I wake Monday morning to a pleasantly quiet flat. My bed squeaks as I shift to the edge and Gelda stirs in her sleep. I shake my head in exasperation. She is sleeping on the sofa again.
As quietly as I can manage, I put my foldaway bed into its daytime position, clearing some floor space. I take a shower, and by the time I am done, I smell breakfast in the making and quickly throw on a robe and gently twist my hair into a towel (quite a feat considering how long my hair is, but I have it down to a science).
I step out of the bathroom to the familiar sight of Gelda preparing breakfast in my kitchenette.
"Good morning, Lady Sarah." She pauses, once again concentrating on recalling the human words. "Happy birthday."
I nod and smile in return. I do not allow the other goblins to cook, but Gelda is of a higher caliber, so I allow her to do everything. I notice she has changed her clothes into another simple dress that reminds me of a child's sundress, and she wears one of my aprons. Since her height reaches only my shoulder, the apron is almost too large for her. She has her dark hair tied back—a rarity—as I instructed her to do while cooking.
Gelda insists on choosing my clothes again and fashions my hair with practiced hands.
Her timing is perfect. A knock sounds on the door. Gelda bows swiftly and disappears into the darkness behind the bathroom door. I answer the front door and find what I expect: Alice. I give her a good morning smile, grab my purse, and lock the door behind us.
I have known Alice since we were freshmen in high school. Although we did not at first keep each other company except at school and the occasional birthday party, she is as close to a friend as I have among humanity.
She drives us to the mall. The long walkway connecting the stores is open, but the stores themselves are still closed for another few minutes. We walk and make idle chit chat as we venture closer to Alice's favorite store, in which I know we will spend at least an hour and I will be forced to make at least one purchase.
Eight hours, a plethora of Alice's latest gossip, one unhealthy lunch, one skirt, one pair of shoes, and one sappy romance movie later, we exit the mall.
Alice drags me back to her car and drives to her flat. Her husband Marshall is on the family room floor with their ten-month-old son Davey, playing with silly toys. He looks up at our arrival and nods hello. Marshall took the day off from work to babysit so Alice could treat her friend—me—to a fun-filled birthday.
"Hi, Marshall, Davey," I reply to the former's nodded greeting before letting Alice drag me to their bedroom.
Boxes, bags, and two dress bags cover their bed.
When Alice is done with me, I stare in the mirror. I have an off-white half-mask sitting on my forehead just waiting to be pulled down, the ribbon tied beneath the intricate bun she twisted my hair into. My dress is a shimmering green with a wide neckline, high waist, half-length sleeves, and a hemline just above my knee. Black leggings replace the usual hose and are tucked into gray suede knee-high boots—the same material of the half-palm gloves that replace my usual dark leather.
Alice dresses and we wave goodbye to Marshall, who is readying Davey for bed, and leave their flat. Alice drives us to the unknown—to me—venue. I am a little apprehensive about my reaction. I have never been to a masquerade in the human world. It sounds fun, but I hope it does not bring back memories I would rather recall privately.
As we arrive, Alice instructs me to pull down my mask and I oblige with a carefully contained sigh. The valets open our doors and we exit the vehicle, Alice pulling down her mask and handing her keys over in exchange for ticket 0169.
She pulls me inside. The room is expansive, lit by several grand crystal chandeliers and dim faux candlelight hanging from numerous sconces. Hundreds of richly dressed, and masked, people adorn the room, dancing, partaking of the buffet, sitting on luxurious couches, talking, laughing. I push down the automatic fear in my heart and throw myself into the festivities, pulling Alice along.
We do not talk to each other much, but we chat with many of the masked men, accept dances, and eat a bit from the buffet in an attempt to make up for our missed supper. At eleven o'clock I realize that I am growing uneasy for some reason and set about coaxing Alice to leave. It takes a while for me to succeed, but eventually we are exiting her car for her flat. She offered to take me home initially, but since I do not commonly wear makeup I do not have any remover at my flat and need to use hers.
We enter the apartment to a crying Davey and exhausted Marshall. I laugh as Alice relieves Marshall of baby duty and takes the pajama-clad infant back to his nursery. Marshall exhales heavily and smiles at me.
"How was the party?"
"Fun." I actually did enjoy myself.
"Good. I hope this was worth it."
I laugh. "You are too generous, Marshall." I bend down and kiss him platonically on the forehead. "If Alice hadn't snatched you up, I might have pulled you into my crazy life," I say with a twinkle in my eye, though we both know it is untrue.
Davey is still crying in the background as Marshall settles more comfortably into the couch and turns on the television. I pace as I wait for Alice, knowing better than to raid her bathroom without her permission.
Marshall has the television volume loud enough to drown out little Davey's crying, which is probably intentional. I roll my eyes but concede that he has had a long day of caring for the ten-month-old by himself. The noise hurts my ears, still tender from the volume of the music at the party Alice coerced me to earlier.
I find my way to the flat's kitchen, which is not far enough, but it—unusually—has a door, so the noise is dampened a little. I sit at the small breakfast table shoved against the wall and smile at the day's mess.
11:40, I read the digital clock on my cell phone. I had planned on being home by now, snuggled into a plethora of pillows and blankets on my couch, the goblins shooed away if necessary. I enjoyed celebrating the exact moment of my birthday alone, and with a rare wish.
Truth be told, I avoid using the word "wish" most of the time, and it rings in my ears whenever I hear it from another's lips. I know words hold more power than most humans realize, and I do not need thoughtless wishes coming true all around me. The outcome of wishes are not necessarily as intended, and getting one's head out of the clouds and working for one's goals is certainly far more effective. But I must concede that those words also remind me too much of him.
11:41. Despite my usual aversion to wishes, I do make one on each birthday. I did so out of habit on my sixteenth birthday. I immediately, though silently, chastised myself, but since the aversion to the word "wish" is my own invented symptom of my experiences, I did not dwell on it.
Some days later, my wish was fulfilled. It was not a trivial or fanciful wish. I left my dreams and most of my imagination in the ruins of the Castle. I had discovered that I was rather smart, and in applying myself academically in the preceding months, found that school was rather boring, for lack of intellectual challenge rather than for lack of fantastical excitement. My habitually made wish had, in my newly discovered nerdiness, been for a reprieve from such boredom. A school official called to offer me a position in their high school-university cooperation program, through which high schoolers could attend university and earn a degree.
11:42. I had made similarly sensible wishes on my seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays, unable to resist the temptation. (Both of which were granted.) Now, though, I do not know what to wish for. I have completed my goals and have yet to find suitable replacements. I am lost. Making wishes when lost is not a good idea. I cannot risk asking for something I will regret. I will not even open my mouth, for fear that my darkest thoughts will roll past my tongue. No, I cannot wish for myself this year.
But maybe I can wish for someone else. Of course, I do not know what others truly want, or would benefit from. I cannot know the full extent of another's thoughts and circumstances, after all.
I wonder if I can grant someone else a wish, rather than making a wish for her?
11:43. I am nineteen.
"I wish for Alice to have a wish." The words come unbidden to my mouth, along with a smile. I almost feel them within me. Though I had no conscious thought of them, somehow they are from my very soul.
Quickly, I erase the smile from my face and clamp a hand over my mouth. I had not intended to say that, especially not aloud, at least not without more thought about the potential consequences. How careless of me. I smile, not really feeling guilty.
What is done, is done, I remind myself and close my eyes as I lower my hand, relax my face, and revel in meditation for the remainder of one minute.
11:44. Woes forgotten, I exit the kitchen and note that, despite the loud volume of the television, Marshall has fallen asleep on the couch. I give him a half smile and walk over to the television to turn it off, remembered to decrease the volume before I do so it will not burst their eardrums when they turn it on again.
I wait for Alice to emerge from the nursery so she can drive me home, but I feel strangely drawn to check on her.
I shake my head of the odd feeling and replace it with rational argument. The busses do not run so late at night, and I dislike staying away from home past midnight. If she needs any help, I will give it to her, so I can get home and she can go to bed.
Slowly, I walk down the short hallway and pause in front of the nursery door. I feel an odd sense of foreboding. I cannot stand it and so I hurriedly open the door, perhaps too loudly.
Alice is on the floor.
She looks like a crumpled piece of paper discarded on the ground. I rush to her, my mind immediately consumed with the compassion characteristic to me—though I had to peel back a few layers to find it the first time.
"Alice. Alice, what's wrong? Alice!"
She looks up at me slowly and I see tearstains on her cheeks. Her body is shuddering with silent sobbing. She reaches out and throws her arms around me, awkwardly changing position to lean into me. I feel her body heave as her sobbing progresses into audible cries.
I hold her for what feels like an hour before venturing to speak again. "Alice, what happened?"
She looks up at me with miserable eyes.