I Am Said the Old Woman

When she turned to the Old Woman and asked,

"How are you?  I hope you are well! Tell me, I really want to know!"

The Old Woman would say:

"I am."

And when pressed,

"I am.  I am.  That I am."

Or, for variety:

"I'm doing."

But only when asked, how was she doing.

Or other times, when the Girl had less patience:

"That's not an answer!"

The answer would be delivered with a mischievous smile:

"It's not.  It's not. It's terrible.  So very terrible,"

As if the very words were being played with, not for meaning, not for communication.  But sounds, merely echoes of familiar sounds.  Familiar songs, played back.  And as long as you could still sing the songs, that melody was enough of an answer.

Snowy Orange Hat in the Park

Dear Prince and Snow,

I ran into you guys today in the park.  Just as if we were people living in the same neighborhood!

Dr. Charming, I noticed your orange hat with the wide brim first.  I noticed it had fallen and there was some snow on it.  When we were talking, I kept wanting to brush it off.

You both looked a bit dazed, but maybe it was just a matter of having cabin fever.  There was the Big Snowstorm yesterday, and we were caught in the communal sense of bewilderment that comes when you wander the first streets covered in white.  The trees were still slighted frosted, especially the large ones along where the garden usually bursts with color.  There was a huge brushstroke/eraser all over the park and it was fun to guess what things were taken from our sight temporarily.

I was out with my friend who breaks down walls with her viola.  Did I mention her trip and performance in South Korea?  You seemed a bit starstruck, which was sweet.  She's not used to fans. She's also slightly not used to me introducing my friends.  I wish she was more careful to try with people I like.  (I think you guys need a little tenderness lately).  The conversation fizzled out sooner than it should have, and I was sorry.

But I have decided not to struggle with your (plural) silence anymore.

I was glad to run into you both in the grocery store again.  Funny, like in April.  We talked; you both seemed to be shopping in reverse, putting things back on the shelves.  Complaining that the prices were too expensive.  Which they are.  I mentioned how spoiled I was by Fairway.  You mentioned leaving your car at your dad's.  (Right).   And you talked about going to get some fish from the fish place.  I got into my routine about complaining about not cooking because of my roommate-which I am trying to stop.  Both the complaining and not cooking.  I bragged about making soup.  Snow mentioned her tomato soup, seemingly asking for a compliment, but you were oblivious.  (Most of the time, I love how you two interact.  Comfortable and jokey with each other.  A good vibe, mutual and full of positive energy.  Good to be around, very good.)

==
Valentine's Day is coming up.  They are playing all manner of love songs on the radio.  Some of which I remember from when I was 14, knowing that I had love waiting for when I'd be grown up.  ("And I love you so" by Don McClean)

And although you made me feel so lonely, so lonely, when you said you wouldn't be in this city if you didn't have your wife, I disagree.  I disagree that the perfect love ideal should be modeled on just one person.  I do not have now (but perhaps I have waiting in the future) a singular romantic love like that.  I'm not saying it doesn't exist.

I just believe that Love is bigger than that.  I've loved music and The Boys since I was young.  Love had always existed in my life.  I hear it in my singing. I carry it with me and am careful to select people, art, memories that remind me of its existence.  It did not die with my Father.  And if and when I meet a single person that fits, when that person leaves, Love will not leave with them.

When I saw you two walking today, I didn't recognize you guys until you were close enough to see faces.  You seemed so sad, so quiet, so melancholy.  Even in the store, we talked, you smiled, you even made a joke.  (About me surviving on my prison food, which I got-but Snow was careful to make sure I didn't take it as an insult.) You talked about getting fish.  (You have a habit of already being on the run, I feel like I'm always stopping you as you are ready to pull away, but you always seem eager to turn back around)

I wish we were the kind of neighbors that --
I could go over to your apartment and knock on the door.
I could invite myself over for dinner.
I could understand what your home-cooking tastes like.
That I knew the sound of your laughter.
That I knew when you were in a bad mood and I should leave you alone, and when you are fully approachable and I could come up with an idea that you guys might actually be interested in.
I wish I weren't so shy-or hesitant-or wishing for things that you guys are not even thinking about giving to me.

You mentioned you were going to buy fish.  We were joking about how I survive on prison food.  Pita chips and water.  But I couldn't mention dinner.  Either you guys cooking or us just going out, casually.  I have consciously decided to stop trying with you guys.

Snow mentioned feeling like an orphan. During that other storm.

I have lots of love-simple, gentle, non-intrusive LOVE to offer.  I believe in being kind, even when you don't have to be.  I believe in listening to everything.  The big stuff and the little stuff.  And if you do that with enough people, when it is easy, you can have support when things are rougher.  That it is better to be sociable, when it is at all possible.  Better to be generous than cheap, better to help than not.  Better to talk, to struggle to put things into words, to COMMUNICATE.  Because this world is pretty fucking confusing anyway.

And there's lots going on under the surface.  (Especially with you, that I can never begin to guess at.  I want to talk about those messages you sent me that night.  Or if this is the type of friendship I can expect from you.  But I don't want to ask any Meta questions.  Nor do I want to bring up anything negative.  Which makes me feel less than honest.  Which gets me grumpy at you.  Then mad.)

I'm amazed at how Simple it was to talk to the both of you in person.  How little effort it actually involves, once we get going.  How YOU tend to take yourself so seriously (me too) and how all that stress dissipates so quickly. What a relief.

I liked so much when I thought you were self aware, and felt free enough to communicate to me.  That's a very important quality in a human to me. But you have been so silent for the past few months (since November?)

Tell you what.  My only goal when i talk to either of you, is simply to make you smile.  Or better yet, to have you get to a point where you smile or tell a joke on your own.  Is that not something to actively pursue?

==

Snow White reminds me of the lead singer of Innocence Mission. Which is a good, simple and lovely thing.  (Some similar qualities I see in myself).

Peace to both of you.  And please be happy.

Sincerely,
The Girl down the Hall

A Place Where There's No Space or Time

Prince Charming would go into hibernation.  The Girl Tinkerer would go for months without seeing him or any evidence of his presence.  She imagined him as having encountered the same thistle needle as Sleeping Beauty or Rip van Winkle.  He seemed to sleep through the entire winter, like a bear in his cave.

Sometimes she would get messages on her scroll from him.  Or at least, they were signed with his name.  But she was never really sure.  It sounded more like a bear.

A week would go by, and then:“Just a note to say hi,”and she’d respond.  And somehow he’d  get mad and stop writing.  She eventually made sure not to take offense if it was a Friday, Saturday or Sunday.  She wasn’t sure why, but those days he sounded less like himself.  Whatever she thought the idea of “him” was.  

And sadly, those dark nights of winter, when the sun set in the middle of the day and made everyne sadder than usual, those were the times when she needed a friend most.  Luckily, she had her laboratory, and a voice to sing with. Looking back, she always wished she had spent less time worrying and crying, and more time creating and singing.

She had even figured out a recipe for Love.  Creating Love is actually easier than anyone thinks.  But like a good sourdough, it requires a tiny piece of the past to build on, and LOTS of patience to let it rise as it needs to.

And so, she collected a phrase he had spoken to her when he was about to cry, his heart-shaped smile when she was in trouble, the music of a casual joke he had made and spun them together, like fine and delicate sugar into cotton candy.

She tossed out all the inedible bits, the sadness, all the doubts he had, all his silences.  She picked out all the bits of inappropriate temper, all the words he said to her that came out as a snarl.  Like garlic and onions, she peeled away anger and sadness in his words, and
tossed away all that thin clinging outer layer.

Even though she was trying to be a Tinkerer, it wasn't her natural calling. Sometimes she'd be lucky or clever. Sometimes everything would just blow up in her face. But she kept persisting, because she could see things that others couldn't.

She knew that she was both cursed and blessed as a Seer. She could see him as a brother, as an ally.  Clearer than she could see the sun.  And she also knew that he couldn’t see it.  That he was trapped in a world haunted by a dragon.  That was all he was looking for, and so it was all he saw.  She didn’t have faith that she could help him, and had no hopes of “saving” him.  

But she knew he would be pivotal in her life.  That there was something that he could teach her, and maybe if she was lucky, she could return the favor.

She imagined her life as being stuck in a video game.  He held some power, some tool, some kind of life-experience points she needed to access.    Only he often refused to play the game.  

She wanted to Rage Quit, to shut it all off, try another game with characters who wanted to play.  And she did.  It was refreshing.  But none of those characters held the kind of magic she needed.  She just found herself stuck in someone else’s game.  She had absolutely zero interest in hearing how fast someone could make his new expensive car go.  Racing games only interested her if she was the driver.

So she spent a lot of her time waiting around for him.  Trying not to get sucked into the Sorrows of Despair herself.  She had looked into the Abyss and found It looking back at her.  

She tried to stay away from the Abyss.  

But some days it was hard.  Especially knowing that he spent his days at its edge. She was never sure if he was sucked in.

What Happy Sounds Like

He awoke that morning to a Dark Place.  So Dark that any light hurt.  So he decided to stay inside as much as he could. Even Prince Charming had difficult days, and these were some of the worst.  His home was a familiar trap to him. The bed was his only place of refuge, but even that was a trap. He couldn't move inside his own body, and even if he did get up, he knew the Dragon would be waiting for him. So he pulled the covers up over his head as much as he could. But even children know this is not a way to hide from monsters.

He had to leave the apartment sometimes.  Briefly, for food. Or to move his Chariot twice a week for Alternate-Side Street Cleaning. The Enchanted Island had all sorts of magic, but not even the streets could keep themselves clean. You had to obey certain rules or you'd get a ticket. So, he got his car out of the way twice a week, and sometimes that was the only time he left his cave.

And on very lucky days, he heard singing.

It was a Lovely Sound.

One couldn’t tell exactly where it came from, the echo bounced around so that, even though it seemed crystal clear, it seemed to bounce all around.  Until you weren’t even sure if it was or was NOT coming from inside your own body.

There were notes as sweet as berries.  Words like “Love” came out sounding as if the singer were smiling.  A beautiful smile.  You could picture a locked-away princess, with only her echo to keep her company. Fragments of song were heard in the stairwell, in the hallway. He heard her songs coming out of windows. The sound was Happiness itself.

One day, when it hurt too much to move, he found himself drawn to his cave door, opening onto the hallway. She was singing, a beautiful, endless song.  Clearly this time, coming from the other end of the hallway. Never such a beautiful song before.  The kind that hurts your heart when it comes to an end. Enchanted by this sound; his curiosity overcame him.  

All he wanted to do was to touch The Happy Sound. He wanted to hold it in his hand, like a bird. Or to eat it, like an ice cream. He wanted it to hold him like a hug, or reassure him like a summer breeze.

He opened the door and began to walk down the hallway, to the unknown side, where light always seemed to be spilling in from outside, even at night.  His cave apartment was dark and damp, and every time he entered the building, he could feel himself turning away from the sun.  But this time, he walked towards the light.  Most of the apartment doors looked normal, quotidian & everyday-looking, even.  Much like his own.  When he got to the last one in the hallway, it was cracked open just a little bit, as if the sunlight itself had fingers and eyes and was wanting to peek out.

He was afraid and his heart was pounding.  The golden notes seemed to be coming from inside, but if he pushed the door open, would they stop?

The song seemed to be coming to an end.  And it stopped on its own.  Somehow, it had always started up again, as if it were a sound with a million verses.  Now his hand moved to open the door, if only to start the music up again, like a record player whose needle needs to touch down on the outside edge again.

The door moved a few inches open. There was a Girl, scrunched down, hugging her knees. On the floor of a long hallway in an apartment, much like his own, yet completely different.  If he hadn't seen her, he wouldn't have believed that she was the source. The way she looked didn't match the sound at all.


The Girl had long hair and big eyes.  In some lights and at some angles, certain times of the day, she could be considered beautiful.  But not here and not now.  Here she looked like a cleaning lady, or a babysitter. She seemed too tiny.  So weak.  As if all her breath were in the song, and without the sound, she was empty. 

Her eyes were focused away from him and looked even larger than they would normally appear, because they were shimmering with tears.  And to his surprise, she began singing again, without even noticing him.

He slowly backed away and went back to his own cave.

He wanted to talk to her.  He wanted to ask her why she was crying, but the whole idea only made him sadder.  And he was afraid to get more sad than he was already.   It was a swamp full of quicksand for him.  

He was afraid to find out that this beautiful pure thing, this lovely song, had come from a place of sadness.  A song as beautiful as that should only make people happy.  Especially someone who can sing it so well.  He wanted only  to know that the song made her happier, not sadder.

He wanted a song for himself.  That would only make people happy when they heard it.  He wanted to make a song that would make him happy.  But he knew his destiny was to fight his dragon and not make things like a tinkerer.

“Besides”, he thought, “there is no song in this world which could make me happy”.

“That’s what you think,” she thought, as the sound of his door closing echoed down the hall.