The Rituals We Keep

Morning light creeps through my curtains. I promised Mom I would be up by now. I reach for my phone.

I shoot upright, alert now. It’s 7:32 am. Why didn’t my alarm go off? I must have turned it off during fall break.

Great! So much for promises.

I dump cold eggs and bacon into a zip bag and rinse the pan. Mom never lets me go to school hungry. I place them into my backpack to eat on the bus.

As time slips away, I mutter:

“Where is my jacket? Oh great, I can’t find my books…”

I only have 5 minutes now. I open the front door and pause. I feel the warmth before I even see what is waiting for me.

As I step out the door and lock it, my legs begin to tremble. Time stands still. It feels like an out of body experience, only I’m awake. I can’t move as I stare down in terror.

I see a creature under the porch, his red eyes glow like smoldering wood in the fireplace.

His breath rises and falls, hot and sour, like something rotting and hungry to devour me. My stomach churns. I feel my legs go weak.

I expect to see grisly fur and gnashing teeth.

Instead, I see a flicker. It doesn’t move right. It’s not like an animal at all.

He’s a living nightmare.

He’s the heat shimmering off summer pavement come to life to terrify me.

I close my eyes, whispering, “It isn’t real. It can’t hurt me.”

Mom would tell me I am 11 now and I am too old to be afraid of imaginary monsters under the bed. Or outside my window. Or under the porch waiting to burn me alive.

I almost rush back inside. Mom won’t be happy if she has to pick me up again.

But I remember what Grandpa said.

“Tiger, you are strong. Monsters make great friends. Just give them a snack. Never run. It offends them.”

The creature locks eyes with me. Slowly I unzip my backpack. The creature rises until all I can see is an enormous fiery eye peeking through the crack.

I pull out the zip bag and grab a handful of scrambled eggs. I toss it into the hole. He continues to stare daggers into me. Forget breakfast! I throw the bacon at him too.

The creature’s face changes. His mouth turns blue and orange, a maw opening in a half moon with the tips pointing up. There is something softer and friendlier in that look. Can fire smile? I don’t know but I grin back.

“You aren’t so bad,” I say.

We could be friends. Who wouldn’t like a pet made of fire.

Jimmy Hansen would stop chasing me home if I had a fire beast at my side.

“Can I call you Flame?”

The creature grunts.

He hovers over the food. I think he’s distracted, so I creep forward.

The creature’s head snaps up and his eyes lock with mine. I swear he looks like I betrayed him.

I could almost hear him saying, “How can you think of leaving me now?”

I stop cold.

“What did I do?” I ask.

“Look, I have to go to school,” I say, moving around the gap in the wood.

I don’t know whether to trust him or to run.

As he shuffles closer, smoke billows from his mouth. I step back afraid he is going to light the porch on fire.

I can hear the rumble of the bus.

“I will be back,” I say as I rush forward.

I revert to my old habits.

I begin my ritual dance, hopping over the gap. He slithers forward toward the opening under the stairs. I falter and almost stumble to the ground. I slow down and look back.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask.

He roars loudly. I can’t tell if he’s saying “Stay,” or if it’s a threat.

Old fear grips me, so I run.

I feel the warmth of flames threatening to consume me. His flaming paw swipes at my foot. I feel the warm fire burn the sole of my shoe.

I tumble to the ground.

Was he trying to pull me back to keep me home or was it danger?

The bus honks, bringing me back. I look behind me and am shocked to see there is nothing there.

A strange sadness fills me.A part of me wants to run back and look under the porch to see if Flame is still there.

I wonder if he would let me sit with him.

Maybe that is all he ever wanted from me.

Quickly, I get up and try to rub the dust off my jeans. There are grass stains on my knees but I can’t do anything about that now.

I climb up the bus stairs and sigh with relief when I see Kyle saving me a seat at the back. He laughs at the sight of me.

“Why are you breathing so hard?”

He pounds my back. As if that will help!

I don’t answer. Instead, I send my mom a text.

“On the bus. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she answers.

***

I awake to Mom’s voice on the phone. Curious, I walk down the hall to eavesdrop.

“Yes, we would love to have you here. You should have told me that you haven’t been feeling well. What did your doctor say?”

She is sitting at the kitchen table. I see a fleeting shadow of worry cross her face, but she smiles at me as I sit down beside her.

“Grandpa?” I ask quietly, trying not to be rude.

She holds up a hand, so I stay quiet. I can hear his voice.

When the call ends I blurt out my question.

“He’s coming here?”

“For a few weeks. He hasn’t been feeling well but I think it will help him feel better. You won’t mind sleeping on the sofa for a while?”

“You know me. I can sleep anywhere.”

That evening, Grandpa sits with me on the porch. He looks so tired, but it feels perfect. I want nothing more than to have him here with me.

“How have you been holding up?” He asks, looking up at the horizon as the sun sets.

“I’m good, but how have you been holding up?” I ask, not realizing that this might sound insensitive.

The sky is alight with pink and blue mixing with golden light. It is alive with magic. It pulls us both in and I don’t think Grandpa cares how I sound.

“Grandpa, I have something to tell you.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s a creature that lives under the porch.”

He shifts so he can look through the slits between the stairs.

“Well, he did. I haven’t seen him in a while. I call him Flame.”

“That’s an interesting name,” Grandpa says.

“I think he wanted to eat me, but I gave him eggs and bacon. You said to give things an offering.”

Grandpa nods and gets a far off look in his eyes.

“He was all made of fire and smelled like he was living in a fireplace all his life. I think he wanted to be friends, but I had to go to school and now he’s gone.”

“Oh, he’s not gone,” Grandpa says. “Tell me what happened.”

“Every day, he waited for me. I was afraid of him. He tried to burn my shoes. See? There’s a burn mark where he touched it.”

I hold up my foot and sure enough there is a singe mark.

Grandpa’s eyes widen, then his eyes begin to twinkle.

“I knew you had the gift.”

I am confused.

“I see them too. Elementals protect us.”

“So, Flame can be my pet?”

Grandpa laughs until he starts to cough.

I pat his back, alarm filling me.

“Can you breathe, Grandpa?”

“Yes,” he says finally. “Elementals are friends. They are not pets.”

“Will he come back?”

“Yes, I believe he will always come back. They never leave us. If you leave them gifts, they will feel appreciated, so keep doing that and he will show up for you.”

“What is their favorite gift?”

“It doesn’t matter. It can be food, drink, or even toys. What matters is that it comes from the heart. He’s waiting for you to be ready.”

“Waiting? For me? What should I do?”

Grandpa shrugs.

“I’m not really sure, but when the time comes, he will be there for you.”

The comfort of his words wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

I don’t know where the time is going but Grandpa has been with us for a month. Some days are good, but there are days when he can barely get up from the sofa.

I see Mom watching him when she doesn’t think he realizes she is there. Now I watch her. I sense that I should be worried now. This is not just Grandpa being tired. This is much more.

In the mornings we have a new ritual. He gets up and drinks a cup of coffee as I gather my things. He eats his breakfast with me, making sure it is warm when I am ready.

He steps out onto the porch and watches me walk to the corner and get on the bus.

“Grandpa, are there any creatures that I should worry about?”

We sit together outside once again. I love this time. I don’t remember what it was like before he came to stay with us.

“Well.” He says, then goes silent. He looks thoughtful.

“I suppose there are things that can scare you. I have a ritual that we can do to keep out things you don’t want near you.”

“Oh yes,” I say excitedly. “Can we do it now?”

As Grandpa rises, he flinches and grabs his chest. I think I gasp. He drops his hands quickly.

“Indigestion is a bear,” he says.

“We don’t have to do it now,” I say. “Maybe we can watch a movie?”

“No, I want to show you. You need to know how to do it.”

We grab a cannister of sea salt from the cupboard beside the stove and head to my room.

“Your mom might think this is over the top,” he says. “But salt helps clear everything negative and keeps it away from you.”

“Will it keep Flame away?”

Grandpa shakes his head.

“If Flame is your protector, he is the most positive thing in your life.”

He has me pour a thin line of salt from one end of the windowsill to the other.

“Intent is the most important part of this ritual. Say out loud, in your own words what you will and won’t allow into your room.”

“Nothing bad or evil can come into my room. If my friend who protects me wants to come in, only he can. Nothing else is welcome.”

Grandpa chuckles.

“Now don’t go inviting friends in at night. Your mom will not be happy.”

I gaze down at the yard below.

“I think Kyle would need a ladder. He’s afraid of heights though,” I say.

Grandpa laughs hard at that. Again, his face contorts in pain, and he drops onto my bed and sits for a moment. His face changes to a bright red as if he is holding his breath.

“Grandpa, are you okay?” I ask.

Mom won’t be home for another hour.

“Should I call Mom?”

“No,” he says too quickly. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

I help him walk to the living room. We relax and he laughs heartily at the tv. For the moment, everything feels normal again.

When Mom comes home, I follow her into the kitchen. Grandpa keeps his eyes on the tv.

“I think Grandpa isn’t doing good,” I whisper. “He kept acting like something was hurting in his chest today.”

Mom peers into the living room then back at me.

“It will be okay,” she whispers back. “I’m taking him to his doctor tomorrow. He just needs some rest.”

That night, I fall asleep believing everything would be okay. Adults know more than me. Mom is a Goddess so if she says it’s fine, then I trust her.

Tomorrow Grandpa will go to his doctor. Doctors fix everything.

I have to believe that everyone has it covered because I can’t handle the thought of my Grandpa being sick.

***

Something wakes me from a troubled sleep.

Wind whips against the windows and tears branches from the trees. I forgot to close the curtains.

Fear creeps up my neck and runs icy fingers along my scalp. Something moves on the other side of the glass. I try to remain still so it can’t see I’m awake.

The figure is bulky and dark. It runs huge sharp claws down the window three times. I am amazed the glass does not break.

The wind grows louder and then the creature howls so loudly, I jump off the sofa and hide in the bathroom. I can hear it pounding on the glass. I am so afraid it will break through and come get me.

I didn’t see the figure clearly, but it’s not a fire beast. As I sit with my back against the bathroom door, I wonder. Can Flame change form?

I am brave now. At least, I believe that I am. I go back to the window and look at the beast. Its eyes are round amber orbs. It has shaggy black fur. This is not Flame.

The creature growls, moves toward my bedroom window, then looks at me as if imploring me to understand.

“Are you Grandpa’s elemental?” I say softly.

The creature is not trying to get me. It’s leading me. To Grandpa.

As the storm calms, I see this bearlike creature standing with Flame. Two elemental souls grieving together. Amber eyes and red flame shining through the soft, now gentle rain. They stand clear, then slowly fade into the shadows.

I move toward my bedroom and open the door. Grandpa is there, but he’s trembling.

“Grandpa?” I cry.

I touch him and he keeps trembling.

“Mom!” I shout.

“Something’s wrong with Grandpa.”

Mom rushes into the room and begins shaking him.

“Dad! You can’t leave me. You can’t do this to me.”

He is lying completely still.

Mom begins to wail.

I grab my phone and dial 911.

“Something’s wrong with my grandpa,” I tell the person on the other line.

The person asks for my address. I am not even sure what I tell her. Mom screaming, then the woman asking me to put her on the line.

Mom ignores me. I try to remain calm and answer the woman’s questions.

EMT’s arrive and put Grandpa on a stretcher. They take him away.

Mom drives us to the hospital like a mad woman.

At the hospital, we are taken to a room.

Grandpa lies with his eyes shut. It’s so unreal.

He looks peaceful. The life in him is gone.

“No!” I sob. I run from the room. I can’t see him like this.

No one stops me. All the air leaves my body as I cry out.

I can’t breathe. I can’t live without my Grandpa. He is my best friend.

Mom follows me and now she wraps her arms around me, hugging me to her.

“I am so sorry,” she says.

We cry together. The doctor gives us time but soon decisions have to be made.

“What funeral home?” The doctor asks.

I leave the room and go outside to sit on an iron bench. I can’t stop the tears.

We are both quiet on the way home. Mom sniffs and I see her wipe tears from her eyes. She pulls over twice, sobbing, driving again when she is able to control her tears. I can’t make it better for her because I am just as lost.

Three days pass.

At the funeral, I can hardly look at Grandpa.

His skin is so cold.

I want him to smile and call me Tiger. I want to hug him one more time.

I want to say goodbye.

A shower of tears flow down my face.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

My uncle grips my shoulder, letting me know I am not alone.

That afternoon, the small house is full of relatives. I can’t bear being inside. The tears and the questions I can’t answer are driving me crazy. I want them all to go home and leave us alone.

I sit on the porch, wishing Grandpa were here with me. A slight scuffing noise comes from under the porch.

I feel the warmth of Flame’s comfort as he joins me on the porch.

I reach my arm around him and am surprised that I can touch him as if he has form beyond the flames. He rests his head on my lap. How could I ever be afraid of him?

There are no words that can make it better. Sometimes you just need to be alone.

Sometimes you just need to sit with a friend who will silently grieve with you.