#I refuse to use their barney the dinosaur language

[dandunn]

//NAME ME A CUTE CRITTER AND I WILL NAME FOR YOU ALL THE WAYS IT CAN DIE//

[yesemcollins]

Just hours after being born, I was lifted to the popcorn ceiling of the hospital by my Uncle Tony with The Lion King's Circle of Life playing in the background. I was born in the Clermont Mercy Hospital on February 11th, 1995. I wasn't told much of the day of my birth, but the story of my father and uncles showing up in the hospital smelling of cheap weed and booze was often told at my birthday parties. My grandmother sat by my mother's side, holding me like treasure. My Aunt Elizabeth could hardly put me down. My uncles looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. These were the pictures of the day of my birth. Not a single picture of my mother holding, or looking at me with that maternal glow of unconditional love. She wasn't even the one to name me. My Aunt Elizabeth liked the name Naomi Alexandria, so that was what was put on my birth certificate. There was one picture of my father, young and scared holding a tiny bundle. That's how I knew he was there, the only way I would have known he was there.

My father left before I turned one year old. My mom says that he showed up one day with a tattoo on his chest after just turning eighteen. A heart with a ribbon around it, mine and her name written in curly letters. He was supposed to use the money she had given him for diapers, but I guess some part of him thought it would be a grand gesture of his love for us. Mom took his clothes and threw them out the door, she told him to never come back. And I don't think he had ever planned to.

We lived in the Bellavista apartments then, My Abuela, my mother, and My Uncle Mike. My Aunt Elizabeth was living in the dorms and my Uncle Tony had saved up for an apartment of his own for college. It was a small complex with a metal playground spray painted yellow at the entrance. I don't remember the place very well. When I've sat down and recalled my memories of the place, rust colored brick and stale cigarettes are what comes to mind. There are pictures of my first birthday in that small apartment. My aunt dressed up in one of those old Barney costumes, the plum colored dinosaur with a neon green belly. The complex kids were so excited they pushed her right to the ground. It was right after we had cake and icecream, which Aunt Elizabeth deeply regretted when a child projectile vomited right on her as she laid wiggling on the ground.

Soon after my Uncle Mike moved away for college, My Abuela and Mother decided to move to Silverton, a small town closer to the city. My Abuela started working at a local charter school as a spanish teacher and managed to get my mother a job there as well. Since they worked the same hours, I was sent to Happy Hearts daycare. It had a big yellow sign that you could see from the highway with writing in a crayon texture. It was a tall building red building, I remember thinking it looked like a barn on stilts as we climbed the narrow steps to the single white door. It was a crowded daycare that smelled of mildew from the leaky ceiling.

Some days I was taken to a truck rental shop owned by my mother's friends. They had an office that smelled of oil, cigarettes and cat piss. I had a corner where I could sit and color or look at books. When the computer wasn't in use, I would play pinball and randomly click grey squares in minesweeper; not knowing the meaning behind the numbers that appeared. The shop had a number of stray cats that roamed the ground, I would lay out lunch meat for them when I came. Sometimes they'd let me pet them, one even let me sneak it into my backpack and take it home. My mom made me get rid of it as soon as she heard the low mews coming from my bedroom.

Once I was old enough to start kindergarten, my Abuela started taking me to work with her. It was nice having my grandmother as part of the staff in my school. She would check on me between classes and there never was an issue that lasted too long. Bullying was hardly an issue as the girls all were blue pleated skirts with our white polos tucked into the waistline, the boys wearing pants instead. The school was based on diversity, making the world a united place. We learned of all the different cultures and religions, and were taught one of the three offered languages.

My first childhood friends were made at Technical College Peperonity World Academy. Samantha Rupert was the exact opposite of me, which might have been why we got along so well. Her thin blonde hair was cut just above her shoulder with a straight fringe that stopped just above her bright blue eyes. Light freckles dusted her light pink skin which gave her a contradicting girly look. She was wild and rough, she hated to wear dresses and loved to get dirty. She often showed up in torn up jeans and stained shirts. Not because her family was poor, but because her mother got tired of sending her to school in brand new dresses just for them to be torn and covered in paint when she went home.

Joshua Williams was an awkward boy, but his silliness always kept us entertained. His tight curls were shaved down, showing his mahogany skin. When he spoke bubbles would form at the corners of his mouth, giving a gurgling sound. He lived just down the street from me, so we often would go to school together.

Christopher Helton was a bit like the male version of Sam. He was beautiful and carefree. He had a big smile and an infectious laugh. Chris and I were much closer than the others in our group, as we played soccer together as well. Our mother's always joked that we'd get married someday, and I think we had grown up believing it.

By this time my mother had started working as a dispatcher at the local police station. This is where she met John Williamson. He was a tall and long faced man, with clear blue eyes and a head that he refused to acknowledge as balding. His teeth were short from constant grinding. When he smiled they pressed together reaching the length of normal teeth. I have always said I didn't like John, something about him made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. However, My Mother believed it was because I met John the same year I was reintroduced to my Father.

It was a very confusing year for me, when I turned four. After my Mother started dating John, he convinced her to move into an apartment of her own. She agreed that it was time, but didn't want to stray too far from my Abuela. So we moved into an apartment just around the corner, when we walked to visit there was only one house between us. One day when I was skating in my attachable skates on the sidewalk in front of our home, a man and a woman approached me. The man looked familiar, like someone I might have seen in passing. When the man told me he was my dad, I looked to my Abuela to be sure. He then introduced me to his wife, Gretchen. She was a pretty woman, with coal black hair and grey eyes. She had alabaster skin that was smooth with a warm glow. Her smile was kind and her voice was gentle. I liked her from the start, and enjoyed her affectionate words.

That was the start of my dad's visits and my life with John Williamson. My Mother would often leave me with my Abuela to go on dates with John, when they'd return I'd watch them kiss goodbye in his white ford truck. As their dates progressed, she stopped picking me up at night and sometimes would leave me at my Abuela's house for the whole weekend. I was hardly bothered by this fact, I love my abuela. Each morning she'd make me a breakfast of pancakes, eggs and turkey bacon with a crescent roll. My favorite part of our morning was sharing a hot cup of lipton tea with cream and sugar. She always made it taste just right, it took me years to get my tea to taste the way she made it.

But our mornings soon came to an end, when John asked my mother to move with him to another town. John was a handyman, he would buy junk cars and houses to fix them up and make them pretty. Then he'd turn around and sell them for much more than he bought them for. To save money, he lived in the houses he worked on. He had just bought a property on the eastside of Cincinnati, in a really nice town. And just like that, my world changed. I don't have many early memories of my mother. So I can't say if John changed her or if she had always been the way she was towards me. But I know one thing for sure, my Mother and John were a bad mix.

Moving in with John at that first house, my mother had to end her lease at the apartment. We got rid of all our furniture, since he had everything we needed. All we brought with us were our clothes and her car. I switched school and had to say goodbye to my friends. And though my Abuela was just an hour away, saying goodbye to our abundant time together was the hardest.

The first time John kicked us out, it was the middle of the night. They had been screaming at each other all day. Turned out, John was married. John was in the middle of a separation from his wife. What my mother hadn't known was that his wife was 9 months pregnant. I don't remember the exact words exchanged that night, or how the argument even started. What I do remember is being shaken in my bed to wake up, wrapping a blanket around me as I dragged my feet across the floor and my shoes being thrown at me. My mother screamed at John as she snatched random items around the house, and urged me to hurry. We slept in her car that night, after roaming around town. The next morning we returned to the house, they screamed some more and then made up like nothing had happened.

I never thought to question the relationship of my Mother with John. Visiting my father, although much more pleasant, was nearly similar. Every year in the summer, my dad and his wife would take me back to their home in Greensboro, North Carolina and I'd spend half the summer with them. They lived with Sarah's parents, as my dad saved money for them to buy a house. They shared one car but since the family did everything together, it didn't seem to trouble anyone. Sarah's family was very spiritual, they're home smelled of burning essence and they believed in a peaceful way of life. We did pottery, painting, and paper mache. Looking back now, I'd almost call them hippies. But as peaceful as Sarah's family was, her relationship with my dad was not. They too often screamed and fought, at this point I believed it was just what couples did. It had become my new normal. Even still, I looked forward to my time with my Dad and Sarah. They didn't make me clean as much as I did back home. I wasn't expected to be silent and out of sight. I felt like I was a kid, carefree and enjoying the beauty the world had to offer me. But like most good things in my life, it didn't last long.

After multiple moves, and being kicked out so often I had started having a go bag; one summer, my dad never came. When the phone rang, he was never on the other end. When I checked the mail, I was disappointed to see no letter with my name on it. I didn't know what happened at the time, all I knew was that my dad had chosen not to talk to me anymore.

I've been called naive once or twice in my life. Whether that is a positive or negative thing, I'll leave that to you to decide. I like to think that I'm just opJohnistic, I don't like to stay in the darkness for too long. Growing up, I had a fair mix of pleasant and unpleasant memories. For each displeasing memory, I would think of a better one. Like when I had left the dirty dishes in the sink. John came home from work and pulled me out of bed then made me stand outside in the snow. My bare feet felt like they were on fire. I held myself tightly as I stood in my red flannel nightgown, trying to open a window or door to get back in. The phone had rang just before he pulled me back inside and sent me to bed. When I told my mom the next day, she just reminded me to keep up with my chores and it wouldn't happen again. I love the snow though, because snow in Cincinnati is the first sign of the holidays. My family was always close growing up. We met for church every sunday and would have dinner once a week together at Abuela's house. When my Aunt and Uncle's married, they often would have me over or come to my soccer games. When they had children, I saw them slightly less but I was still invited to join them on camping trips or days at the aquarium. Christmas however was my favorite, because we'd all get together and have a big family dinner. The cousins would all play, while the adults laughed and teased each other. We'd go ice skating at Fountain on the Square and see the festival of lights at the zoo. We'd get hot chocolate and pralines before going on a carriage ride through Downtown Cincinnati. Being with my family, was my calm between storms.

Now I hadn't always realized the terrors of the life I lived. Most things just seemed normal, I hadn't really known anything different. And even when things seemed bad, I always found a reason to look past it. Like I said, I've been called naive once or twice in my life. But the year that John moved us to Amelia, I was in for a wake up call.

[boozieelephant-blog]

Drunk Elephants and the "C" Word

 Alright everyone. We need to have a serious discussion today. There’s this word that I hear every now and again, and it seems to make everyone as  as uncomfortable as the hobo at the bus who keeps staring at you, but you can never see his hands. I’m talking about the “C” word, my fellow Elephants. I know it seems vulgar, and in today’s society its use definitely falls in some grey area. But we need to have an honest conversation about it. Pour yourself a cold one, because it’s about to get real. I’m talking about…Communication. Please don’t cover your ears! It’s not that bad. I promise. And I’m not just talking about that semi-useless bachelor’s degree (I’m not still bitter…), but the actual act of it, which seems to be an entirely lost art. Animals use it on a daily basis to convey ideas and feelings, to resolve problems, to coexist, but they are limited to body language and specific noises. Humans are also animals, but we just so happen to have these nifty little things called a voice and a vocabulary, and we can use them to form words to express ourselves, just like our animal friends do, but better. 

And yet, despite the fact that it’s something we’ve been able to do since the cavemen times, it seems like communication is avoided like the plague, or worse, your ex from 6 months ago. We have endless means to communicate with one-another. Seriously, we have the ability to communicate with people across the damn planet without ever meeting them. We legitimately can communicate with people in SPACE! It’s absolutely incredible what we, as humans can accomplish when we work together and… *gasp*… communicate with one-another. 

Here’s the thing. Communication is literally the key to resolving most problems in any relationship. “Most” being the main proponent here. Some things can’t be solved with words. A swift kick to the jugular is more cathartic in some cases, but I digress. Sure, misunderstandings stem from a form of communication, but having a conversation to resolve the problem is much more helpful than lighting a match and throwing it on your soon-to-be-ex-whatever’s stuff and walking out the door. 

If you and your “person” ( SO, friend, parent, boss, teammate, alien life form) have a problem, talk about it. Yes, it can get loud. And it will definitely get real. But how do people expect to solve a problem if they won’t explain why they are upset? Confrontation is certainly not everyone’s favorite thing. No one likes to be uncomfortable. This is understandable. But avoiding a situation and hoping it will get better is akin to seeing a growth on your body and letting it grow in hopes that it will just magically disappear, and unless you’re a wizard, Harry, you can’t just point a wand at it and make it go away. 

Problems exist in every single relationship. I don’t care how beautifully Disney-esque your cousin’s relationship looks on instagram. Unless he/she has a secret fairy godmother to turn her rags to a ball-gown, their relationship has it’s problems, also. I’ve said it before. Each relationship is made up of people with their own backgrounds, experiences, and mind-sets. This comes with different views, beliefs, and habits. It’s OKAY to have problems. It is NOT okay to refuse to discuss them, then discard your “person” and their opinions like last week’s leftovers. It appears to me that we currently live in a world of people who have no problem sitting behind their electronic devices and bashing others for every little thing, but when it comes to discussing real issues with people who are important to them, they can’t be bothered. This, my friends, is an absolutely travesty. 

I’m going to give you all a little activity, just for shits and giggles. If you find yourself in a situation in the near future where you are unhappy with a situation involving your person, try to work it out instead of blowing the relationship up, Expendables style. Sit down face-to-face and discuss why you are upset. If that makes you uncomfortable, or if you know that either of you tend to get defensive (guilty here), try writing a letter to one another expressing your concerns/angst. This gives you the opportunity to think about what you’re really upset about, and air it out in a way that doesn’t involve you throwing a book at your person because their facial expressions seem to betray their thoughts, and you recognize that “You’re a damned idiot” look all too well. Seriously think about what is upsetting you, really think it through, and then, here’s a completely novel idea… DISCUSS how to come to an agreement/resolution/solution… together. Whaaaaaaat? Who says stuff like this? Drunk Elephants, apparently. 

There’s this crazy little activity that used to be super important when we were kids. Barney (the dinosaur, not Stinson) used to sing a song about it. Teamwork! That thing we are oh-so-freaking good at when playing beer-pong and flip cup! Yes, that exact same thing! Rooting for your teammate(s), coming up with strategies, that all-important football huddle. It’s all communication, my dearies. Utilize your abilities to problem-solve in important situations and relationships, and do so together, as a team. You’d be surprised with how much better you’ll feel than if you channeled all that energy into running away from that bridge you just burnt. And, for the added bonus, your relationship can actually become STRONGER! Teamwork makes the Dream work, y’all. Your recipe for communication is as follows: Mix one part your side of the story, with one part story from the other person, splash some listening skills and add in a few dashes of common sense, shake, and serve. Give it a try. You can thank me later. 

Cheers, Elephants! 

[texting-an-alien]

The Welders: Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Family Reunion

The Celtic camp looked more gypsy than anything. There weren’t many adults, some were older than others, yet it didn’t look like anyone was old enough to have children. There was one woman who must have been 20 wearing a dirty orange apron and a jean button up shirt. She merely waved at Patrick and smiled at me before returning to her pot that was over a fire.

“Macei got here a week ago, she’s not even the newest. I’m telling you, it’s completely normal for new people to get here," Patrick explained.

I nodded slowly as we passed a few more lean-to’s and tents, some empty some not.

“So, this is Lee and Delia’s, that’s Ferris’s, there’s Mikey, Milo, and Maurice’s, and then there’s Flynn’s," he listed, pointing to them all as we stopped and looked across the grassy and rocky area to a line of homes. “And this," Patrick said turning back to the cloth shelter behind us. “Is Cameron Gunn and Griffin Lockhart's lovely tent."

A girl was sitting in the grass, her brilliantly colored skirt, which was contrasted against the dark ground, flared around her. Wrapped around her shoulders was a knitted scarf. Her hair was a dark brown, nearly the color of her skin, with no exception to her eyes which were so dark they nearly blended in with her pupils. Her arms were not only littered with leather and braided bracelets but also with white and black tattoos, almost like Barney. When she saw Patrick she smiled, and looked back down to whatever she was working on, her fingers moving skillfully and brilliantly.

“Is that Patty I hear?” Someone shouted from inside the small shelter. It was very scottish, different from the other voices.

“Oh shut up and get out here, there’s someone I want you to meet," Patrick retorted and rolled his eyes jokingly. The name Griffin sounded familiar, it was such an odd name that it would definitely stick in my mind.

‘Griffin’ pulled back the blanket for a door and joined the girl outside.

He had slightly long brown hair, a crooked nose with a black nose ring on the right side. He had multiple tattoos on his shoulders and neck, apparently “Welders” were very fond of tattoos which I am completely not judging for. I personally have always wanted a tattoo I just haven’t seen many people my age allowed to have the amount of tattoos I had seen today.

But what was so strange about him wasn’t the tattoos but his eyes. One was brown while the other was green.

I must have been staring because I felt a sharp pain in my ribs from Patrick elbowing me. I nearly fell over before catching myself and looking back to Griffin.

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry. I’m Amy," I said quickly and stuck my hand out.

Griffin chuckled and took it, shaking, and saying in yes, a very scottish accent, “It’s fine, really. I’m Griffin. I was wondering who the newbie was, I noticed you walking with Patty here."

“I am not against punching you Griffin," Patrick muttered. “This is my cousin, she just found out she’s one of us."

“Oh, fun cousin Amy? Wonderful, maybe you can keep Patrick in check," Griffin teased and crouched down next to who I could only assume to be Cameron.

“Cami, this is Amy, she’s Patrick's cousin," Griffin spoke slowly while twisting and turning his hands. Even though I couldn’t understand it, I recognized it as sign language.

“Cameron's deaf and mute. She can sometimes hear though," Patrick whisper explained and a sudden sadness washed over me. It wasn’t that I felt bad for her, it was more of a mix of empathy and sympathy. I didn’t feel pity for her but at the same time I did.

“And yet she is still a lot smarter than the rest of us," Griffin said loudly while Cameron smiled and quickly signed back.

“She says hello, and that you’re very beautiful," Griffin translated and stood back up.

All I could do was smile because honestly I didn’t know what to say. I think it was suddenly hitting me that a bunch of people, who were in fact so human you wouldn’t think there was anything special about them.

“You alright," Patrick asked, touching my shoulder.

“Fine, I’m not sure why I froze. Um, it was wonderful to meet you guys," I replied, trying to back off the fact I may have spaced out for more than 30 seconds.

Patrick quickly said goodbye to them and we continued walking, this time Patrick put his arm around my shoulders. We said hello to a few other people as we walked. I was introduced to so many people that I wasn’t sure how I was going to remember anyone's name.

Everyone there had their own personality or something that was so special about themselves. Whether it was their accents, odd hair styles, the amount of siblings they had, how many tattoos were on their body, or how many fingers they had. Yes, Jared only had 8 fingers all together.

“So, everyone here is...?” I asked as we began to walk back to the trailer.

“You said it. ‘Yer a wizard Harry," he said in a very Hagrid accent. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’m a what!?” I said back, nudging him and acting surprised.

“We probably should go get some dinner, it’s been like hours since you ate," Patrick said as we came to the ridged and rusted door of the trailer.

I hadn’t realized it but it had suddenly gotten darker out, the sun was actually setting. But that was impossible, I had gotten here at around lunch and now it looked like it was 6:30 in the evening.

“Have I actually been here for hours?” I asked.

“Uh, not really. You know how we were talking about our ancestors wanting stuff from the Wiccan’s? Well one of the ancestors wanted eternal life and while they couldn’t actually do that, they were able to slow and speed up time. They sped up the day and slowed our body...aging...rate. Now it's just gone to a few choice areas around the world," Patrick explained slowly because not even he knew how to explain it.

“Hang on then how come everything is normal back at grams house?”

“Well obviously because gram's house isn’t a super secret wizard hide out in the middle of a forest," Patrick said, mimicking me from earlier.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to explain all that to me later."

“Well we have a few minutes, we’ll probably end up at Griffin’s for food, I can try to explain some things right now," he offered and opened the door.

“Well what else am I gonna do?” I sighed sarcastically and entered the hippie trailer first.

+++++++++

“Alright so, first things first, ampoules," Patrick began after handing me a water bottle from a mini-fridge. “How would you explain a welder?”

“Someone who uses metal and glass and crap and sticks them together to make...stuff," I replied.

“Sounds about right. Well way back when we began to pick up pieces of magic from the Wiccan’s, they began to trust our ancestors more and more and eventually allowed us to have some magic. An ampoule was our way of containing that magic seeing as how we didn’t and couldn’t have it in our veins. The official definition is-”

“Something to carry liquid in. Wikipedia explained," I interrupted and felt a great amount of pride for actually knowing something.

“Correct, one point Amy. Anyway, through the years we’ve continued to create or “weld” magic, keeping it in the ampoules," Patrick continued.

“Are you telling me that that glass ball that I nearly broke has actual ancestral magic in it?” I summarized, astonished at what I had been holding. Only then did I remember that the ampoule was still in Barney’s office.

“Yep. And since it is incredibly difficult to create super powerful capsules to contain super powerful magic, they’ve been passed down from from millions of years ago. At some point our ancestors put the tools down and just got fed up with creating glass over and over."

“That ampoule was my dad’s?” I carefully asked, feeling like I needed to wash my hands in some bleach.

“Uh, no. It was your… mom’s," he replied slowly, refusing to look me in the eyes.

“You said the Celtic weldy part was on my dad’s side. How is it my mom’s?”

“Your mom was also a Welder. Your dad was just more Welder. Grams and Grandpa were both Welders while your grandma on your mom's side was the only Welder. You just get more Welder from your dad," he said then added quickly, “Unfortunately."

“Well, that’s freaking fantastic," I muttered and took a long drink from the water bottle. “Just so that we can stop talking about the black sheep, if aging moves really slowly here how old are you?”

Patrick chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, I’m still 16. I spend more time out of here which means I age at a normal rate. I’m probably like a few months older if anything. Barney on the other hand…” He slowly trailed off.

I was suddenly very intrigued. “How old is Barney? Is he like 100 years old? Like a vampire?”

“Let’s just say that he doesn’t ever leave the camp. Ever.”

“Oh my gosh, he is literally Barney the Dinosaur," I whispered to myself, loud enough that Patrick could hear because he began laughing so much he had to hide his face.

“Just don’t tell him that," The blonde said, catching his breath and continuing to chuckle afterwards.

“Do you have one?” I asked. I knew he did but I just to see it.

“Obviously, we get them once we turn 8. There’s a whole blood ceremony that goes with it so you can be binded with it," he said and stood reaching over my head to an overhanging cupboard and opened it. He pulled a small engraved tin box out and opened it, revealing green velvet and a round crystal, exactly like my mothers. “We usually keep them with us but sometimes leave them in secure places."

“Because leprechauns are in so much danger," I replied as he put the box back.

I had only been here for a few hours and this already felt normal. I felt like this was a normal thing and there could potentially be a lot of this in the future. Sitting around and making jokes.. It sounded a lot like every other night at grams house.

Oh my goodness...grams.

“What are we going to tell grams?” I brought up.

“Well you won’t have to worry about me afterwards, just don’t bury me in the family mausoleum. It’s my only wish. We’ve got a cemetery exactly for this reason," Patrick explained.

I was about to ask what the wall was about but a gentle knock came from the door. Outside was Cameron, now wearing an extremely long, vintage, felt coat over her black tank-top. She only signed one thing, then turned around and began walking back to her tent.

“Foods ready," Patrick explained and began to move to the back of the trailer. “I’m going to get changed real fast. Do you want to wait here or go ahead?”

“I think I’ll wait here, not ready to meet the rest of the family on my own," I chose and stood, leaning against the door that creaked under my shoulder. Patrick shrugged then pulled back a curtain that I assumed either led to the only room or a bathroom.

When he reappeared he wore a flannel and khaki pants, I was sensing fashion among the Welders. I would have to go shopping if I was to become the next Criss Angel of Oregon. As we walked, I noticed other people joining up and bringing food to other tents and I suddenly felt very empty handed.

“Should we be bringing a casserole or something?” I asked and stuck my hands into my pockets.

“You just got here, I think Griffin and Cami will let you off this time," he answered.

“Are they like together or something? I thought they were brother and sister but they have different last names."

“Nope, just really good friends ever since Cameron showed up. Plus Griffin was the only one who knew sign language."

“That’s completely sensible. They seem nice," I replied. Patrick didn’t respond just kind of nodded and kept walking. The camp seemed a lot more active at night.

Everyone was crowded around a plethora of fires or dutch ovens. There were different assortments of smells, some I recognized, some I didn’t.  I hadn’t noticed before, but there was a small stone well the the triplets were currently serving everyone in tin mugs. When I turned back to Cameron and Griffins camp, I noticed Lee and Delia were already there, huddled under a wool blanket.

“We figured you’d come here. Patrick never cooks. Even if he could without burning down half the forest, he still wouldn’t," Lee said, noticing us. I couldn’t help but chuckle, very much aware of my cousins culinary skills while Patrick only grumbled something and sat cross legged on the ground.

Griffin was the one to serve food. It was a vegetable stew with meat that appeared to be something like chicken, and a chunk of bread. Honestly, everything was amazing. It just felt very… healthy. That was one thing I was definitely not used to.

“Griffin," I asked, dipping my bread into the bowl and taking a large bite. “What kind of meat is this?”

“Fox," he replied as he took a large swig from his water bottle. My eyes widened and Patrick began to chuckle as Griffin quickly said, “Chill, it’s deer. Like I would ever kill a fox."

As I sat next to Patrick, I didn’t really need to say anything because everything seemed so calm and normal. Between eating was teasing and joking, but other than that it was just silent and everyone seemed okay with that. People from other tents came around and said hello, offered carrots and rolls, and then left. Lee got up a few times to go refill water bottles at the well, but other than that we all stayed in our spots, too cold to actually think about moving.

It was nearly 45 minutes into dinner when I was serving myself some more stew from the side of Cameron's tent. Delia came beside me and reached over, grabbing bread and carrots.

“I wanted to apologize," she said, just as I was about to put the ladle down.

“For what?” I asked, slightly oblivious and somehow still knowing what she meant.

“The way I was acting before. It was a total jerk move and I swear I am not always like that… it’s just. Actually I don’t know what it was.... just, I’m sorry," she stuttered.

Even though she wasn’t really good at explaining, I kind of understood what she was saying.

“Don’t worry about it Delia, really. I’m sorry for calling you Regina George," I apologized.

“I kind of deserved it though."

“Yeah you kind of did," I agreed and she laughed, looking back to the fire. “Is it always like this? Everyone is so friendly and sweet. It’s weird."

“Yeah, normally. On rainy days we go into Barney’s place, he’s got a massive kitchen. I guess it’s not weird for us because it’s always been like this. Well for Lee and I anyway," Delia explained.

I didn’t say anything for a moment. We were both still standing at the side of the tent, watching everyone laughing and chatting. Cameron and Griffin seemed to be in a very deep conversation and every now and then she would throw pieces of bread at his forehead.

“Are you going to stay here?” Delia suddenly asked.

I looked at her shocked before replying, “Uhm, I wasn’t even aware that was an option."

“Well of course it’s an option, we all made that choice a long time ago. You may have been here for only a few hours but what you’ve learned so far is only the beginning. You could learn how to make and even use magic. It’s honestly really exciting."

“For how long? I mean, where are all the adults. There are only like three- not counting Barney," I asked.

“They usually go back to Scotland or Ireland. After being at a camp for so long, they go back to the main source. Some because they want more power, some because they want family. My parents live in Ireland, we visit them every so often, but we’ve all just adapted to not having our parents around 24/7/ Either way, you can learn so much from everyone here. Who knows, you could become the most powerful not so Wiccan witch ever," she encouraged.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, “You are definitely more enjoyable now."

“I’m not so sure about you though," Delia replied, smiled, then went back to her brother.

Lee looked to me, who was still smiling, and motioned to his sister in a kind of “what did she do this time?” gesture. I quickly shook my head and smiled as he went back to stuffing his face like he had been for the past hour.

It would be another 10 minutes before Patrick decided it was getting too late and that it was time that we should head back across camp. I had already figured out that everyone didn’t have a bedtime and stayed up a lot longer, it was clear because so far I was the only one having a yawn attack.

“Are you taking me home?” I asked sleepily as I leaned against Patrick, trying to walk straight.

“The trailer is going to be your home for tonight," he responded and put a supporting arm around my shoulders, pulling me up. I leaned further into him and heard him chuckle as I yawned yet again.

After tossing me a old pair of sweatpants, I laid on the couch while he went and changed. I didn’t see him reappear but I could feel myself being lifted up and set on his bed, heavy blankets being pulled over me.

“Goodnight ‘cuz," Patrick whispered as he yanked the small chain to the plastic crystal chandelier that was hanging over the bed and laid down on the couch, pulling one of the many blankets over him.

The last thing I remember is myself mumbling, “But I didn’t brush my teeth."