I didn't have a lot of friends in high school - or I at least didn't have a lot of friends who I went to high school with - and I was fully planning on giving my senior prom a miss. Hecate was having none of that.
You have to go, she'd tell me in that scary whisper voice of hers. It's an American rite-of-passage ritual. These things are important.
I just don't see the point, I'd respond. So I'm going to spend a bunch of money I don't have on a tuxedo and a ticket to this event with a bunch of people I don't really give a shit about. No thanks.
Hecate kept pressing the point. You'll regret it later, she'd say. She could be really single-minded about things once it got into her head. You should have seen her the time she misplaced her ring. Wouldn't shut up about it until I found it. It was in her purse the whole time.
I figured out a way to get her to drop the subject. If it's such a big deal to you that I go, why don't you go as my date?
I expected a litany of reasons as to why this couldn't happen. Me and Hecate had a weird relationship - we were friends, and she seemed really grateful that time I found her lost ring, but as long as I'd known her she never seemed interested in people in any kind of romantic or dating way. She always dealt with people as if she were on a whole other plane of existence, like she could barely notice the rest of us fading in and out of reality. I wasn't even sure how we'd become friends - it just sort of happened. I did a funny dance during one of her raves, she laughed and called me a "funny motherfucker", and after that I was cool with her. Dating Hecate would be like dating the moon. Or Wonder Woman.
Hecate's friends hated me, though. I could tell. Male Witch, Bald Witch, and Long-Haired Witch would either completely ignore me when I was around, sometimes even going so far as to try and walk through me as if I were a ghost, or they'd deliberately bump shoulders against me. Hecate explained it to me in a roundabout way. You have to understand, she'd say. They've got this whole theory that our chemistry is like the four elements - I'm fire, by the way - and to them you just get in the way of that. Screw 'em. I can hang out with whoever I want to.
I'd ask her sometimes why, exactly, she hung around with me and she'd get this glassed-over look in her eyes and say: You're too funny. No explanation beyond that.
Anyway, I'm on a tangent. If it's such a big deal to you that I go, why don't you go as my date?
The question hung in the airspace between us for a while. Then Hecate smiled that scary smile of hers and said yes.
Explaining to my parents that I was going to go to the prom after all, and that my date was going to be the Queen of the Underworld, wasn't pleasant. I knew they wouldn't stop me from doing it, but I also knew they'd want to talk about it. And talk about it. And talk about it. What about some of the girls from my class? What about some of my other friends? Why did I hang around with such weirdos? How old was this person anyway? (I'm not sure Hecate was technically a person, but you get the point.)
Hecate called me up the night before the prom. If you want to back out of this, she told me, you can. I shouldn't have pressured you like that.
I'm in if you're in, I told her.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to all the other kids at the prom who were bringing their cousins or the person who sat next to them in Algebra II - all the kids who'd spent the past four years generally ignoring me - reacting to my bringing the Queen of the Underworld as my date. For my boring town, this was some Us Magazine shit. I hadn't told anybody aside from my parents, and Hecate didn't travel in high school circles. I think she had told the witches, because the last time we hung out the Male Witch kept telling me to make sure we left room for the Holy Ghost when we danced.
I borrowed my dad's car the night of the prom, and picked Hecate up at the Old Lincoln School - where she lived - on my way to the school gym. My parents were pushing to take pictures back at our house, but the thought of them saying something embarrassing in front of Hecate was as horrifying as it was inevitable. I tried so hard to put up a cool front when I hung out with her, I didn't need them screwing it up with some dumb question that she'd find offensive.
The witches made a big deal out of my tuxedo. Then they insisted we pose for pictures on the stage of the Replica Bar where they hung out. Hecate was wearing what she always wore - but it worked as prom formal attire. Her attitude was more formal than usual, too. We'd usually just talk about whatever, but - if you can believe it - she was acting icier than usual.
Let's get this over with, she told me after the witches finished taking pictures.
The night before the prom I had make a mix tape to play in the car on our way to the prom. I put a bunch of songs that I hoped Hecate would like on it, songs that I hoped she'd comment on - ask what it was or want to know more or even tell me that she loved this song or whatever. I knew she liked Peggy Lee, so the first song on the tape was 'Fever'.
Driving to the prom was awkward. Hecate never commented on the music, and she self-consciously read street signs aloud as we passed them. Kow Loon. Mike's Mini Golf. Exit Two Miles. It was distracting. I'd try and lighten the mood by asking her about her week or try and get her to talk shit about the witches, but she'd just shrug and say, Aw, the witches are all right. You just don't know them like I do.
Then she'd go back to reading the street signs.
When Hecate and I arrived at the prom, everybody stared at us. Hecate seemed to enjoy it, but I was self-conscious as hell. Occasionally someone would come over to talk to us - the girl who sat next to me in English class who I was kind of friendly with told Hecate that she'd heard a lot about her. Hecate smiled, then pulled one of her own hairs out of her head, opened the girl's palm and laid the single piece of hair into it, closing the girl's palm. Didn't say a word.
What the hell was that about, I asked Hecate when the girl who sat next to me in English class walked away.
It's just a thing that I do, said Hecate, annoyed. It's not important.
Hecate didn't eat, but she did convince the waiter to serve her alcohol, which was impressive for a high school event. I could already tell that we were going to leave early - the whole evening was just awkward and weird. But I figured we should probably dance once before we went. I requested a fast techno song, and the d.j. told me he'd try and get to it. He played Billy Idol's cover of 'Mony, Mony' instead. Good enough, said Hecate, and ran out to the dance floor. Hecate's an amazing dancer, and for the first time that night I felt more relaxed. When we finished I could tell that she'd had fun, too. Everyone was staring at us.
You want to get out of here, I asked. Hecate nodded.
It was still pretty early, and I didn't want to deal with the witches, so I drove us to the beach. Hecate and I walked over some sand dunes and listened to the ocean for a while, neither of us speaking. Eventually I broke the silence.
So I was right, I said. That was a waste of our time. I got nothing out of it except now I can say I went to my prom and had a really awkward time. Hooray.
Hecate leaned in closer to me and kissed me on the cheek. Then she whispered in my ear, not unkindly: You don't understand anything. Then she asked me to take her home.
I was tired when I drove home that night and I had to pinch my leg repeatedly to keep from falling asleep at the wheel.
"Holy hat!", exclaimed popular songstress Neko Case as she witnessed Macbeth kill Duncan. "Somebody should do something."
I didn't have a lot of friends in high school - or I at least didn't have a lot of friends who I went to high school with - and I was fully planning on giving my senior prom a miss. Hecate was having none of that.
Lady Macbeth: If I didn't nudge Macbeth towards acheivement, he'd still be in his parents' basement playing fucking Nintendo. He's got a lot of talent and ability, but almost no ambition. Some people may say that makes me a controlling bitch. That's such sexist crap.
The Bald Witch tapped MacDuff on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow her into one of the locked rooms. MacDuff did so.
(you really need to click on this image to appreciate its full majesty)
(note: as entered by Mrs. Danvers)
Malcolm was pissed.