Goldilocks, Go Home!

by Martha Freeman

  It wasn’t easy. The girl is heavier than she looks. If I’d fallen, the wolf would’ve chomped both our necks—and boy, would I have been in trouble with Mama and Papa!

  As it was, Big Bad circled the tree trunk, snarling and snapping, then finally sat down and shook himself. “No problem,” he said. “I will be right here. Eventually you’ll fall asleep and lose your balance and fall. When you do—” He smacked his lips.

  “Shouldn’t you be grateful?” I asked. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be leftover soup by now.”

  “Sure, I’m grateful,” the wolf said. “Come down and I’ll give you a hug. Bring the blonde snackable with you.”

  Yeah, I know that, thanks.

  Now I worried the wolf might be right. What if we fell asleep? Besides that, we’d soon be hungry and thirsty. Was the tree that saved us really a trap?

  Hey, whose turn is it?

  As I was saying, No.

  No, it was not a trap.

  I know, but you were stepping on my line!

  What am I doing that’s so terrible?

  Oh, no you don’t. It’s my turn. What happened next was this: From down the path came a very large, very loud roar.

  And it was a wonderful sound.

  They don’t know who you’re talking about.

  It was the lion, the king of beasts—

  —who soon came sauntering along all awesome and majestic in the moonlight.

  I decided to keep it casual. “Your majesty,” I said. “Great to see you. How’s the paw?”

  “Much better, thank you,” the lion replied. “And how are you, Bobby Bear?”

  “I’m good,” I said. “I mean, the big bad wolf chased my friend and me up this tree and now we’re trapped, and he’s planning to eat us. Otherwise, not a lot going on.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said the king of beasts. “So I guess there’s nothing I can do for you? I owe you a favor, remember.”

  “Oh, right, that thing with the festering wound and ginormous thorn,” I said. “No, we’re good. That is, unless you’d like to scare the wolf away? Or reduce him to a quivering mass of teeth and fur? My yellow-haired friend was hoping to go home to the burbs, and I wouldn’t mind returning to my loving mama and papa. But if your plate’s full, NP. We’ll catch you later.”

  The king of beasts had been too busy looking up at me to notice the wolf on the ground. Now he did, and I kind of hoped he’d snarl and say scram.

  Instead, he yawned.

  The wolf, that kiss-up, spoke fast: “Your majesty. How handsome you look!”

  The lion didn’t answer except to yawn again.

  “Sleepy, your majesty? I mean, you’re nocturnal, but even kings are entitled to catnaps. Can I get you a pillow?”

  “I’m not yawning,” the lion said. “I’m measuring. By my calculations, a wolf your size is about three bites—three and a half tops.”

  The wolf began to tremble. “You mean you’re going to eat me?”

  “Swallow you whole is more like it. No offense, but you’re not good enough to chew.”

  “Uh, do I have a say in the matter?” the wolf said. “Just asking.”

  “Probably no…unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless you want to leave here so fast it’s not worth my breath to chase you.”

  The lion did not have to say more. Already, the wolf was gone.

  The furless one had been quiet all this time. Now with the danger past, she hollered after the wolf, “Don’t even think about following me to the burbs! If you did, you’d have to cross the bridge first, and—wait a sec.” She looked at me.

  “Uh-oh.” I knew what she was thinking.

  We had both forgotten the troll.

  Bobby and I climbed down from the tree and thanked the king of beasts.

  “Uh…just one thing, your majesty, while I’ve got you,” said Bobby. “How do you feel about the troll that lives under the bridge?”

  “That guy? He’s beastly, but not one of mine. Besides, Bobby, I only owed you one favor. You wouldn’t want to push it with the king.” The lion yawned again.

  “Absolutely not,” Bobby agreed. “Great hanging with you, your majesty. Have a pleasant evening!”

  The lion went one way, we went the other. Soon we arrived at the bridge.

  The voice from beneath was as deep and gravelly as ever: “Who goes there?”

  Before I could shush him, Bobby answered. “My name is Bobby Bear!”

  “No!” I squealed. “If you tell him your name, he can eat you! That’s the rule.”

  “Will you pipe down a sec? I’ve got this,” he said.

  The deep and gravelly voice spoke again: “That name doesn’t ring a bell. Is it the one on your birth certificate?”

  “Look, troll, I ought to know my own name,” Bobby said.

  “Because if it’s not, and I eat you”—the voice sounded thoughtful—“I’m pretty sure I lose my job as keeper of the bridge.”

  “Okay, okay. I admit it. My real name is…wait for it…Rumpelstiltskin!”

  The troll seemed to ponder that. Meanwhile, Bobby whispered in my ear. “You’re not the only one who goes to story hour. Now run for it, Furless!”

  Already it was too late.

  Rumbling and grumbling, the troll appeared on the bridge.

  “Now I know you’re pulling my leg,” the troll declared.

  “And such a handsome leg, too,” Bobby said, “if gnarly and hairy is your thing, that is.”

  Meanwhile Bobby had been shoving me forward, yelling, “Get moving!”

  “But we haven’t said goodbye!”

  “And we never will if the troll finds out my real name. Now go! Go! Go!”

  I’m a klutz, remember. But I also watch ESPN. Calling on hours of study, I faked right, spun left, and ran for daylight.

  I know, right? He was as confused as a rookie from a no-name school.

  “Goodbye, Baby Bear!” I called from the far side.

  At the same time, the troll slapped gnarly palm to gnarly forehead. “Baby Bear! That’s your name!”

  “Yep—gotta go,” Bobby said.

  Didn’t Mother Goose say, “Parting is such sweet sorrow, emphasis on the sweet.”

  On the contrary, Furless, I never missed you one bit. That morning when I thought you were gone for good was the happiest of my life. Then the troll lost his job on the bridge—fired for twice letting you get away—and now you come visit when the moon is new and Big Bad’s safely in his den.

  But I still have a couple of questions. How about the humble peasant folk? Did they miss you?

  That fight with your mom—the reason you left in the first place. What was that about?

  It’ll be our little secret— you, me, and the millions of kids reading this book.

  You mean your mom’s expecting a cub?

  Don’t say it!

  No way. I hear he got a gig with some billy goats. The point is now you’ll have to do what I did—get used to an invader in your own tidy cottage!

  That’s what you think. Getting along with an alien invader? Sharing your stuff? Sharing your room? Sharing your mama and papa?

  Get real, Goldilocks. If it looks like an invader and cries like an invader….Anyway, I can’t wait till you’re not number one anymore. But after a while, you’ll get used to it. I did. I even learned to like you in the end.

  Speaking of which, this is the end of my story.

  Okay, fine, our story—the furless one’s and mine.

  But there is just one more thing. If I was the kind of bear who liked to show off with big words, I would call it an epilogue.

  One Sunday after Goldilocks left, the Bears were on TV. Papa and I were dozing in front of the game when Mama came in from the kitchen. She had a
broom in one paw and a dustpan in the other.

  “Lunchtime so soon?” Papa asked.

  Imagine our surprise when Mama growled!

  “Wh-Wh-Wh-What?” Papa said.

  Mama handed him the broom. “The kitchen floor needs sweeping, and Bobby’s bed is still unmade. As for me, I’m going to put my paws up.”

  I was straightening sheets when I heard a knock at the door.

  “I’ll get it!” I volunteered.

  Mama called from the parlor. “Probably one of the Pig Brothers. I offered them my recipe for porridge.”

  Papa was sweeping the front hall. “Unlikely to be a Pig Brother then,” he muttered.

  I opened the door, and there was another furless female. This one had a basket over her arm.

  She squealed when she saw me. “A bear!”

  “Where?” I said. “Haha—sorry. I crack myself up. Yes, I am a bear. And you appear to be a human. They’re everywhere all of a sudden—like cockroaches, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  The furless one shook her head. “In fact, humans and cockroaches are very different. Humans are mammals. Cockroaches are more like termites.”

  “Did not know that. Thanks for stopping by.” I started to close the door.

  “No, wait!” she said. “My grandma lives in the woods, and she’s sick. I’m supposed to deliver a get-well basket, but it’s so heavy, and now I’m lost.”

  She looked ready to cry.

  Mama Bear took over. “Come in, you poor thing. Here, let me hang up your hoodie. What do you call that shade of red? It’s really bright. Can I get you some porridge?”

  The furless one took a seat at the kitchen table. At least she didn’t break any chairs.

  Papa sat down, too. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Your grandma lives in the woods?”

  The furless one nodded.

  “That can’t be right,” I said. “Only one human lives in the woods, and—” I had a terrible thought. “Wait a second. How much eye makeup does your grandma wear?”

  THE END