Something happens to astronauts as they first gaze down at the earth from the cosmos. Something spiritual. Upon gazing at their home planet as a whole, they are said to be filled with a serene and overwhelming feeling of beauty. The planet seems to be one big living organism, and extremely fragile. It has been reported that it is easy to see how we are all connected, how something that transpires on one side of the globe can effect the other side as well.
This phenomenon is referred to as "The Overview Effect", and I've often said that every world leader should have to experience it before taking office: You are responsible for your chunk of this, but remember that chunk is merely a room in this enormous house...get along with your housemates, and remember to take care of it. If the house gets condemned, you'll be evicted, too. Into oblivion! (Good way to keep their ego in check too.)
The thing is, the more I read about The Overview Effect, the more I am convinced, somehow, this has already happened to me. What the astronauts describe seems all too familiar. Now, I'm not one that heartily believes in past lives, nor do I think that I am, unbeknownst to me, an extra-terrestrial. Nor do I think I'm alone in feeling like this - frankly, I don't have the self-esteem to think that I am in any way special. I'd love to be proven incorrect.
Or, perhaps I am dead wrong, and I have absolutely no idea what it actually feels like, and this comparison of feelings is purely speculative. I only have spaceman descriptions to go by, and episodes of Doctor Who.
Perhaps this quest to find the Time Dingus will take me into space. I don't see why not. But to start, I will stay earthbound. Besides, I'm not sure I can even imagine a space helmet that would fit over Dewdrop's great bulbous beak.
So, I have heard that if you want to start an adventure, you must start with climbing the highest mountain. This always falls before swimming the deepest sea, journeying the first step, filling the barrel with monkeys, and eating the leftover take-out. So off to the only mountain I can afford to visit. Mount Killingmysorrow. I swear I've never actually called it that before now.
I have been at the foot of this mountain hundreds of times in my dreams (or maybe it was a house or a school and I had lost all my teeth and showed up late to give a speech naked, I don't know, it's from a dream. For now, it's a mountain.) I am deathly afraid of heights and Dewdrop cannot carry me over. His wings don't work like that, and I am not at my college weight. I cannot go over.
I have wandered around the base many, many times, and have not once found a passageway through. This time is different. I have hired a guide, a Sherpa I have named Benny. That is quite possibly not his name, I didn't ask; he pretends not to understand English, and only speaks in Nepali. In my reality he is Benny, for he reminds me of an ABBA song (I'm not sure which, definitely not "Dancing Queen", maybe "The Day Before You Came"? Not important. Perhaps it's the beard.). He doesn't respond to the name, but I wonder if he would respond to any name. He doesn't like me.
He tells me of a passageway at the furthest eastern edge using bad angry mime. He has never been inside, but has heard of strange creatures there. This he doesn't mime, but I can see it in his eyes, and Dewdrop shivers whenever Benny pulls out his map. I have seen the map and could not read it. To me, it is merely a paper restaurant placemat. The kind that children are encouraged to doodle and do word puzzles on. Perhaps I am too trusting, but I assume my guide sees something different when he looks at it. Eye of the beholder, and all that.
I feel some relief having Benny with us. Dewdrop has no sense of direction. It is as if he has done a somersault into water and lost track of what is up and what is down, can't find the surface to take a breath, and this has been this mindset ever since.
We travel for what seems like weeks, but could just as easily be thirty seconds. I have no mirror (on purpose!) to see if I have greyed or wrinkled at all, but I will assume it was a great deal of time. When we finally reach the entrance to the cavern, I wonder how, in my many trips around the mountain, I have missed this. Perhaps help is all I ever needed.
We enter the cavern and I immediately regret having wished this upon myself. It is dark. The kind of dark that makes you feel as if the only thing you can see is the inside of your own imagination, the kind of dark that can drive you mad. I become aware of the nothingness to such a degree that I'm not sure my boots are touching the ground or if I am floating around in an ocean of squid ink, with someone spanking the bottom of my shoes for being naughty.
I know that Dewdrop is beside me, and he doesn't seem to mind the dark. When it is this dark, he assumes he is asleep and starts snoring. Again I have to carry him. I am, however, unsure whether Benny is still with us until a tiny flashlight beam cuts through the oily dark. We instantly hear the sound of the darkness laughing at this silly attempt to see where we are going. With grumbling tummy, it gobbles up the tiny light and the world disappears again.
I drop my rucksack and replace it with Dewdrop. He is more important than any extra socks and foodstuffs. We continue to walk through the cave, my arms stretched out in front of me to feel the stony walls and small invertebrates that lead me through the mountain. After a while I'm convinced a bat may have nested in my beard. I am aware bats do not make nests, but I prefer this thought over trying to imagine what it is actually going on in there.
This is not the best time for Benny to remain silent. I am not sure he is still with me. I think I can hear his footsteps ahead of me, but for all I know, that could just as easily be a bear in tap shoes. I've never been afraid of the dark; I take great comfort in it: If something is going to strike me down, I'd rather not see it coming.
Suddenly a loud shriek breaks the almost-silence and I am aware that Benny is indeed still with me, for it is his shriek. I feel him grab my hand and pull me into a run, but what is he running from? I hear another sound. It is the sound of many of whatever creature I had seen in his eyes before we came here. (But holding hands is nice, right?)
As we run, I can feel tiny hands grab at me, tear at my clothes, tear at my flesh. I can smell stale breath all around me. I can feel pulled feathers cloud around me as they try to pluck a still-sleeping Dewdrop. Coming in here was a mistake, but an unavoidable one. One that if not made would end my quest (I tell myself).
I cannot keep up with Benny, not with Dewdrop's weight on my back. Our hands separate (booooo!) and I fall to the ground. I can hear him run off. I roll over to protect Dewdrop, but have exposed my soft belly. I can feel them trying to dig under my skin. They want so desperately to call my guts home. I picture giant winged earwigs with lamprey faces and gremlin arms (but I do have a vivid imagination.)
Fighting them off is like fighting off smoke; it gets around your swats, it sneaks through the areas you aren't protecting and it keeps replacing itself. Dewdrop wakes. I can feel him struggle beneath my back, at first I think he, too, is trying to fight them off, but then it becomes clear to me what he has in mind. A rescue.
Bassoon music (the melody from Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata , movement 2, I believe - or so I had to look up) wafts up from under me. The beasties retreat, I feel no more tearing of skin, and Dewdrop's music lifts us off the ground. It surrounds us, entering every pore like being submerged in bass clef honey, more inescapable than smoke and creatures, and carries us on its current out of the attack zone. It continues, and we continue to flow away on it, through what I can only imagine in this darkness are small caverns and large caves, around stalagmites and under stalactites. Nothing is following us, and the music seems to have swept Benny out with us.
We only stop when a light appears, killing the magic of music in enveloping dark. It's by no means a bright light, more of a shimmering of crystals and gems, but it's enough to see each other, suss out the situation, and ponder how odd a word suss is.
Benny starts laughing. He hugs Dewdrop and does a celebratory little jig. I think for a moment that this might be a turning point in our relationship so I laugh and go in for a hug, too. He stops dancing and gives me that "what the hell are you doing?" glare, pushing me away. He points to my chest, shaking his head. It is torn open by the creatures, and my heart is hanging on the outside. My intestines are all scrambled. Oddly, it doesn't seem to be bleeding, so I decide to ignore it. What else can I do? I didn't even have a Band-Aid, much less surgical tools. Only a stray Rolaid in my filthy pocket I decide not to take because there is a hair on it.
The sparkling of the walls that surround us seem to be brighter ahead, and we follow a path dimly lit with a universe of tiny shimmering mineral stars to an open cavern well lit by huge luminescent elephant-sized amethysts and small glowing fish and crayfish swimming in an underground pool in the center of the open space. This changes one's definition of the word "troglodyte" to mean "something quite beautiful." Benny is examining himself for wounds. He takes out a small tube of ointment and rubs some of its salve into his scratches before moving onto Dewdrop and playing veterinarian. He looks again at my chest hole and then looks at the tube as if reading the directions, perhaps seeing if there is anything there amidst the small scrapes, rashes and minor abrasions about evisceration. He gives me a shrug and puts the tube back in his pocket.
I sit on the floor of the cave beside my lovely bird and wrap my arms around him in gratitude. He accepts and nuzzles into my neck. I can feel his lovely eyes blink on my adam's apple. "Your appreciation for music is only dwarfed by the size of your heart, you make me so proud. Thank you, my love." I whisper. He whispers back a trill and tries to nudge my heart back into place with his beak, but the open rib cage won't allow it to stay.
We take a moment to marvel at the beauty of the cavern before Benny checks his map for a way through. He brings it over and shows me, but all I can see is an overly simplified word scramble and a "draw this dinosaur" challenge. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I feel we are being watched, and that I need to shave the back of my neck.
Benny looks at me with caution; he hears it too. Dewdrop's neck feathers ruffle. We sit very quietly for a moment and listen intently for the slightest sound. The creatures of the dark may have followed us here, but it seems unlikely that something that could see in zero light wouldn't be blinded by even the slightest amount of it. A tiny pebble comes rolling down from an overhead crystal shelf, but as we look up a figure quickly disappears behind it.
Dewdrop jumps up suddenly, as a small human hand pulls back behind a large rock with one of his tail feathers. We hear giggling, like the laughter of young children. This is one of my favourite sounds usually, but now it's just creepy. It gets louder as more giggles are added, until the sound fills the space and tells us we are surrounded. A child steps forward from the shadows. She can't be any more than seven. Another pops up from behind a huge stalagmite. He is smaller. Then another appears. And another and so forth until there are dozens of them surrounding us; both boys and girls, the youngest maybe four, the oldest no more than eight. They are all dressed in dusty, torn and well-worn hockey jerseys with logos of obscure teams I have never heard of.
"What are you?" one asked me.
"Are you a baby giant?" squeaks another.
"What is that thing?" one pips, pointing to Dewdrop.
"Is it a turkey? Can we eat it?" adds one in bright green.
"It's pretty!" a little girl notes. Dewdrop's head cocks to one side.
"No it's not! It's ug-ly," argues a larger boy.
"YOU'RE ugly!" the little girl snorts back.
"Can we eat it?" repeats the boy in green.
"You're big, but not as big as the giant," the squeaker says, squinting at me.
It becomes more apparent as they go on that they can not see Benny. He is completely invisible to them. This makes me feel safe, like I have a secret weapon. Dewdrop hides behind me, especially from the hungry boy in the green jersey.
"We should take him to the giant, he will know what they are."
"He'll know what to do."
"Smash them into jelly!"
"Eat them whole!"
"Rip their wings off and burn them with a magnifying glass!"
"Make them feel uncomfortable and awk-weird!"
"Make them eat vegetables!"
"Pull their faces off and kill their legs!"
Benny puts his finger to his lips letting out the quietest "shhh", and backs away into the tunnel from whence we came.
The children surround me and start pulling at my arms to follow them. Some are behind us, herding, but being careful not to get too close to Dewdrop. I guess we are going to meet a giant. The part of me that was frightened quickly becomes hopeful. Maybe a giant would have the Time Dingus, or at least know where it is hidden. Perhaps it is right here in the mountain, and this would be a short adventure.
The tighter the cave pathways get, the more claustrophobic I find myself, and I have to think about open fields and outer space. I have to remind the children that they are smaller than I and can fit through smaller crevices. They scoff and make fun of my weight. I make the excuse that I just don't have the time to exercise like I used to. They all seem to have small flashlights to find their way through the dark, but at the end of a narrow tunnel, I can see an opening, a vast ocean of pitch black beyond. The children stop.
"We'll have to make a run for it in the dark from here. This is where the piranha sprites are," one warns. He looks at my open chest, and bats my dangling heart like a cat as he continues, "I can see you know what those are already. They make all the light go away. The flashlights won't work in there. They're not strong enough."
I look at Dewdrop. "Bassoon? Maybe a little Hummel this time?" I tell him with my eyes. No easy feat to say "Bassoon? Maybe a little Hummel this time?" with a look. I hope he gets it. I'm flexible on the Hummel part.
Once at the edge of the cavern, the kids pull me by the hands and we start to run, swallowed by the void. This time I don't feel like I'm floating. The sound of little feet pounding on the ground all around, the pull by little hands, the panic in the thick air and the pain of little claws scratching keeps my disposition on the ground. It's still difficult to tell up from down, however, and I can't tell if I'm going forward or about to hit the ground with my stupid face.
The children are screaming. It is not discouraging the little beasties attacking, though. It seems we have stopped running. The children have let go of my hands, (Booooo again!) Something is wrong. Perhaps the burden of pulling me and pushing Dewdrop has thrown off their pace and concentration. I wonder if I will hear Beethoven or Hummel, but I can't tell over the volume of the panicked children, a sound that is the opposite of soothing-carry-me-on-air. All is lost. This is the end.
A bright glowing illumination suddenly appears like a police spotlight, ripping through all the darkness and nastiness. Ripping through the creatures. The children calm and their voices fade into whispers of "It's the giant! He's heard our cries!"
The light is too brightly shining in my eyes to see any savior, though, and I stumble backwards, bumping into a child or two before falling backwards over a rocky ridge, and into a hole. I tumble and fall, ass over head, heart over tit. More darkness, I can feel my body break and smash on the rocks as I try to grab onto anything at all. I fall for what seems like hours. I finally stop. I am on my back, which I'm pretty sure is broken. I can't move. Everything stings - like being covered in porcupine quills and dipped into a tub of gin.
Looking up, I can see the light of the rescue like a pinhole a mile above me through ledges and ridges. I am alone.
I want so badly to get up. I need to protect Dewdrop from the children and from this giant. Dodos aren't particularly known for their survival skills. I feel so helpless, like I have let him down by not being able to be there to protect him because of my own clumsiness and other inadequacies. At least, I decide to assume, he was rescued from the creatures with the children. I can only hope I am out of reach of those creatures as well.
I hear something. A rattling sound.
"It's matchsticks. I can't get the box open," someone says to me. It's a male voice. A soft and simple and humoured voice. "Oh! There we go!" I hear more fumbling.
"Shit. You opened it upside down again, didn't you?" asks a second voice, slightly harsher and more snide. "They all fell onto the ground, didn't they?"
More fumbling. "No, no, no. I opened it upside down again. They all fell onto the ground. Hold on, hold on."
Now I'm not sure whether the first voice is originally talking to me, or to the second voice. No matter, there isn't much point in fear, I can't do anything about it. Not at the presence of strangers anyhow. It would be shadowed by the fear of not seeing my family again. The greatest fear of all.
I can hear the scraping of a match against a rock. I hear it again. And again. Then success for the matchstick man, and the bright light of the sudden flame makes me squint. I see his hand, and he lifts the match to light a candle he has attached to the top of his bald head.
He is not a large man. He looks as though he's wearing a white, hard wig made entirely of wax drippings. The candle atop is thick and now burning brightly. He closes his eyes, holds his breath and tenses his face as if constipated until, even in the low light, I can see it turn red. The flame goes even higher and brighter and he exhales and relaxes. The simple look upon his face as he stares at me, makes me realize that I am still in trouble. Not because this man is capable of hurting me (more), but that he is not capable of helping me. Perhaps the much hairier, wilder and angrier looking man beside him will be helpful. I'm doubtful.
"I didn't expect to see you here!" the daft matchstick man says finally.
"You know him?" says the other.
"No. I didn't expect to see anyone down here. Did you, Failsafe?"
"I always expect to see people anywhere, Candle Lid. There are too many people. They are like bugs. They are everywhere. I'm surprised he's alone."
"I like people."
"And that's your problem."
"Is that it? Phew. I thought it was deeper than that."
"Fine. That is one of your many problems, dear Candle Lid."
"Oh," Candle Lid said, sounding dejected. He then perked up. "Maybe you can help me make a list later!"
Both are quiet for a moment and stare at me. I try to speak, but the air is still knocked out of me, so it comes out like a wheeze.
"I can't move. I need help. I need a hospital."
"You don't sound very good, mate. You should go to a hospital," Failsafe offers.
The one aptly called Candle Lid scuttles over. He gets right down on the ground with me, and lifts my head onto his lap. I would have shrieked from the pain as he did this, but my lungs wouldn't allow anything to come out. "C'mon. He just needs a hug."
Failsafe shrugs and gets down on the ground with us as well. They both put their arms around me and squeeze. Lightly at first, and I hear my bones crack and grind. The hug gets tighter, and the pain subsides. Soon their embrace is so tight, I can't tell where I end and they begin. Just one big Barbapapa-style blob of warmth and safety.
When they finish, they sit back and start talking amongst themselves while sharing the contents of a filthy thermos. I am so preoccupied with my sudden lack of pain and injury (though my heart still hangs on my outsides) that I don't hear their actual words, but I think the topic was foot bridges and garden slugs.
I sit up. "How did you do that?" I ask. I house so many questions tripping over each other to get out of my brain.
"I dunno. You looked like you could use a hug," smiled Candle Lid, interrupting Failsafe's story about once mistaking a slug for a piece of licorice.
I look up for the pinhole of light far above, but it is gone. Only darkness.
"If you go up there without a fire the piranha sprites will get you. You don't have a chum with a candle do you?" Failsafe asks, annoyed by everything.
"No, and I have to get up there quickly. I have to find a giant," I answer.
"Ah. The giant. Yes. Then you don't want to go up there. We know a shortcut," offers Candle Lid, but is quickly cut off by Failsafe.
"Don't tell him that! He'll want us to take him, and the giant doesn't like us."
"Oh, that's all in your head. Who could dislike us? We're so insignificant and harmless, it's like we're not really there. Or here. Or anywhere. In fact I'm surprised this guy even noticed us."
"He only noticed us because he needed us."
"No, no, no. This one is different. I think he notices us, and likes us. I think he looooves us." They both laugh, out of joy rather than jest.
I can't help but get distracted from my pressing issues by these ridiculous little men. I suddenly realize that he is right. For some unexplained reason I loooove them. I get up and immediately hit my head on the low rocky ceiling. Failsafe sighs heavily and waddles over, grabbing my hand and leading me to a small opening I hadn't seen until Candle Lid's candle lid lit the way. We follow his light to yet another wide open space well lit by glowing crystals. Failsafe still holds my hand, like he absentmindedly forgot he was doing so.
They lead me to a dark corner of the cave, where, to my surprise, I see a wrought iron cage door. Candle Lid slides it open, revealing an old wooden elevator. We get inside. "You don't weigh more than four hundred pounds do you?" he asks. "There is a weight limit to these things." Without waiting for an answer, Failsafe walks me on. I realize he is purposefully still holding my hand, there seems to be no reason for it now, but it seems to give him either a sense of security, or a sense of domination and authority. Or perhaps he just likes to hold hands and doesn't get the opportunity often enough.
Once the cage door is closed, the elevator starts moving. It lifts us high above the cavern, into a very claustrophobic shaft, up and up and up. It feels like an hour goes by (but again, who am I to say?) with all of us travelling in silence. At one point I think I can hear each of my companions softly snoring.
Finally we reach the top and the elevator cage door is opened. It appears we are outside again, but in some kind of enormous rocky open terrarium, perhaps in the center of a huge crater in the center of the mountain, dipping deep down from the peaks circling us, and into the forests of a subalpine zone.
"We'll meet again. We have to," smiles Candle Lid as Failsafe finally lets go of my hand and gently pushes me off the lift. Before I can even thank them, the cage door is closed and they descend back into the mountain, and I am alone again. I can faintly hear Candle Lid singing Thomas Dolby's "One of Our Submarines", but only for a moment before I hear only wind rustling trees.
I look down into a valley and see the children as they escort Dewdrop through the pines. Trailing behind at a safe distance is Benny (though I'm still not sure he can be seen by the kids.) He stops in his tracks, sensing my presence, and looks up at me, again placing his finger to his lips and shushing me. The children stop at a cliff face surrounded by huge redwoods. I can't tell from my angle what they have stopped for. Perhaps something obscured by the trees.
Without climbing peaks (which, again, I am not built physically or mentally to do) we are quite trapped without knowing how to tunnel through or without an elevator key. I am sure our captors know every secret passage through the mountain, but I do not.
The forest is filled with tall evergreens and frozen-in-time moss and undergrowth. It is cold - damn cold - the kind of damp-cold that makes the soothing trickling of a distant waterfall feel like it can create a bone-chilling barrier between skin and clothing with only a sound.
I am hesitant to let them know I am here. I ponder if I should, like Benny, travel quietly behind these Lost Boy knock-offs and see what's what before I decide on making a move, and what that move should be. Perhaps that would be the smartest course of action, but I can't. I can see, and even feel, from this great distance that Dewdrop is frightened. How alone he must feel; how worried. I can't bring myself to have him feel this way for even a moment more. I can't do much about the fear, but I can instantly let him know he is not alone. I can dissolve the worry with a holler. I may not be a great protector, but I'm fantastic at being the company misery loves.
"Dewdrop!" I yell out, catching everyone's eye as I lose my footing and tumble down half the hill before hitting a log and getting up to dust myself off. The children all laugh. While they are distracted, Dewdrop darts for me. When we meet he jumps into my arms and knocks me over, and we both roll down the remainder of the hill together. Such sweet slapstick.
When we stop we are both on our backs a short distance from the children.
I look up with a startle. Before me sits the giant on a huge stony throne built into the cliff. He looks wise and ancient, yet with a slight smile in his eyes that gives him a youthful glow. He looks me up and down. His long spindly body shifts, and rocks come sliding down. The children that climb up his arms ignore me and start his arms swinging for their amusement; he seems not to notice. He squints and looks at me sideways, smirking.
Finally he speaks, not to me but to one of the children. The one in the bright green.
"What is this?" he asks in a bass clef voice that seems to rumble the ground and ruffle the trees. Dewdrop's feathers also ruffle with the low vibration of his words. They make his bassoon sound like an oboe.
"We were hoping you would know, sir," the boy answers. The others join in.
"Smash them into jelly!"
"Eat them whole!"
"Rip their wings off and burn them with a magnifying glass!"
"Make them feel uncomfortable and awk-weird!"
"Make them eat vegetables!"
"Pull their faces off and kill their legs!"
I half expect to hear a resounding "SILENCE!" as one would from a giant quieting the chaotic din of those in his care, but instead he lets out a gentle and almost soothing, "Shhhhhhhhhhhh," and all go silent. "When have I ever?" he chuckles. He looks to Dewdrop. "I don't understand that," he says matter-of-fact.
"That is a dodo. The only dodo. There are no others," I say proudly, only realizing after that these words might sting the only lonely dodo. Luckily he seems unphased, rightly distracted instead by the presence of a giant.
The words seem to fall upon deaf ears. He doesn't acknowledge my answer, but instead turns to one of the kids, who answers as I had. "That is a dodo. The only dodo," he repeats. The giant raises an eyebrow.
"I don't understand that," he says with exactly the same tone as before. "Why can't it be a parrot? Or a chicken? Or a mourning dove? I love mourning doves."
Ah! It's not that he doesn't understand what a dodo is, but rather why I chose a dodo for my companion.
"Well...It's what the dodo represents," I say. "A misunderstood creature if ever there was one. Children even chant "dumb as a dodo" inferring that dodos were stupid, but journal entries from sailors that were on the isle of Mauritius when the dodo was indeed alive, show that the dodo only appeared stupid because it was trusting and ignorantly naive. It didn't have any natural enemies before man came, so it wasn't used to anything quite so cruel. And man brought rats and cats and dogs and pigs that preyed on them. But these journals show that, for a "dumb" animal, the dodo actually learned quite quickly and before long learned to fear humans and to even fight back to protect itself and its offspring. So the full story of the dodo is a reminder that one should never underestimate the fool."
"Or an owl?" the giant interrupts. I look to the green boy, who just shrugs. I'm not sure if he is shrugging because he doesn't understand why the giant isn't hearing me, or whether I have said too much for him to repeat back with any confidence.
The giant's soft grumble of a voice is at times hard to understand, but my pitch and register are very clear and loud. I gulp hard and ask, "Can you hear me? Am I not speaking clearly?"
He looks at me for a moment like he is thinking of the answer, slightly amused without smiling, and then turns to a girl in yellow. "Do you think they'd notice if I took a nap?" he asks her. She nods a decisive "yes" and he looks disappointed in this.
I look to the boy in green. "Ok, this is getting me nowhere. What is he going to do with us?"
"What do you want us to do with them?" the boy asks the giant. Shuffling in his huge rocky seat, the giant puts his finger to the side of his nose and taps it a few times in thought.
"I haven't decided yet. I don't understand the bird, and nothing the boy has to say is interesting enough to hear. Let them wander while I take a nap. Not too far, but out of my sight," he yawns.
The boy? Do I look the same as these children to the giant? Dewdrop and I are escorted by a dozen or so children away from the giant. "You can probably just go. He won't notice, and we don't want to play with you anyway," says the green boy.
"I wish the birdy would stay," says one of the little girls as she pets Dewdrop's back.
"They didn't even get smashed into jelly," says a little boy sadly.
I stop in my tracks with the words "nothing the boy has to say is interesting enough to hear" echoing in my noggin. Three children behind me walk into the back of me. One falls over. I realize that I haven't asked the giant about the Time Dingus. I turn to the little girl petting Dewdrop. "Where do you go when you grow up?" I ask, trying to sound sweet and trustworthy.
"What? That is none of your business," says the boy in green before the girl can answer. The girl, appreciating being asked anything at all, answers anyway. "We are grown up, silly," she beams.
They are quite clearly children. I look to the little girl, displaying the confusion on my face like a cartoon.
"I'm a hairdresser. I have two children from one marriage and one from a second," she answers me all matter-of-fact.
"I moved to Pennsylvania and became a stockbroker," says the little boy in green.
"I'm a doctor!" says another.
"I'm a nurse!"
"I work in a department store!"
"I got into politics!"
"I'm a farmer!"
"I'm already retired!"
"But how?" I ask, wondering if this is part of a strange game mountain children play.
They all grow quiet and look to each other like they are dying to tell a secret and are waiting for permission. The first little girl, the hairdresser, finally whispers, "We are all memories. The giant is a Fond Memory Giant. We are part of his memory, and he is part of ours. Shhhhhhhh."
I sit cross-legged on the ground, much to chagrin of the energetic kids. Dewdrop plunks down next to me. This is a lot to comprehend. Perhaps, though, a Fond Memory Giant would be the perfect one to ask about a Time Dingus. I needed a rest, though.
The children grow bored and wander off just a ways when Benny comes cautiously out of the bushes. He looks around as if he has to be worried about being seen, perhaps forgetting he is invisible to these kids. He sits down next to me, patting Dewdrop on the head lovingly. He pulls out his map, excitedly pointing to it. Of course, again, all I see is a pre-done (with crayon) kid's placemat maze, but he is pointing to something I can make out. The part of the maze marked "exit". He has found a way out of here! "Don't wander too far from me, I just need to see the giant again before we escape," I whisper to him. He grumbles angrily and disappears again into the bushes.
Now to wait long enough for the giant to finish his nap. I don't want to address a grumpy giant.
After a spell of watching these children play (roughly pushing, shoving, fighting and generally being competitive in every aspect) I have come to the conclusion that I was not like this as a child. I was not competitive in the least, and to this day I concede to any opponent without a second thought. Sports elude me. Even as a child I realized that most people were better at most things than I, and I was content with that. I still am. That is not to say discovering that I was better at the occasional thing than someone else wasn't a good feeling; it was an ecstatic feeling. An ecstatic feeling that possibly wouldn't have existed if I were driven to win. When some kids got third place, they were upset that they didn't come in first or second. If I got third place I was elated. I had placed! I find Gryff is like that. We both get upset when we do poorly in a video game, however, but that has more to do with the injustice of it all than a competitive nature.
Not to mention, any dance I had with ego got kicked out of me in my twenties.
I think many competitive people dislike non-competitive people. They seem to be able to tell, and I think it frustrates them that we won't put up a fight. It makes their inevitable victory feel hollow. They see it as a weakness, and perhaps it is. That means we usually have a minimal of close friends, an overwhelming abundance of friendly acquaintances, and often passively just let life happen rather than have a distinct plan. There is also a good chance we will never be rich.
Perhaps this is why I'm not interesting to the giant or perhaps I just talk too much about things people aren't interested in. I tend to do that.
Pennsylvania Stockbroker (formerly known as green-shirt kid) comes back to tell me that the giant's nap should be over. I get up and follow, Dewdrop close behind, and I can feel Benny watching. The giant said he could not hear me. I'm just going to have to speak up this time and demand to be heard. It would probably help if I could juggle or spin plates while I did this.
We arrive at the giant's stony throne, but he is not there. We wait. The booming crash of each footstep brings him into view. He is eating a sandwich as he takes his place and is seated. "Oh yes. The weird boy and his weird bird," he muses. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Smash them into jelly!"
"Eat them whole!"
"Rip their wings off and burn them with a magnifying glass!"
"Make them feel uncomfortable and awk-weird!"
"Make them eat vegetables!"
"Pull their faces off and kill their legs!" suggest the children again.
"No no no," he mutters quietly amused. "Wander off into the world. Don't look back," he suggests with a kind but sad smile.
"Thank you. But may I first ask you a question?" He looks away. He has not heard me again. I quickly debate in my head whether or not to ask through one of the children, but just because one isn't competitive doesn't mean this level of disrespect will be tolerated for long. I doesn't mean I don't get angry. I get angry a lot.
"HEY!" I shout. "I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!"
The children all stopped in their tracks. They have never heard anyone talk to their beloved giant like this, and it instantly angers and confuses them. The giant doesn't seem to notice.
"You can't talk to him like that!"
"Yeah! You apologize or you're in big trouble!"
"You should feel lucky to be in his presence!"
"You're gonna get it!" And so forth.
"I SAID I ASKED YOU A QUESTION! PAY ATTENTION!!" I yell louder.
Again the giant doesn't respond, but Pennsylvania Stockbroker does. A rock comes whirring through the air, thrown with anger and hurt and confusion. It hits me just above the left eye and I fall onto my ass. I can feel blood running down my face when the second rock hits me in the jaw, just below my ear. I fall further. Once completely down, the children circle me and start kicking. Dewdrop tries to protect me, he too is getting angry, but spare children hold him back. Pain hits as feet meet soft spots. Then Penn-Stock notices my heart. He grabs and tries to pull it free. I'm afraid of blacking out, but hope I will before I completely lose my temper and start throwing children around with reckless abandon. Before either thing can happen:
"STOP!!!" With the sheer bass and volume of the giant's roar, all the children run for cover. He looks frightening. His eyes three times their original size. His slouched posture now upright and alert. It's hard to believe this is the same giant. Overall, ninety percent more terrifying.
I decide not to move. Why bother? I had been through the wringer today and did not want to move. Let him do his worst. Let him pull my face off and kill my legs. Hot damn this adventure has been painful thus far.
He first scolds the children. They are all hiding from his sight, but it is impossible to hide from his voice. "How dare you?" he yells to them. "This is not fair play! This strange little boy did nothing to you! Come out here and apologize at once!"
And they do. One by one.
He then picks me up and holds me awk-weirdly in his arms like a strange hug. He looks right at me now. It would seem that his compassion for the underdog, or his objection to see anyone hurt has overturned his inability to hear me. Perhaps before he didn't realize how much I was hurting because I subconsciously keep it hidden from giants.
"You'll be alright."
And with those words a warmth comes over me and tears stream down my face without warning. All the wounds go away and I look down at my chest and it is fixed. My heart is neatly tucked away where it is supposed to go.
I don't want to miss this opportunity.
"Can you hear me now?" I ask feebly.
"Yes. I can hear you," he says gently. He looks at me suspiciously. "What is it that you want to say?" His voice starts to sound defensive and he puts me back on the ground.
"I need you to tell me all you know about the Time Dingus," I state. He looks at me sadly. "I need it to stop time."
"Ah, but without time, there would be no need for memories, everything would be in the now, and where would that leave a Fond Memory Giant?"
"The past is the past. It wouldn't be altered. Fond memories would remain fond memories...they just wouldn't ever fade." I offer. "I have a war cry..." I say as if trying to impress him with how faux ballsy I can be. "Goes like this:
"TIME, you are my enemy. You murdered my father, you will eventually murder my mother, my wife, my children, all my friends, me and everyone and everything in the universe. You make yourself too available when I have to wait for something or I'm ill, you then hide when I have to accomplish the many things I need to get done. You rob me of sleep and of hair, you make me hungry, you dehydrate me, you are slowing down my metabolism and sex drive, you constantly make me look bad and embarrass me. You destroy destroy destroy. You are my enemy and I declare war on you. You must be stopped! And I will stop at nothing to stop you!
"You see? You could be a Fond Memory Giant always."
"I don't want to be anything for always. How dull. Everything is supposed to fade," he frowns.
The words enter my head like a hot knife. They echo and rattle there. "I don't want to be anything for always." I feel confused and selfish, because I do. I'm all at once angry and sad and hurt and maybe crazy.
He stares into my eyes for a moment, and his expression changes. He suddenly looks shocked, perhaps a bit frightened. "Wait! You-you-you're not even a little boy!!!" he booms, sitting up and leaning in.
"Er, no. I'm a grown man. I have children of my own." I tell him reluctantly, once again fearing for my life. He reaches forward and touches my beard with one of his giant fingers like he hadn't noticed it before. My shoulders drop when he finally smiles. A warm smile. A genuine smile of utter joy. His eyes even well up with tears.
"Good," he whispers. I notice his legs first. They are turning to stone from the feet up. He seems not to notice. The transformation climbs up past his knees. He still stares and smiles. "Children of your own. I wish I could know them. The little ones seem to love me, and me them. I could have been their fond memory, too." The children start to appear and gather around in awe as the giant turns almost completely to stone.
"I-I tell them about you," I stutter and start to choke on regret and sadness, not knowing at first why I have said this.
Just before his mouth petrifies, stony eyes staring into mine, he smiles and again whispers, "Good."
A wind starts blowing and the giant starts to disintegrate to dust and become one with the wind. The children all start to grow rapidly, turning into the hairdresser, the department store clerk, the politician, the nurse, the Pennsylvanian. As they each hit a certain age, and their clothing transforms into something modern, they start to vanish into the dusty wind as well.
And all at once it is just me, my dodo, and an invisible Sherpa that hates me.
"Let's go home. The Time Dingus isn't here." I say to my companions. Benny takes a long scarf out of his pocket and rips it into three strands. He ties one around Dewdrops eyes. He throws one to me, and starts to tie the third around his own. I put on my makeshift blindfold, and once the world has gone dark I hear the bassoon. We ride the music home.
When I take the blindfold off I am alone in my bed. The lights are low and I graciously use up some of my time on this earth to fondly remember my father the giant.