Demetrioâs Perspective
Eying all the students in the hall, Demetrio nervously chewed through a few cookies before sipping at a glass of tea. Bleh, magically brewed tea was never as satisfying as Yoyaâs homebrewed Sun tea, but beggars should not be choosers. Watching Justin Hardy play with silverware, and then move from table to table like a slut, Demetrio remembered what he once heard about him: Justin was gay. Feeling no fast issue to believe Justin was gay or straight, having never heard either from Justin's mouth, Demetrio made no quarrel about it. Though he couldnât help but wonder. Back home in the Sierra Pelonas, the concept of gay or straight was very thin and undeveloped; Demetrio was reared into only one thing: act and behave and think like a man, and everything else will be natural. But gringos had a different way of viewing the world.
A few of Demetrioâs fellow Cervus house students were conversing near, though he had no inclination to engage in conversation just yet. Too soon was the school year, indeed only the first, for him to simply ease into his pigeonholed niche of the boyish jester. A few nervous jokes here, a few faint smiles there. But nothing serious. As for the other tables, students from every year were joyously dancing, metaphorically speaking, with the exuberance of a new school year; at least most everybody. Vance Abernathy seemed solemn and cordially cold, as usual, though he was bothering Felix for some odd reason. Justin seemed to have vanished sometime on. Almost all of the Ferre kids, except perhaps Felix, were never really interesting. Interesting enough, however, Finn had followed a Vulpes girl, Teiver, whom Demetrio admired yet knew she was a tad bit prejudiced, after Headmaster Rockwell's speech.
Uninterested, Demetrio finished his tea and lifted himself from his bench, unsurprisingly not startling anyone around him. For years, Demetrio had earned the reputation of the somewhat annoying Cervus kid whoâd go around and share inside jokes with just about everyone, apparently even the teachers. On a few rare occasions, he was able to make Mr. Wicks smile, and Prof. Dahlin seemed to quite enjoy private tutoring with him. For years, Demetrio had attempted to build a relationship with Headmaster Rockwell, though such endeavors were hopelessly fruitless.
Walking through the halls to the bathroom, he spotted Justin at the end of the corridor go off towards the Astronomy tower, apparently needing some sort of astronomical data to eat his food. The halls were quite ornate, embellished with the carvings of Northern Californiaâs natural environment. Large, stone Sequoias lurched over careless bears and peaceful hippies. Yes, Northern California was the antithesis to Demetrioâs Southern California, where the largest trees were fat but not terribly tall, mountain lions shepherded over the various valleys and passes, and the dry yet softly salty air cascaded down over your eyes in the beautiful harmony of ugly and beauty.
Demetrio, washing his hands, heard somebody stride into the large bathroom, with such hurried pace and irritated breath. The stranger, though obscured by the various walls of the bathroom, seemed to have taken care of his business and began to leave, to which Demetrio shouted, âWait! Are you not going to wash your hands?!â Flustered and hurried, Rockwell came around to the sinks and took the one next to his. âSo, Demetrio, ready for this year?â he asked, cold and vaguely uninterested.
âNever, sirâ Demetrio replied.
âAnd why not?â Rockwell asked, magically twisting the nobs of the sink and shutting off the water (lazy!). He looked up at Demetrio and waited patiently, somewhat unusual.
âAnd why arenât you ever ready?â
âWhat makes you think I am not ready?â
âFor four, now five years I have noticed this same fact: on the first day of school you come rushing to the bathroom to âtake care of your businessâ, though I know you just want an excuse to escape one last time before the year starts up.â
Oddly enough, Rockwell nodded his head, reached his hand over to touch Demetrioâs shoulder, and patted him. Now, amicably speaking, he said, âWell said, Demetrio. Cute, but well said.â And Demetrio knew Rockwell, not being a man to smile or laugh, found it humorous in the best way he could. Demetrio took silent pride in this. Rockwell reminded him of his uncle whom was killed by a pack of wild mutts; Tio MarĂn was cold and bittered from life, perhaps never seeming to enjoy anything, though Demetrio knew he loved everyone and took pride in the simple tasks that fell upon him. Rockwell seemed to be the same way, bittered by so many years, though generally benevolent and loving(in his own odd, distant way) to the years of students.
âWell, sir, you best be getting back to the table,â Demetrio smiled, âyou wouldnât people to start spreading rumors about us.â Smiling, Demetrio gave a small chuckle to an apparently annoyed Rockwell. The Headmaster replied, âDemetrio, Iâm not sure anyone could ever envision you shacking up with anyone, let alone a Headmaster,â gave a small twitch of his mouth(a smile?), and then continued, âDonât stay out there too long, today, okay? Thereâs been a nasty endemic of beach troll this Summer, and we wouldnât want our star healer to be out there on his own in a fight.â And just like that, having surprised and terrified Demetrio with his semblance of omniscience, Headmaster Rockwell rushed out.
Demetrio NEVER spoke a word to anyone of his penchant for healing, not even Prof. Dahlin, whom he loved and admired very much. Rockwell was a mage of uncertain power, that was certainly certain. But whatâs more, Demetrio was a bit crushed that Rockwell knew of his times out by the beach. Nobody know of that. Nobody. So how? Demetrio pushed it out his mind and left for the beach, handing a smuggled cookie to Mr. Wicks, who graciously let him walk right out the front door, past the stabled horses, past the special garage where Headmaster Rockwellâs grand carriage was hidden, past Prof. Dahlinâs personal flower garden, past the entrance columns, and out towards the beach. It was about a 20-minute walk from the school to the beach, though Demetrio never minded such a small walk. Back in the Sierra Pelonas, he would often find himself on the other side of the Mountain Ridge by noon and back by midnight.
Finally finding his sacred spot, a small, hidden nook where the beach meets the forest, and the fog rolls over just perfectly to produce a nice little pocket between air, earth and water. Demetrio sat down and attempted to pull of his black cowboy boots, the only reason why he dreaded his boots(nasty little things always seemed to love his feet).
âYap!â Dieguito was on his way to Demetrio. Having let Dieguito go off into the forest early in the morning to have some fun, Demetrio was quite glad to see his best friend back. The little coyote bolted out from the forest and hopped right on Demetrioâs back, who responded by grabbing his friend and rolling in the sand.
âDieguito, que pasĂł?â to which Dieguito yapped, yipped and barked his response to his human friend. Dieguito was more than a pet, he was a life-long companion, with whom Demetrio shared his most inner thoughts. Dieguito, having be named for San Juan Diego, the humble native man who saw the Virgin of Guadalupe, had long been a trusted friend of the MagallĂłn family. The coyote was the symbol of both sides of the family, and most every family witch had been accompanied by a coyote from the same family.
Demetrio couldnât help but feel he was being watched, as if he wasnât alone, or some distant eye gazed at him. But regardless, he needed to have this time now. âReady?â he whispered to Dieguito. Jumping up, gently removed his yellow-lined Cervus uniform, and threw it to the sand near his boots. Dieguito reared his head up and gave a short, squeaky howl, and waited in anticipation for Demetrio.
Pulling out his large, black oak wand, Demetrio still felt like he was watched, but didnât pay much attention to it. Founding his feet into the sand, he slowly silenced his thoughts. Centering focus from the cold, Northern California environment to the warm, diamond-hard heart within, Demetrio slowly began to let his body form and shift to the push of the wind and the sound of the cold Pacific waves. His hands loosened up and followed in sync to his deep breathing. Tongue to roof, breath through nose, belly expand. With his wand, he helped move the air in and out his lungs; as he breathed in, his hand and wand gently glided to close to his nose, and as he exhaled his hand and wand reached out to follow his blowing out.
Now dancing in a ecstatic dancing of breath and prayer, Demetrio had forgotten everything around. He felt only the sunshine of the Sierra Pelonas, the sweet wind of the mountains, and the peace of his childhood. Silently, Demetrio cast various spells for the year, hoping to improve his health and focus and confidence.
Demetrio heard a snap, jolted from his peace.
âOh shiâŠâ he had little else to say, seeing the ugly mug of a beach trollâŠ