It takes time to make a raft, even when one is as industrious and untiring as Nick, looking so tempting with his rippling muscles, chopping wood with his armor off, tying the pieces together with the rope from my bag of weapons, sweating and flexing, and all I can do is stare as my mouth waters at the sight of his quintessential manliness.
His beauty is undeniable, and I bet he’s amazing in bed. I didn’t think I could handle it before, but watching him now, I don’t think I care about the emotional consequences. When will I ever get to hook up with a guy as hot as him? Never. Except here, in this messed up realm where a regular girl like me is his only option for miles. Although he doesn’t seem interested in a tryst with me the way he was before. He hasn’t given me the vibe once since Nimmie came around, so it may be moot, but I can still look, and that’s all I do for the rest of the day.
Night comes, and the raft is only half done, so we find a cozy place under the trees where we set up camp to sleep until the morning. I fix dinner for Nick, Toto, and myself. Then Ardie, Werelion, and Toto go on a hunt for their food while Nick and I stay behind to start a fire that will keep us warm through the night.
“I regret that the raft is still incomplete,” he sighs.
“It’s a huge raft. Cut yourself some slack. You moved faster than any one person could. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”
“It takes upper body strength.”
“Well, you have plenty of that,” I say with a smolder that just comes out, the embers of attraction still flickering from watching him chop wood shirtless for hours.
“It must have been boring for you to have to watch and do nothing else,” he says, and I laugh.
“Hardly,” I chortle.
He smirks, knowing just what I mean. I shrug. If he walks around with his shirt off like that, I will ogle him without shame. The man is physical perfection. It’s likely I’ll never see a man like him up close for the rest of my life, so I will enjoy it.
“I’m sorry, Dorothy.”
“For what? Please don’t say it’s about going to get the flamethrower again.”
“No. I am sorry for that, but that is not what I meant. I am sorry for lying to you, for leading you to believe I had feelings of love for you,” he says and it hurts to hear, again.
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah,” I shrug. “Well, you told me you were heartless, and you’ve said this already. I wasn’t looking because I thought… You’re hot, all right? I was just enjoying the view. It’s not like I thought you… We… Don’t worry, I didn’t think you liked me, even when you were lying.”
“I do like you, Dorothy, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. Too late.
“It’s just a bruised ego. I’ll be fine.”
“What is an ego?”
“Self-esteem, my sense of self I guess is the best way to describe it. My self-image.”
“How did I bruise your self-image?”
“For real?” I ask with a light laugh.
“Yes,” he says, confused. “You are beautiful, so beautiful. It is that I have no feeling for anyone. I am heartless. It is not personal.”
“I understand,” I say and shake my head.
He has to say that. He’d be a complete jerk if he didn’t, but the reality is still what it is—I may be ethnically perplexing to some, but I still look like the most normal, average person. The most unique thing about me is this experience, and it’s something I can never share with anyone if I don’t want them to think I’m insane. I appreciate he’s trying to make me feel it is all him and not me though, even if I know what a load that is.
“If you understand, how have I bruised your self-image?”
The easiest thing would be for me to lie and say it’s not bruised just so this conversation will end, but lying to him doesn’t feel right. I’ve never been much of a liar. I’ve always been a little too honest. Like when my Aunt Emily asked me about Billy and my ‘virtue’ and I laughed and told her I’d slept with him so she didn’t need to worry about my virtue anymore. She looked horrified, and I knew she would be, but I was honest anyway. At first she tried to give me an earlier curfew and even called his mom and told her what I’d said, but I wasn’t ashamed and I just didn’t want to lie. The news thrilled his mom and the talk about us getting married began soon after. That freaked me out, and I was honest about that too. Maybe it’s a disease that I have no desire to lie even if it makes things weird. It’s part of who I’ve always been. I’ve never been a liar and if I could die at any moment, I don’t want to be a liar when I do just because it’s easier or less embarrassing.
“I’m sure other girls you’ve been with feel the same way, that if they had been more somehow, you may have changed for them. Maybe if I had been more, been better or exceptional in some important way, you would feel more for me. At the same time though, I know it’s silly to think those things. You have valid reasons for being cold and unfeeling.”
“Dorothy, you are more. You are beautiful, lovely, and so funny. You make me laugh and I haven’t laughed in so long. Indisputable goodness emanates from you every moment I have been in your presence, and despite your crass bathroom talk which I adore, you are pure in a way I have never seen in a person before. You are like crystal clear water. In moments you are calm, graceful, serene, but at any moment you could bubble up and destroy an enemy in your path with an untouchable force of strength. The way you fight an enemy is a beautiful and terrifying sight, with brisk liquid movements that flow unlike anything I’ve ever seen. You are like the cleanest blue waters—a pure force of nature.”
“That’s the boots.”
“No, it’s you. It’s in your eyes. It’s who you are.”
“Aww, thanks, but my mother had these eyes too and she couldn’t even swat a fly.”
My mom couldn’t kill anything. I remember once when I was around eight years old we had ants in the kitchen and instead of killing them, my mom had a talk with them. She said they had to leave or her husband would spray them with poison and they would die. Then she told them she would go for a while and when she was out, they needed to leave her house and not return. What’s weird is that when we got home, they had left, and they never came back. I was never like that. If I needed to, I could stomp a cockroach to death. I’m no Zen monk.
“You are unlike any woman I have ever known in the best possible way. I hate how I have been, that I have caused you to hurt. And I hate I lied to you. You have been wonderful to me. I want to be wonderful to you, so I will not try to kiss you again. I will not take advantage of our situation.”
“What’s our situation?”
“Being alone, being out of sorts on this journey, where your emotions run high and you seek comfort in another. You may seek comfort in me, but I will not try to take advantage. I want to be your friend.”
“Not asking me to stay anymore, huh?”
“I know you want to return to your realm. And although I will miss you, if you can leave this place, have a life that is safe, I want you to go. It would be selfish of me, of anyone, to ask you to stay. You should leave. It is what is best for you.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. Sadness fills my chest. I wish he would kiss me, but he won’t because he doesn’t want to. That’s all over. And I’m bummed, but I’ll get over it.
“Why do you appear so sad?” he asks.
It’s embarrassing and pointless to continue to go on explaining this to him, so I shrug. I don’t want to lie but I also don’t want to continue this conversation. But now I can’t look him in the eye because if I do I’ll tell him the truth and there’s no point. So instead, I look straight ahead into the fire and try to focus on the shades of the flames—scintillating butterscotch and coruscating amber, flaxen yellows and halcyon golds—but my mind drifts to my emotions that burn as hot as the bonfire before me.
Why does his rejection still hurt when I don’t even know him well, but what I do know of him is that he lies to get women into bed and claims to have no heart? And that’s when it hits me
what a complete idiot I am—I’ve fallen victim to all those stories where women fall for the screwed up guy hoping to change him, hoping he falls for her because she differs from all the others. The delusion I’m special somehow has never been a problem for me. Until now, I’ve always known what I’m not—I am no different. I’m just plain Dorothy. This guy will not change for me. He will not grow a heart because of me. But he is nice enough to stop lying, so I guess in one sense I can appreciate that.
“Please tell me,” he says after a long silence from me. I chuckle, knowing I’m being so stupid.
“It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”
“No, you are not. Please, tell me.”
If we will be friends, real friends, and I want to be, I might as well be straight with him. I’ve never been one to hold back. So, I take a deep breath and gather the courage to just say it.
“In my realm, we have stories, lots, where there is a man who is… like you, I guess—brooding, dark, gorgeous, with your rippling muscles, perfect face, and tormented past—and there is a special woman who he changes his destructive ways for. These stories are everywhere. For some screwed up reason, I think we all hope a guy like that, like you, will change for us because we are special, so special he would do anything, even change his destructive ways to be with us, to have us, fall in love with us. We all want to be special no matter how average we are, and most of us are, and I guess I fell into that fantasy. Maybe. I’m just winging this answer, but I think that’s why I feel kind of sad. It would have been nice to be special enough for you to grow a heart for. But I realize it’s all just… silly.”
“Why silly?”
“These stories are a psychological manipulation. They teach us to want this make-believe thing. Screwed up guys who don’t want us, like you—no offense—become desirable because it’s like we win if they choose us, if they change for us.
“We have years of bad relationships because of these expectations. So many girls like jerks, and I think it’s because of these stories. I don’t know where these stories come from, but my society perpetuates them all over the place. Dark brooding guy meets average girl and changes his destructive ways for her, moves mountains for her, fights wars for her, does whatever it takes just to be with her.
“What’s stranger is that in these stories the girl is almost always average. Average looking, average life, maybe no one notices her until this guy comes along. He’s this beautiful man, and she’s just a girl. In the beginning he’s rude to her, to push her away because he’s dark and bad for her in whatever way.
“Even when girls are very young in my realm, when a boy is mean to them, says mean stuff, pulls her hair or steals her toy or whatever, their own mothers tell them it’s because they have a crush on her. And that weird idea that’s total nonsense is in stories again and again. It gets ingrained in us, and it’s sick and stupid and I think maybe it has something to do with men wanting to treat women like crap and still get laid—I’m not sure. I hate I fell for it.”
“But you are not average. You are so special, Dorothy. I am lucky you are my friend, and I do not want to hurt my friend.”
“I understand that too. And I appreciate it. I do. I’m honored to be your friend,” I say and smile.
He smiles back, but he looks sad. I’m sad too, but I think his sadness comes from shame, guilt for intending to use me, and for lying because he has grown to like me as a person. He doesn’t have feelings of love for me, but he wants to be my friend. And I want to be his friend too.
“We will make it to the City of Emeralds, and you’ll meet that one girl who checks all the boxes, your match, and you’ll fall in love, start a family, all the things you want. Maybe she is there now, just waiting to meet you. And maybe when you meet her, you’ll realize you have had a heart all along. It’s just been waiting to find her to open up and fall in love. I wish that for you, Nick. You will find love. You are not heartless. When you meet that one right girl, you’ll know it too,” I say.
He says nothing, just turns his head and looks into the fire as it crackles and pops, its flames growing into the glorious blaze that will keep us warm through the night.
Ardie, Toto, and the Werelion return and they have had their dinner. We all take our places by the fire, all but Ardie, and we drift off to sleep.
* * *
I stand in a city made of shining emeralds, faceted and rough, shining, deep green hexagons. Everyone here wears emeralds, in jewelry, and in their strange sparkling green clothing that looks Victorian and somewhat odd, with dramatic shapes and angles.
I walk up to a grand palace with emerald walls. My travel companions are with me, and Toto is at my feet. When I knock on the door, it opens, but no one is here to have answered it.
I glide down a long, bejeweled hall and at the end of the corridor a man stands with his back to me. A long green robe drapes over his broad shoulders, long white hair cascades down his back, and a tall shimmery green pointed cap sits atop his head. He turns and smiles when he sees me.
“Dorothy, I have been expecting you,” he says.
“You have?”
“I am a great wizard. I could see you coming. Allow me to help you and your friends.”
“Thank you.” I hug him in deep gratitude and joyful laughter rumbles in his chest.
“Your friends will have a place here, and I will heal them of their ailments. I have a cure for zombiism, and I will cast a spell that shall help the shifter find courage and strength in all situations so he may return to his human form for good. I will show the Axeman he has had a heart all along. His true love lives here, in this city. He will meet her soon and find true happiness. But first, I will send you and Toto home to Kansas. All you have wished for, I grant you,” he says, his bright smile beaming.
His face is hard to discern in this light, with bright, reflective emeralds almost blinding me, but I can tell his smile beams.
“Thank you,” I gasp as tears of joy and gratitude fill my eyes.
“All I require is that you leave the boots with me. It is a fair exchange,” he says, and I am happy to oblige.
“You may have them. It is a fair trade. I only need to get them off my feet.”
He waves his emerald wand and they appear in his hands, leaving my feet bare.
“You must say goodbye now,” he tells me.
I turn and look to Ardie who is now a living man. A tear leaves his eye, and he hugs me tight to his chest.
“Dorothy, I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
I pull away and turn to the Werelion who is also a man. He is big, sweet, and kind looking, but I can see the strength and courage in his eyes.
“Goodbye Dorothy, and thank you,” he says and hugs me too.
“Thank you, for carrying me when I was too tired to walk, for getting us all across the ravine, for everything,” I say as I hug him back. When I pull away, he gives me a sweet smile.
I turn to Nick, who looks happy, and hopeful, not brooding or sad at all.
“Thank you, Dorothy. You have been a great friend. I will miss you,” he says and I smile and kiss his cheek goodbye.
He pulls me in for a hug and I hug him back. It surprises me, but this goodbye makes me the most sad of all. For a moment, I thought I was falling in love with him, but it was just a crush. It’s the first real crush I’ve had, and I understand more than ever why they call it a crush. I let them go, those hopeful feelings, the fluttering in my chest when I look at him, and in an instant I am over him. What’s left is gratitude for having known him, and hope for his future. I want him to have all the best things in life.
“I am so excited for you, to fall in love, start a family of your own, and I wish all the happiness possible for you. It’s been an honor being your friend,” I tell him and pull away.
When I turn to the white-haired wizard, he nods—it’s time. I pick Toto up, carrying him in my arms, and the wizard waves his wand. In a puff of white smoke, I am back in my house in
Kansas with my Aunt Em and my Uncle Henry. It’s like I never left. Everything is gray and the same, except for me.
The radiance of Oz has stayed with me, and this time I know I will be the color I covet. I will imbue this gray world with my vivid hues. The colors were always in me, just waiting for me to shine them on my little world, and now that I know they are there, that I am the color I craved, I can be the dream I’ve always dreamed of whether I’m in Kansas or Cairo.
Em is fixing dinner and Henry is reading in his chair just like every other night, but this time I am grateful for the tranquil scene before me. When Em turns and looks at me, she smiles.
“We were wondering when you’d be back. Wash up for dinner now. It’ll be ready in a minute,” she says.
“I’ve had such an adventure, Em,” I tell her.
“You can tell me all about it at dinner. Go on now,” she says, and I feel a strong sense of relief as I walk into my room.
I sit on my bed and put Toto down beside me. He licks my face again and again, so happy to be home. And I am happy to be home too.
* * *
Toto is licking my face as I open my eyes, waking from my deep sleep. I am still in Oz by the fire which is now only low burning embers. Ardie is awake, as always. Nick and the Werelion are still asleep.
“I hope I did not wake you. We just returned from our morning hunt,” Ardie tells me.
“Toto woke me, not you,” I say and sigh as I sit up. “I was having such a nice dream. We went to the City of Emeralds and the Wizard granted all of us our wishes. I saw you as a living man, cured of your zombiism.”
“I hope your dream comes true,” Ardie says with a happy smile.
“So do I.”
I want all of us to get what we want. And I believe we will. I only hope it’s that easy.
11
The Deadly Poppy Field
Dorothy In the Land of Monsters Page 16