One day I got a call from Eva and Evon. They were freaking out because they thought they had killed Kate. I tried to get them to calm down enough to tell me what happened. They said something about that she had “went under”and started turning blue in the face. They were babbling something about some Avalon thing or other, and they were so distraught it sounded even more incoherent.
Because I was still largely sympathetic to Christianity and had yet to cultivate my agnostic viewpoints, the rest of The Family had hidden this subject from me. They knew it would upset me, and they were right. The twins weren’t supposed to tell me, but they weren’t very good at keeping secrets, even when they weren’t in such an excitable state.
I was hurt they’d kept it from me and was quite alarmed. Despite the lateness of the hour, I talked Mom and Dad into driving me over there. Kate was fine by the time I got there, and I got my first introduction to Avalon. My folks were a little unsettled about the whole matter as well, especially getting their second-hand introduction from me, as I scarcely understood myself.
It seems most of The Family, except me, had been into this thing they referred to as Avalon for some time. Incidentally, Avalon is one of several Celtic names for the Isle of the Dead, the alleged resting place of King Arthur. Other names include the Summerlands and Tir-na-nog.
Avalon was similar to a role playing game, though it did not use any kind of player’s manuals. It allegedly took place on a parallel plane one “went under” to access (went into a dreamlike state). In this dimension medieval warfare was engaged in, using weaponry such as swords and fireballs.
I’m not exactly certain how Avalon got started, although I was told that it began with a girl by the name of Shonda,1 who apparently was some kind of partially evil queen there. I don’t know if she manufactured this particular imagery, or if it was previously founded, and she just introduced it to our peer group. Perhaps you have heard of it, or have encountered a similar concept.
I did not approve at all at first and was very wary despite my growing curiosity. That might be one reason why I could never seem to do it, despite many frustrating attempts. Because of this I felt a little left out.
The Family was well aware of this and wishing to include me, developed a character named Damien for me, that sounds suspiciously like the Greek god Pan. (Actually, they said they discovered him: allegedly everything on this plane was already in existence with or without human participation on this side.) Whatever his origin, he had long black hair and a beard, was handsome and mysterious, played a lute, lived in the forest and only came out to charm the warriors out of battle with his music. Apparently, it held such a powerful enchantment that they had to stop and listen, no matter if they wanted to or not. (I would have added that he liked to frolic with the maidens, showing off his musical prowess for them, but The Family apparently wasn’t thinking that far ahead, or were perhaps only concerned with more “serious” affairs.)
At any rate, his playing apparently kept the warriors spellbound, having some inherent magical quality. I’m not exactly sure why he felt the need to do this, but according to them, there was some profound reason why this was so terribly important. Flattering perhaps, but I could never seem to achieve anything with it. I took my friends seriously, frustrated I could never unite with my alter ego, or whatever you wish to define this Damien as. Perhaps I was trying to build it into something it was not.
In my mind’s eye, I was not thinking of Avalon as a silly game using ordinary imagination or wishful thinking. I was thinking in terms of a commonly shared vision or dreamscape in which everyone literally sees the same imagery: the same clouds, the same trees, and one another just like we do in this dimension. I further thought it could be interacted on accordingly, in essence being able to step into one another’s minds in the process. Whether this mindscape is what Avalon was or not, I don’t know, but it is what I took it to mean at the time.
Shonda, the girl who apparently introduced Avalon, was into magic. My first close encounter with her happened around the middle of my junior year. She knew a number of The Family on an individual basis and had gone out with Joe for a period of time.
The twins had somehow acquired her copy of The Necronomicon, a book dealing with opening seven purported gates, or seals into the supernatural dimension. This information was said to have come from beyond the grave, hence the necro prefix, derived from the Greek nekrós meaning “dead.”
This dark work was written by a mysterious author referred to only as the Mad Arab who allegedly went crazy and died before the book could be completed. As a result, it discussed accessing the seven seals, but not closing them. That is why even the witches and warlocks who use this spell book consider it such a dangerous work.
I was more than a little alarmed and confiscated the book to review on my own. I felt it was a threat and wanted to protect them. I had no idea whose book it was, and quite frankly, I did not care.
The twins were a little put out, and so was Shonda. She was upset that I hadn’t asked to borrow it and thought I was a real heel for just taking it and “playing” with things I did not understand. After that incident, she and I did not get along too well.
We were fated to get off on the wrong foot according to astrology. We were both Scorpio, and those “governed” by that sign are not supposed to be very compatible. I once read an anonymous little saying that went something like this: “He who keeps an arrow in his bow, and if you prod he lets it go: a fervent friend, a subtle foe—Scorpio!” I thought it was kind of cute, so I decided to throw it in.
Signs aside, Shonda and I were both strong-willed and not used to being challenged, and neither of us was going to back down, unless we really believed we were wrong. She and I had roughly the same level of intellect and were more alike than we cared to admit.
As time went on, our strong dislike mellowed into a guarded tolerance of one another. We had too much pride to be childish and uncivilized. We would have sooner died than admit that the other had gotten the best of us, and the only cover was a patronizingly sickening friendliness. The masks that we clutched wore rather flimsy.
You see, a mirror image is an exact opposite, such as with love and hate. Their reflections meet in the mirror of respect. If you have a strong negative reaction to someone, that is a pretty good indication that that person has worked himself or herself into your mind. You would not experience that feeling of friction if you did not care. If anything, there would be apathy. That is why psychologists maintain that lovers who hate each other still have hope for their strained relationship. When you’ve stopped feeling, all hope truly ceases to exist. As long as you hate, you still care. Maddening, huh?
The twins soon got over their irritation with me. They realized that I was only trying to help them, and they were generally quick to forgive. The fact that June and Sheila did not get along too well with Shonda helped further my cause, though to this day I’m not exactly certain what they held against her. Perhaps it was just a jealousy, as she was supposed to be a very powerful person. Who knows?
One memorable day we were all cruising around with June in the Audi, and we stopped off at my house for some reason I’ve long since forgotten. Eva was sitting on my left and Evon on my right in the back seat. Evon had a tendency to get carsick, and she was feeling rather ill. All of a sudden, she laid her head down in my lap unexpectedly, startling me. I sat there for a moment and then instinctively began to stroke her hair. Her face was so serene, and I suddenly felt an odd attachment to her. Eva was more than a little surprised, but she thought it was cool.
When we got to my house everyone crowded around in my dinky little room, but Evon stayed outside to get some air. I soon became restless and went out to check on her. I asked her kindly if she was all right. She gave me a faint smile and assured me she would be okay.
By now, everyone had begun to realize something unusual was happening. From that day on, we became best friends. Eva felt a little left out at first, but she soon adjusted to the idea.
Somewhere before my sophomore year, I had started to sew a jacket for my dad from old bluejeans as a prospective Christmas gift. I used another jacket for my pattern, laying the sections of cloth up to it to cut to size. Unfortunately, I did not make seam allowances. It soon became evident that it would be way too small for him, and I scrapped the project before I had finished sewing the arms on.
Some time later, I was digging through my closet and came across it. It seemed perfect for me: the ultimate stoner jacket. It formed a tattered, threadbare jean vest, and I had soon inked in the names of some of my favorite bands on its back, including the likes of Suicidal Tendencies, Death Angel, Metal Church, Pink Floyd, etc. It complemented the dressier black and grey jean vest that I already wore. I began to wear it regularly.
In high school it was customary for the guys to let their girlfriends wear their letter jackets. It was not uncommon to see girls wearing the jackets of boyfriends from other area schools, their rival colors giving them away instantly. Though I was given a couple of letters in junior high (I did not even know what they were for then), I was too much of a rebel to bother with such nonsense in high school. I couldn’t spoil my stoner image, now could I?
So, since Evon and I shared this unique bond, one day I decided to give her my jacket to wear as a token of our relationship. I was certain she would like it. I mean, what girl wouldn’t want to wear some guy’s tattered jean jacket complete with the morbid names of heavy metal bands all over it? Sounds pretty romantic, don’t you think? (Actually, I think it was more the thought of whose jacket it was and how important it was to him that spoke to her heart, but don’t you go telling anyone, okay?)
She wore it faithfully for awhile, but her mom absolutely disdained it and probably gave her an ultimatum, so she gave it back to me a couple of weeks later, freshly washed and neatly folded. Kate liked it, but I don’t think Eva much cared for it, period. I’d just about bet money she wouldn’t have been caught dead in it, no matter whose jacket it was.
Like her mother, she prided herself in fashion a little more, whereas Evon was more the defiant rebel, standing on Smokers’ Corner, with a cigarette in one hand, a huge stack of homework and books from all the days she missed in the other. Actually, all three girls and their mother dressed rather fashionably and looked sharp in the clothes they wore. Evon was just the most rebellious in her apparel.
I soon began to realize that I was feeling romantically interested in Evon. I was too scared to tell her to her face, so I wrote her a note and tremblingly gave it to her to read. She was apprehensive when she took it, seeing my expression and fearing the worst. When she finished reading it, she was shaking just about as bad, and both of us smoked a cigarette to calm down.
The news came as a complete surprise to her. She considered me her best friend, aside from Eva. She called me Big Bro, and I called her and Eva “Sis.” For that matter, The Family all referred to one another as Sister or Brother.
She still stuck by my side, though I think that knowing I was so interested in her really stressed her out. Not only that, but I was smitten and smothered her, giving her very little room. I was intensely jealous of any male that came near her.
I was totally blinded to reality and spent a lot of my time feeling depressed. I did not understand that she needed her space and thought she was just blowing me off. I just couldn’t get it through my head that she did not feel the same way about me. I would then get angry and go on long walks.
As a result she spent a lot of her time depressed and upset that I was acting like such a child. Plus, she held me in very high regard, and it ate away at her own self-esteem. Both of us were on dark, downward spirals that eroded our lives.
I wanted to show Evon how much she meant to me. I tried to think of something really meaningful, something I greatly treasured. Then it hit me. I gave her my Girl Coon, the prized stuffed raccoon I’d had since I was a little boy.
A lot of times I would walk along the road, or through the fields. I can remember listening to the Metallica album . . . And Justice For All and dreaming about Evon during the frosty winter months, the moonlight silhouetting my gaunt frame. I dreamed of frolicking with her under the moon.
I can still remember when we officially became “blood” brother and sister. The blood bonding had been in the planning for a few weeks. I typed up a certificate in old English text on the computer at school. I took it very seriously, perfecting it until it was flawless. Then I printed up two copies. They looked pretty impressive, if I do say so myself.
Eva warned her not to do it, and Evon promised her that she wouldn’t. Because of this, we were in a hurry, and we closed the bedroom door and locked it. We then took a razor blade and slit our wrists, careful to cut across a vein, so that we wouldn’t need to make too large of an incision.
My folks had a desk drawer full of trinkets they’d collected. Amongst these little odds and ends, they had some tips for quill pens. We both let some blood fall into a bottle lid and mixed our blood together. Then we dipped the quill in the blood and signed both our names to each certificate. When Eva found out, I think she felt a little left out and was not very pleased she’d been lied to.
Some time later I got into a fight with Evon over the phone, and we said some really mean and hurtful things. She got really mad at me and told me that it was over, she did not ever want to talk to me again. I went ballistic, foolishly giving her back everything including my copy of our blood certificate. I angrily demanded she give me back Girl Coon. I even went so far as to cut her notes out of my yearbooks. What a hotheaded fool!
I’ve since regretted those things, as memories are often all that we have. I’d be curious to read those things now and especially to see the blood certificates. It would make an interesting sentimental souvenir of times past. I wonder how well our blood has held up to the years, or if the copies are even in existence anymore? Ah well, at least I still have that small scar on my left wrist in which I take a certain pride.
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