Huntress

Every scent is an omen. We read the air and the trees, asking nature to pull us forward or send us home. The sun, finally sunk, inks out her last exuberant display on the dusted sky (one day I hope to be the type of person whose presence is still felt after she leaves a room). The bike path is nearly empty by the time we meet, our laden backpacks speaking mid-Autumn myths of two middle-school girls heading off to finish school projects and study sessions to the few passersby. When we return, empty-handed, it will be too dark to notice us, and the straggling post-dinner dog-walkers of this hour will be cozied up under fleece blankets with their husbands, while their dogs snore at their feet or in the crook of their knees. We take the familiar dirt offshoot, Tessa first, descending through the woods until we finally reach the water.

Tonight the lake smells wholesome, its green is so deep and fresh I almost forget it’s the same body of water as the putrid puddle of last July, when the rains stopped and the heat slurped up its coolness, the elementary school children filled it with urine, and dead trout cropped up along its circumference, dulling out from silver to grey to brown like everything else. That summer we traded our afternoon swims for popsicles on the porch swing, followed by sprawling out on the cold tiled floor of my foyer, the A/C buzzing overhead while we shared our secret dreams for how different 8^th grade would be from 7^th. But that summer was centuries ago, before any of the sourness spread into our lives, and I’d be surprised if any drop of that lake remained in this new one, so pure, almost humming, filled with what can only be godliness. Like the lake, they say every cell in the human body is replaced every 7 years, our lives are an endless gradual process of dying and rebirth. I wonder if tonight our rebirth will be immediate or completed only after every old cell has died and all new ones are born from the root of our devotion. We reach the clearing and inhale the cool earthy air. The lake says yes for us, and that is enough.

***

        In this dusky hour we can just make out the five half-submerged rocks we need to traverse to reach the island. We know them so well we could cross without a flashlight but use them anyway, knowing any fumble would send us right home. Tessa goes first like always and reaches out her hand when it’s my turn to take the biggest step between the third and fourth rocks. I’m surprised by the clamminess of her palm, but I can feel her steadiness regardless. We’ve always been best friends, but tonight we will be become sisters. We reach the other side easily, silently, and make our way through the few balding trees to the table. The table is a rectangular speckled boulder with a top flat enough for picnics or card games. We unroll our towels on the damp ground across from each other and sit. I want to ask Tessa so badly if she is scared, but we promised each other we would only speak after the oath has been uttered.

        We begin. Tessa unzips her backpack and takes out a stuffed bear I recognize from the pile of pillows on her bed. She puts him on the altar. My turn. I start with the largest object, my American Girl Doll Samantha, and place her beside the bear. A pink tutu. A ratty white blanket. Feathered boas. Colored chalk. Barbies. Slinkys. Plastic food. Gel pens. Barrettes with bows. Tiaras. Glitter. Flavored lip gloss. Temporary tattoos. A jump rope. Teen magazines. Cat ears. A magic wand. Bottles of bubbles. Nail polish. Training bras.

        By the time we finish laying everything out, it’s nighttime and cloudless. We make our way to the other side of the island, where we can see the moon, which we know will be full. The moon is even fuller and more shocking than we could have imagined, and she licks a milky path along the water’s surface. She fills us with an ancient determination.             

***

 Drenched in moonlight, we begin the second part of the ritual. Tessa turns first towards you, and I stand directly behind her. Sliding an elastic from her wrist, she makes a low ponytail right at her hairline. I wish I could see through her head to know what her face was saying. Her hair, blue-black and silken, is the exact opposite of mine. I take the dark tail in my left hand and the scissors in my right. I search the back of Tessa for any sign of emotion, wait for her to turn and yell stop, but even her hands are relaxed, hanging gently at her sides. I hear her voice in my head Come on, I am ready. We’re ready. We have to do this. And I begin working the scissors through. Her hair is thicker than expected and it takes a solid ten seconds of work to cut the ponytail fully off. As she turns around, I expect to see tears and solemnness. Instead she is exuberant, her hair falls to her ears, her eyes are wild with liberation. We switch, and something in my chest collapses. As slowly as possible, I wrangle my frizzy mane into a ponytail. I remind myself this is what I want. A lifetime of protection, of freedom and sisterhood. Just like Tessa said. I try not to let any of the tears slip over my eyelids, I want to be as strong as Tessa. So I look to the moon, and before I know it I feel the weight drop from my head. I turn to see Tessa beaming, holding my messy brown tress. Reaching up to feel where my hair ends, my new head feels buoyant, and I can’t help but laugh out, the tears successfully escaping down my cheeks. Tessa laughs too, and we hug, still holding each other’s amputated ponytails. After a moment the hug turns solemn, Tessa takes out the flashlight and we walk back to the altar. We add the ponytails to the pile and sit across from one another again. Joining hands we count to three, before uttering our vow:

DIANA, GODDESS OF THE MOON, OF THE HUNT, OF THE WOODLAND. PROTECTRESS OF WOMEN, MOTHERS, AND VIRGINS: TONIGHT WE JOIN YOU IN SISTERHOOD. WE OFFER OUR CHILDHOOD AND PROMISE OUR CELIBACY FOREVER. PROTECT OUR CHASTITY AND WE WILL HONOR YOU WITH OUR PURITY UNTIL DEATH. LET US JOIN YOU IN THE ETERNAL HUNT, SO THAT WE OURSELVES MIGHT NEVER BE HUNTED AGAIN.