Pink Flamingos

Magick

I was never really allowed to forget my family was unusual.

After washing up dinner plates and scraping left overs into containers, Mama Heather and Mama Chelsea would begin to set up a Wiccan ritual – or “spell”, rather. Mama Heather had always said that there was a world beyond our own; one that could protect us or harm us, and that we needed to do all we could to protect the balance.

She said that they wanted me to know that the power of the universe was keeping me safe. So, when she met Chelsea, a real-life witch – even though Mama Heather got annoyed at me when I called her a witch – everything sort of fell into place.

Mama Chelsea set the ingredients out on the fold-out table. Frankincense sticks, a cauldron of basil and sage, one silver candle and one white, ready for her to use. Mama Heather and I sat on either side of her, as was apparently proper for the ritual.

It was always captivating to watch. Any sceptic of human magic needed only to watch Mama Chelsea and their opinion would change, I was certain. Her clear belief in her actions, every subtle hand movement and intangible invocation killed all doubt – it was enough to make a girl feel pretty damn protected. When she towered over her rituals, her eyes closed and her mouth hanging open, she really did look witchy. Her unruly black hair trailed down her back, her sagging skin was illuminated in the dim light, and I understood why Mama Heather fell in love with her.

In white chalk, she delicately drew a circle on the tabletop. After lighting the white candle and watching the flame flicker for a moment, she began to chant like her soul was leaving her body and she was coming to us from another place, another moment in time.

“I invoke you Artemis asking you for powerful protection, guide me even through my darkness days, I invoke you Artemis Goddess of light, asking you for protection and insight, I ask that you protected me and mine, sending all evil to the darkest place of the abyss, I invoke you Artemis and ask for protection from any and all evil sources, seen and unseen, of your grace and power too protected me, send the evil towards the darkness, a place where it will never return, so Mote it be.”

Opening her slanting eyes for the briefest of moments, she set the silver candle alight. Mama Heather and I both held our breath. She held the cauldron filled with basil and sage over the candles as she continued with the chant.

“I seek your help Artemis, I ask you to swiftly remove all evil from me and mine, I ask Artemis, Great and Mighty Goddess, that you shine your protection ever so brightly that no forces wishing me or mine harm will see your protection and flee from my home immediately. I invoke you Artemis, asking you not just for your individual help, in this matter but for everlasting protection for myself and all those that I love and are close to me. So Mote it be.”

Mama Chelsea gave me a small nod. I stood and reached over to light a frankincense stick. Mama Heather looked on with a proud smile. The ritual came to a close.

“Thank you,” Mama Heather said softly. “Thank you, my love.”

She wrapped her arms around Mama Chelsea’s waist and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

“My pleasure,” she murmured, leaning into her embrace. “You know I’d give you everything. And if I can’t protect you, Artemis can.”

I was never really allowed to forget that my family was unusual, but they were always loving. When I went to the candy store the next day, Barbara said to me in a hushed voice, with concern for me in her eyes, that the woman that lived next door had mentioned to her that they had seen my family doing “some sort of Satanic” ritual. All I could do was laugh at the thought. I calmed her worries, took my jersey caramels and left.