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Thursday, 06 December 2007

Hecate and My Date with Mr. Wrong

By Sharry Teague of Embodied Aging

“I won’t hurt you.” The harsh, cackling, voice of an old woman was coming up through my throat and out my mouth!

“Hecate,” I thought. Though sometimes pictured as a witch, in ancient times she had been a guide, even a Goddess. I shivered, sitting there on the floor of my sunny apartment. Only moments before I’d been “toning”, a practice said to reduce tension and promote healing. Then the oh and ah sounds morphed into words. “I’m not a danger to you,” she continued. I was shocked that this primal energy could be somewhere in me, so deep it felt alien.

I showered and shook off the whole eerie experience. By my date that evening, I’d almost forgotten it happened.

We went to a dance hall in Medford, a town 40 miles south. I knew RJ was Mr. Wrong, not just for me but for a whole string of women he lived with or dated. I was 43, old enough to know better, but divorced and still reeling. We drank a little. Not that much really. I was tired and wanted to go home, but he insisted on stopping at a pool hall before heading back to Grants Pass.

We started to the car, finally, but it turned out he was dropping off Tom, a guy he’d met at the pool table. We all three crowded into the front seat of RJ’s battered El Camino. Tom smelled like he needed a bath, and he’d been drinking more than a little.

At Tom’s house, RJ got out and said we were to go in for a night cap. Suddenly I had a sick feeling. Somehow I got it: I was to be the main dish at this cozy little party. I refused to get out of the car, and when RJ tried to pull me out, I started yelling. It was past midnight in a small town neighborhood. A porch light went on.

RJ gave up in disgust, got in the car, slammed the door and started tearing through Medford. He peeled around corners on two wheels and raced down deserted streets at 90 miles per hour. My heart was pounding, but I kept quiet. If we got onto the freeway, there was no way out of this car. But just before the freeway on-ramp, RJ suddenly realized he needed coffee.

He pulled into a Minute Market. As he got out, he looked over at me and very pointedly took the keys out of the ignition. I was huddled against the door looking beaten and terrified. Well, I was terrified, but I was only pretending to be beaten. I prayed he’d forgotten about the spare key in the glove box. As soon as he neared the market door, I felt under his gloves for the key. “Yes! “ I whispered as I slid into the driver’s seat.

When I saw the market door close behind him, I fired up the engine. I had rarely driven a stick shift, but I knew I could do it. I could feel Hecate’s energy, right there in my belly. We all but flew out of that parking lot.

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