When We Were Wildflowers

Chapter 10 - The Ritual

Under the last rays of daylight (and the light from my phone), Poppy constructs a small pyre of firewood atop a pile of cinders in the center of a clearing deep inside the forest—and by deep, I mean not too far from the house, but far enough to give me second thoughts about all this nonsense. My imagination lights up with a scene from a scary movie where the victim is calling for help, but the other characters are just out of earshot, unaware their friend is succumbing to a horrible fate.

"Will anyone be able to hear us if we scream?" I wonder aloud.

"Of course not." Poppy grins. "We can scream as loud as we want."

She throws her head back and howls into the sky to prove her point. I shake my head and smile. As usual, we are on totally different wavelengths: I'm worried and Poppy is having fun.

"So what's next?" I ask.

"Your turn."

"My turn for what?" I am filled with curiosity.

"To scream." She unleashes another wail, just for the fun of it. "Don't be shy."

"But I am shy!" I giggle. "Okay, okay. I'll do it." I clear my throat and take a deep breath. When I open my mouth to release a mighty roar, a weak, high-pitched squeal is all that comes out. Embarrassed, I turn to Poppy for reassurance. "Was it that bad?"

"Terrible." She shakes her head, clearly disappointed with my attempt. "You gotta let loose. Don't you ever get mad?"

I shake my head no.

"Don't you ever want to cuss somebody out? Or just yell to see how loud and strong your voice can be?"

I stand there, dumbfounded. "Not really."

"Come on, what about your old classmates? Your brother?" Poppy throws her arms around in big, bold gestures. When she talks about something important, she uses her whole body and I stand back in wonder. "There has to be someone you're mad at."

"I don't think so."

"What about your mom?"

That's it. She found it.

From the dark depths of my being, something strange and unfamiliar claws to the surface. It's sharp, prickly and filled with rage, like a quills of a porcupine, snapping jaws of an alligator, or the jagged talons of a falcon rolled into one. There's a beast buried inside me, and when I think of my mom and her contempt for Poppy, her long list of rules, the quiet judgements and sighs of disappointment, that animal cracks through my chest, rattling my bones and filling my blood with venom. It's fierce growl builds in my throat and I throw my head back instinctually-- without thinking, only feeling--and I unleash the beast into the thick night air. The scream is too loud and fierce to be coming from me. It's so wild and powerful that Poppy takes a slow step back, in awe.

We stand in stunned silence for five whole seconds.

"That's impressive." Poppy reaches out for a high five. "I didn't think you had it in you."

I slap her hand as unwelcome tears sting at my eyes. "Me neither."

"Should we light this fire or what?" Poppy pulls a lighter and rolled up newspaper from her back pocket and squats down to tend to the fire.

"Light it up." I take the opportunity to wipe away the tear steaming down my cheek, but more come in its place. Why am I so sad? How did one scream open up the floodgates? I sink to my knees and a soft whimper escapes my lips.

"Are you okay?" In the firelight, Poppy's carefree face melts into a sympathetic frown. "What's wrong?"

I open my mouth to speak, but words refuse to come out. Only an embarrassing blubber I wouldn't want anyone to hear, even Poppy. The raging beast that burst through me and erupted into the night sky left, and a tender, vulnerable creature took its place. It has no spikes, talons or fangs--this part of me is soft, mushy and helpless. The taste of my salty tears fills my mouth and I reach for Poppy. She cradles me against her chest the way a mother embraces her child.