t meant to be. Hours were spent in contemplation, which became very annoying. The unanswered questions didn’t bother me as much as the realization that something deeply disappointing had come to fruition…I cared.

  Chapter 12- Lift Off

  My eyes, even at a squint, were a portal for the morning sun’s pain. I had heard tales of hangovers, but never experienced one first hand. I felt fine before going to bed, but now my head was pounding. It took a while to realize that all the moaning assaulting my ears was, indeed, my own.

  Grammy was setting things down on my night stand. It was hard to make out the items because my eyelids were at half-mast. She put a cold wash cloth on my forehead, helping to alleviate the discomfort.

  “You need to get yourself together, Muriel,” Grammy said. “We have to arrive at the airport by noon, and it’s already nine.”

  Slowly, I inched my way up to a sitting position. The washcloth fell into my lap. It was easier to make out the scene around me, once upright. Grammy was in full nurse mode. She was bouncing from one side of the room to the other. My mouth was dry, but there was some water on my nightstand. A few sips made it possible to speak.

  “Why do I have a hangover?” I asked. “I was OK before going to bed last night.”

  “Alcohol dehydrates you,” Grammy said, handing me a pill. “When someone gets dehydrated, they get headaches, feel nauseated, and experience dry mouth.” She picked the washcloth up and ran it under some more cool water before returning it to my forehead.

  All the symptoms Grammy mentioned were present. I took the pill and continued to sip water. A shower would help wash away the misery, so once the aspirin had a chance to make a dent in the headache, the bathroom would be my next stop.

  It took a couple hours of Grammy’s nursing before I felt half-way decent. The thought of flying, while feeling like this, was not a welcome one. It would be imperative to grab some barf bags on the plane.

  While collecting my clothes for the shower, the piece of paper caught my eye. It had slipped my mind completely. I quickly shoved it down in my suitcase, under all my clothing.

  It was a balancing act trying to figure out which outfit I could wear on the flight home. It had to pass Grammy’s appearance standards, but still be comfortable enough that I didn’t feel like ripping the clothing off of my body. I decided on a loose-fitting pantsuit I had purchased in London.

  The shower was soothing, but it wasn’t long until the sweating returned. Grammy and I inspected the room, making sure we had gathered all our belongings. As we were securing our suitcases, I slipped the piece of paper in my pocket. Perhaps during the flight, there would be an opportunity to look at it. Although, in my warped reality, I was oddly at peace if the plane went down in a ball of flames, and I never laid eyes on what was on the paper. Not for the reason of having lost my curiosity, but so my head would stop hurting.

  When we arrived at the airport, the flights were listed on a board. In true Grammy fashion, we were more than an hour early. At this point, I was in no condition to fuss or complain. Riffling through my carry-on, I tried to find the itinerary. It was imperative that this trip home had an end time, so each completed hour could be seen as an accomplishment.

  According to the schedule, the travel time to New York was about seven hours. That wasn’t our final destination, but it was the longest leg of it. If I could sleep a good portion of the time, that would be ideal. Grammy handed me a cup of water and another aspirin.

  “I talked to the ticket agent,” Grammy said. “She is checking to see if she can get you a couple of seats together so you can rest. I told her you were sick. Drink that water because it will help. The last thing they want on these flights is someone throwing up. Sometimes, it starts a chain reaction.”

  I did as I was told and drank the water, silently hoping that there would be space on the flight to lie down, and that Grammy would stop talking about throwing up.

  “This should be a lesson to you about drinking,” she lectured. “Nothing good will come of it. It can be an expensive hobby, and I’m not just talking about the cost of alcohol.”

  Even an eye-roll could not be mustered in my condition. Thankfully, Grammy realized this was not the best time to bestow her wisdom about any subject, much less drinking. It didn’t take long for her to start up a conversation with a random stranger. I was grateful to be ignored for a time.

  My Grammy’s name was called over the intercom. When she returned, she informed me, “Well, lucky you. They found three seats for you to sprawl out on, but you have to do your best not to get sick.”

  There would be no promises on that score, but I was honestly thankful for Grammy’s efforts. When we boarded, my seat was toward the back of the plane, close to the lavatories. The carry-on was put up above and I pulled down all the blankets and pillows. After making myself comfortable, the plane started to taxi down the runway.

  Before falling asleep, Grammy’s voice could be heard a couple of rows ahead. I had to hand it to her. She could befriend just about anyone. I placed one of the blankets over my head, sparing all who passed by of the unbecoming scene. There would be no risk of being mistaken for sleeping beauty.

  It was the bang of a food cart that aroused me from my slumber. While still under the blanket, I tried to improve my appearance, wiping the drool from the side of my mouth and patting my hair down. After removing the blanket, I grabbed my small toiletry bag, and quickly went to the lavatory. The reflection in the mirror was not very encouraging but, on the upside, my head felt much better.

  Rinsing my face off, using the toilet, washing my hands, brushing my teeth, and combing my hair helped me feel more human. On the way back to my seat, the stewardess could be seen pushing the food cart toward the back of the plane, as she served the meals. There
was one aisle down the center of the plane, with rows of three seats on either side of the main aisle.

  After eating, it was like a new day. My head was no longer throbbing, and there was no sign of nausea. A few minutes after the stewardess retrieved my tray, she sat down in the aisle seat of my row.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I need to take a break and get off my feet.”

  “Take all the time you need,” I offered. “Do you know how soon we’ll be landing?”

  She looked at her watch and responded, “It’s only a little over two hours before we touch down in New York.”

  It was a pleasant surprise to learn that we had been in the air for so long. I took out the piece of crumpled paper in my pocket.

  “Do you want me to throw that away for you?” the stewardess asked, holding her hand out.

  “Oh, no,” I answered. “I went to a lot of trouble to get this.” I answered, smoothing out the paper on the tray table. There were only scribbles all over it. It was hard to hide my disappointment.

  The stewardess had been watching me, likely curious about what was on the paper, too.

  “Can I see that?” she asked. I handed her the paper. “This is shorthand,” she told me. “It’s a type of writing that you don’t see too much nowadays. If you were a secretary years ago, shorthand was a mandatory skill.”

  “Do you know how to read it?” I wondered, excitedly.

  “No, but another stewardess on this flight was a journalism major,” she shared. “She had to take a shorthand class. If you give me the letter, I can go show her.”

  “OK,” I said, handing it to her.

  Grammy showed up not long afterward. She had been checking on me every hour, and this time she found me awake. Grammy suggested she move back near me now that I was feeling better, but there was no way to explain the stewardess returning with the paper. Fibbing, I told her that I’d still like to rest until we got to New York. She went back to her seat, but not until she covered me up with the blankets.

  A half hour had passed before the stewardess returned. “Well, this is the best she could do,” claimed the stewardess, handing me the sheet back. “Apparently there are two common forms of shorthand. She learned Gregg in school, but this is written in Pitman. It might help.”

  “Well, thank you for trying to translate the letter,” I said, taking it back.

  “It’s not a letter. It’s some kind of a list,” she informed me, before getting back to work.

  There were words penciled in on the paper: history, druid, visions, stubborn, angry, irresistible, dark, etc. Grammy must have reported the events of our trip to this man. There was no way to be sure because the paper lacked complete sentences, but the words were a sampling of our experiences.

  We changed planes for our last leg of the trip. I decided to confront Grammy with the piece of paper, by handing it to her once we had taken off.

  She was confused, and asked, “What’s this?”

  “It’s a piece of paper,” I explained, “that the gardener threw away at the B & B.”

  She handed it back to me, without a hint of concern.

  “Did you read what’s on it?” I pressed.

  “Seeing that I told him what to write down,” Grammy remarked, “I don’t need to read it.”

  Her response was hurtful and confusing. After folding up the letter, I returned it to my pocket, unsure of its usefulness. We didn’t talk the rest of the flight. We were annoyed by each other’s company.

  When the flight landed, we gathered our bags to disembark. We had traveled twelve hours but, with the time change, it was only a little past 7 p.m. If it had already been dark, we would have stayed in a hotel, but Grammy wanted to get home. Only a two-hour car ride stood in the way of that.

  A familiar face was standing outside the gate. As little Jed waved, both of us were confused by his presence. When we reached him, he took our bags.

  “What are you doing here, Jed?” Grammy asked, surprised.

  “Uncle Wayne told me when your plane landed,” he explained. “So, I took a bus here to escort you home. We leave tomorrow, and I wanted to spend as much time with you gals as possible. The county fair just isn’t the same without you.”

  Grammy and I looked at each other, knowing this was complete hogwash. Little Jed didn’t even come up for the fair last year. Until Gramps told me differently, I assumed he was starting a life with his new family.

  “I’m driving,” Grammy announced. “Muriel hasn’t been feeling very well, and my insurance won’t cover you. Let’s get home before dark.”

  Those were our marching orders. Little Jed sat behind the driver’s seat, and I sat to his right. Grammy rolled the windows down because the air was cooler at night. She said it was to get fresh air, but it was to help her stay alert. All the traveling accomplished today must have tired her out.

  “Grammy, it’s a little cool back here,” I said. “Can you roll the windows up?” I was practically shivering.

  She rolled them up a couple of inches, but not much more. “There is a blanket back there under the seat,” Grammy informed.

  Jed reached down to retrieve the blanket. As he unfolded it, he motioned with his head for me to move closer to him. I’m not sure why, but I scooted in his direction. He put his right arm around me, pulling me close. He was warm so I didn’t resist. After a while, it became hard to keep my eyes open. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was Jed smelling the top of my head, before he kissed it.

  “Hey, sleepy head,” Jed whispered. “You’re home.”

  When my eyes focused, there was only a sea of plaid before me. It took some time to realize that my nose was buried in Jed’s shirt. The sun, which was out when I feel asleep, had now been replaced with stars. I slid back to my side of the backseat, a little embarrassed to have been sleeping on Jed.

  We were parked at the house, and Grammy must have already gone inside. “How long have we been out here?” I asked.

  “Just a few minutes,” Jed said, smiling. “You were tired. I didn’t want to disturb you. And I got to hold you while you slept.”

  “Why did you really meet us at the airport?” I wondered. “You didn’t miss us.”

  “I needed to see you,” he answered. “My dad was thinking of leaving in the morning, but I wasn’t sure you’d be up after your long flight today.” He lowered his head, not able to make eye contact, and said, “I wanted to apologize about what happened with Cassidy.”

  “That was two years ago, Jed,” I reminded him, while getting out of the car. “At this point, an apology is one of two things- overdue or not necessary.”

  He got out of the car, too, walking around to my side. He grabbed my wrist before I could walk toward the house.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “Please just let me talk to you for a minute.” He let go of my wrist.

  “Go ahead,” I agreed. It wasn’t like Jed to stick up for himself or be demanding, so this conversation would be interesting, if nothing else.

  “The bottom line is that I messed up,” he started. “I’m sorry that it was so easy to be lured in by Cassidy. Ironically, that night all I could think about was how to tell my dad that I wanted to date you. And then, I’d have another beer. You don’t know what it’s like to be drunk and make stupid decisions.”

  In light of recent events, I knew a little something about that, but this was Jed’s apology- far be it for me to interrupt.

  “My actions were disrespectful to you,” he continued. “You don’t have to accept my apology, but I have to give you one regardless. You deserve that much.”

  “If I’m to forgive you,” I said, “you need to tell me what happened.” His expression became uncomfortable, and it dawned on me what he must be thinking. “No, no,” I explained, “not the gory details or a play-by-play. I just thought that what we had was kind of special. It was easy to care about you. I’m not sure what went wrong.”

  Jed let out the biggest sigh.
“It was special, and I was what went wrong,” he confessed. “I’m not sure how much you want to know, but after you left the fair with your grandma, I went to the demolition derby. My dad let me drink a couple of his beers. The beer gave me the courage to do some line dancing at the beer pavilion.”

  “Cassidy was there,” Jed continued. “I should have known better. Some complete stranger warned me about her, but I was steady drinking at this point. Uncle Wayne and my grandpa were buying me beer, too. They were all very encouraging when it came to Cassidy because they saw the way I looked at you.” He touched my cheek, and sweetly said, “The way I still look at you.”

  Indignant, I removed his hand from my cheek. “Cassidy spied you out like you were some injured game animal, ripe for the pickin’,” I said. “A slightly inebriated, out-of-town, sixteen-year-old boy would be too big a blip on her radar to pass up.”

  “You still sound a little upset about the whole thing,” Jed accused.

  He wouldn’t believe me, but I hadn’t thought much about it after leaving that summer. “Not really,” I told him. “It hurt at the time, but it supported my growing theory that boys can be incredibly lame.”

  He laughed at that. Jed’s face, when he smiled, was irresistibly endearing.

  “You will be happy to know that I’m a man now,” he shared. “Or, at least that is what the law tells me. You may have to change your theory to include men.”

  “True,” I agreed. His attempt at a joke softened my irritation.

  Jed’s smile evaporated, and he got a serious look on his face. “Anyway,” he went on, “once the fair ended, Cassidy asked my dad if she could take me to a party. It turned out that she was the party. We parked about a mile from here, up the road apiece.”

  “It was not my finest moment,” he explained, embarrassed. “She insisted that we be together. I stuck to my guns for an hour, telling her no. And, then, I stopped saying no.” He shook his head back and forth, obviously uncomfortable.