December 28th, 2008
Each night, more oft than not, I would feel those claws slide up my thigh, the other encircling my throat. It was so seductive, so dangerous. Did it want to kill me or fuck me? Or both?
The days passed. I would meditate on those hands. Their presence was starting to wear on my mind. Whose were they? I sat and sent out questions. I asked those spirits around me for answers, or information. I got nothing but silence, and then the strong claws against my skin as I readied myself for bed at night.
My boyfriend’s best friend studied a form of Native American shamanism with some pagan magic thrown in. The boy was drop dead gorgeous, and I had always wondered what his body would feel like pressed against mine. It was something we never pursued though, because we were both too loyal to my boyfriend. But the tension was there.
We went to Seattle- just the two of us, one day. I had been asked to come over to discuss some modeling business, and did not feel comfortable going alone. The lady at the agency just about swooned when she saw my company. We spent the day out there, and came back. On the ferry ride home, we were discussing possession- the type where the body is taken over by another entity. He described a circumstance that happened to him fairly often, one that involved him transforming into some type of beast, and losing control of himself. A cool feeling swept through my blood, and I asked him to describe this beast. The hands were strikingly exact. I asked him earnestly if I was involved at all, when in this state,. in any form. He looked away from me, and would not answer. I pushed him harder, and eventually he nodded, and said “yes- every time.” He refused to answer what happened, how I was involved. He told me the time was not right for him to give me that information. By this time, we had reached the other side of our ferry-ride. Hands in his pockets he walked away.
That was one of the last times I saw him, and the last time I had him alone long enough to further the discussion. Our lives had become to involved by now, but not with each other. I had left my boyfriend for another man, and he had gotten involved in other activities that I could not follow. The presence of the hands lessened, but still showed up from time to time. Over the years, they grew fainter and fainter, but still, every once in awhile, I will dream of them. I will dream of him. The dreams are never sexual. Only a calling of sorts. I wonder if he is in need of my help. Or if it is the other way around.