It was the summer of 2001 when I lost my legs. I was nineteen years old, cruising down an empty county highway in the passenger seat of a red Acura Integra, with my boyfriend, my best friend, and her boyfriend. We were heading back to our hometown, Clear Water, after yet another all-night rave.

  The four of us were the hot kids. Me, you heard about last chapter. But back then, my hair was long, and I’d dyed it Manic Panic red one evening after watching Run Lola Run on mushrooms. My boyfriend, Ricky, looked like a WB star. All bleach-blond hair, dark eyebrows, and boy-next-door good looks. Alfredo, the swarthy bad boy yang to Ricky’s yin, was dark-haired, muscular, and had rigidly defined features.

  And if the three of us made quite the picture, you should have seen my best friend Tiffany! She was an angel with tribal tattoos. Rocking a perfect hourglass figure, but with firmer features than you might expect. Oceanic blue eyes, soft lips always decorated in the latest candy-colored lip gloss, and multiple ear piercings. She looked tough until her first smile, a beautiful effervescence shone through that cool exterior, brightening any room lucky enough to hold her.

  The underground party had taken place on a farm, an hour outside of Madison, which meant roughly four hours away from Clear Water.

  By the time we were on the road, the sun had already risen, molly had peaked, and we were in that dull state of comedown.

  Molly, you know, ecstasy. Back then, I did my fair share of drugs. Anything to keep me in the music, and to shut the realities of my family life out.

  Ricky was behind the wheel, but seemed more interested in flirting with Alfredo than driving. Yeah, Tiff and I were basically beards for our boys, but that was fine with us, because honestly, we were more into each other than we were the guys. It was the perfect arrangement for four queer kids from a small-ish Midwestern town.

  But that night felt different. It was like Ricky was actively being an asshole to me throughout the whole rave. Normally, he loved being the center of attention and would dance close, do lightshows, make out, and grind in whatever configuration of partner would draw the most eyes. Maybe he hadn’t had enough water, or maybe the drugs were laced, or maybe something was going on at home, because he couldn’t be pried off Alfredo, and he visibly scowled when Tiff or I got in his personal space.

  Once we got to the car, it only got worse. Anything I said, he’d cut down with a biting remark. I know we weren’t a ‘real’ boyfriend/girlfriend, but we’d spent a ton of time together for over a year and were good friends. It hurt for him to act that way.

  I’d called shotgun to try to patch up his foul mood, but that had been a mistake.

  With the car filled with bad vibes, even Paul Oakenfold’s upbeat ‘Tranceport’ set couldn’t liven things up. From her place in the backseat, Tiffany put her hand on my shoulder and gave a squeeze. I rested my fingers over her own.

  “Jesus, Al, I can’t wait until we move to Minneapolis together. Then we can go out in public and won’t have to deal with all this bullshit,” my boyfriend groused.

  “Well, excuse me for being bullshit!” I scowled. After a night of being treated like crap, my annoyance was boiling over into anger.

  But as I turned in my seat to face him, the car made a sudden swerve. Ricky veered to avoid a small deer standing in the center of the road, her reflective black eyes glued to our car as it careened off the road.

  Maybe it was the aftereffects of the drugs, but none of it felt real; it was as if I were watching myself from above through a foggy haze. I should have been screaming for my life, or bracing for impact as we barreled towards an oncoming tree, but all I could pay attention to was the doleful gaze of that fawn watching us. What was going through her mind, I wondered.

  ***

  I was in a coma for several months, and when I came out, I learned all about the Twin Towers attack, and the twin loss of my legs. It was a heavy time, globally and personally, too.

  I’d been the only one in the car to sustain serious injuries. None of my party friends came to visit me; I might as well have died in the crash. I’d heard that the boys had broken up, with Ricky moving onto harder drugs and harder men, while Al cleaned up and started college.

  I was mad at those two, but I was devastated that Tiffany never visited. I’d honestly believed that she’d loved me. How could I have been so stupid? We used to talk almost every night on the phone, laughing, sharing secrets, and just riding high off mutual infatuation.

  She’d even given me one of those cliche nameplate necklaces, with the pet name she had for me, “Jam Master.” She’d said that it was a symbol that she was forever there for me. The nickname’s never been used since, and the necklace is rotting at the bottom of my underwear drawer.

  That she was a girl never bothered me. My sexuality has always felt like something special and unique that defied description. I’ve certainly had crushes and sex with both genders - but love? I’ve only ever loved girls. My heart’s only ever been broken by girls.

  And Tiffany, she was the one who’d touched my heart more than anyone else. When we danced together, it went beyond sexual - we were one soul! But she was way more shy about the whole thing. Whenever we’d get close, she’d become prickly for a few days afterwards - like she was embarrassed by the intensity of her own feelings.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  A year later, I heard she’d gotten married to some guy in our class with a bad haircut and a BMW. By that time, it didn’t surprise me - though I was grouchy for a week after I heard about it.

  But whatever, I realize now that those guys were never my real friends. The dancing, the drugs, the raves - they’d created the illusion that we were closer than we actually were.

  At first, I’d been genuinely depressed that I’d lost my legs. To never dance again - it was too much! But, I was stronger than fear - and I wouldn’t be defined by ‘tragedy’. If anything, the loss made me realize how important life was. I chose sobriety and dove headfirst into the family business.

  My dad is the richest man in Clear Water - a genuine multi-millionaire. Made his name starting a garden center. I’d never wanted anything to do with it, preferring to party and have fun. But after what happened, I decided to get serious. It’s been two years since the accident. My stepbrother, Richard, is off at Harvard Business School, preparing to take his place on the throne, but Dad never went to college, and he’s encouraged me to find my own way to learn the ropes.

  I work with top-level tutors six days a week, and I roll into the stores, the distribution centers, and the offices regularly to get a sense of how things go down.

  Being on the inside of a garden center empire was never my dream - but it was my reality, and I’ve decided to take my destiny in both hands and ride it where I can. To learn the steps of the industry and dance them better than anyone else.

  My dad has mentioned that Rich doesn’t have the instinct for the business, no matter how much schooling he gets. I’ve got the guts for it, he’s said, always beaming with pride. He claimed that I inherited them from my mom. My mom ran out on us when I was five, but he was never angry at her, just claimed that she was a force of nature and needed to be free.

  She still calls me now and again, but she seems more like a stranger than a parent.

  Inside our family compound, Dad’s built me a basketball court, and I’ve learned how to play it in my chair - it’s fun, but no replacement for an underground rave, and dancing in the chair has never given me that sense of absolute freedom.

  That’s where Lucy and astral travel came in.

  ***

  Lucy was the only friend who really stuck. She’d been on the outskirts of my friend group before, someone I got along with at school, but didn’t actually hang out with. Despite her goth looks, she was a real rules follower and never approved of the lifestyle.

  She’d visited regularly while I was in a coma, and was actually the first person I saw when I finally woke. What I’d ever done to deserve such devotion from her, I may never know, but I thank my lucky stars for it, daily.

  In terms of style essence, Lucy is more of a classic ingenue than a dramatic style, and the blunt dyed-black bob, penciled-in eyebrows, and chunky vinyl clothes of her goth look swallow up her angelic features. But the girl has her preference, and who am I to tell her that it’s wrong?

  When I first woke, mismatched style was the last thing on my mind, and, no joke, the first thing I asked was, “When’d you get so pretty, Lucy?”

  For my first words, they were stupid lame, but they did make my friend blush happily.

  For months, I struggled through physical therapy. My body, so athletic before the accident, needed a lot of work to build back. It was a painful process that seemed never-ending. The doctors had encouraged me to go for prosthetics, but by that time, I’d wanted to move on with my life and already felt at home in my chair.

  As I transitioned from spending more time with friends and family and less with doctors and nurses, Lucy and I met up more and more. Romance was off the table; I was too focused on work and still wounded by Tiffany jilting me. Plus, despite the amount of time we shared, I’ve never been sure if she’s into girls.

  Honestly, even though she’s cute, she’s always seemed above sex to me, if that makes sense? I guess ‘above’ implies sex is bad, and that’s definitely not how I see it. It’s more like she exists in a world outside of the carnal.

  Didn’t matter, though, because what I needed then was a friend, and she was the best friend imaginable. Plus, she introduced me to astral travel, which changed my whole world!

  Luce was all into Wicca. You know, those alternative nature-focused spiritualists whose love for the elemental basis of pentagram symbology gets them incorrectly branded as devil worshipers? My knowledge of Wicca went no further than half-watching The Craft on DVD years ago with Tiff, while she… Well, let’s just say we weren’t paying a lot of attention to the movie.

  Though Wicca wasn’t my thing, Lucy was a true believer and spent the other half of her paycheck not allocated to clothes on various occult books and paraphernalia that she bought from Magus Books. I swear the girl was in Minneapolis once a week on a buying spree. Her parents weren’t that rich, but they gave her a little allowance, and she worked as a hostess for a fancy Italian restaurant (yeah, we’ve got exactly one of those in Clear Water).

  One day, she showed up with Gilfull’s Guide to Astral Travel. She said the hot red-headed girl from Magus recommended it.

  What’s astral travel? It’s the idea that human thought, emotion, and imagination all exist in separate planes of reality. With a little work, you can learn how to project yourself into those realms and travel around freely. I know, it sounds crazy, and I wasn’t shy in saying so, but the idea of taking trips into my imagination had its appeal. I found myself sneaking peeks over Lucy’s shoulder as she read through the book.

  Eventually, she got me to grudgingly acknowledge my interest. It wasn’t long before we’d learned the necessary methods and rituals, and damn it all if the first time I tried it I didn’t go deep! It was such a rush!

  I was hooked, and soon I was traveling almost every night of the week. Lucy couldn’t meet up that often, so I was flying solo more often than not.

  These days, JayMay, the astral dragon, is my go-to form, and I’m as at home in her body as my own.

  Lucy joins me once or twice a week, taking the form of Raven Everblack, a—you guessed it—ebony space dragon. We soar through the stars together, sometimes going down to planets to right a few wrongs, but mostly just enjoying the emptiness and the dance.

  Oh, and speaking of dance? I played around a little and learned how to create an astral double of my iPod! I focus on the image of my player in my heart and mind, blink twice with my left eye, and it appears as an idea, loaded with all my favorite tunes! I can even iPod DJ at the same time as I danced, it’s amazing!

  If the mechanics of it seem a little strange to you, you’re not alone! I couldn’t really tell you how it works, just that it does, and it’s hella tight!

  But enough about the past, there’s a hot red-eyed girl I need to find!

  Heron's Hearth In Another World

  TweekZ