Gabrielle’s Magical Notebook

Once upon a time a young walked into the kitchen with a great purpose. He got out a saucepan and a spoon and set to work. He was making cocoa for a queen.

The young man got a glass bottle of milk out of the refridgerator. The bottle was cool and smooth against his hand. He poured some milk into the pan, white into black, cold liquid into warm metal. He put the milk away and adjusted the heat of the stove. It had to be just right. He was making cocoa for a queen and it had to be perfect.

From a cupboard the young man got a container of dark brown cocoa powder. Air puffed into the container as he snapped the plastic lid off and a cloud of bitter powder floated out to tickle his face. He added some cocoa to the milk and gave it a stir. Then he added some more and stirred again. He stirred, the floating powder dark against the blue-white milk, the earth smell of cocoa lingering in the air. The young man added more whiteness to the saucepan in the form of sugar, the grains falling immediatley to the bottom and scratching against the spoon and the pan. He stirred in quick, sharp stirs, the milk and cocoa powder making brown bubbles that danced on the surface of the liquid.

The sugar dissolved and the young man added bright vanilla, musky cinnamon and sweet nutmeg and stirred, stirred, stirred. Then he poured himself a sample and tasted it. It was warm, creamy, the sweet and bitter blending into something entirely new. The spices sat on top of the bitter sweet, part of it, but distinct. The young man rolled the swallow around his mouth and put down the spoon. He was satisfied. The queen would enjoy this cocoa.

He carefully poured the warm drink into a mug the color of fresh-picked apples. The drink filled the mug up to its brim, a bit of steam coming off the top. The young man lifted the mug, enjoying the warmth on his hands, and carried it into the other room.

This room was simple and simply furnished. The walls were a light, nuetral color and the furniture was sparse. There was only a bed with metal rails on each side, a small table next to the bed and a chair. Propped up in the bed was a queen.

As the young man approached she opened her eyes and smiled at him. The sun slanted in the window and made her white hair glow. She seemed delighted to see him though he’d only been gone as long as it had taken to prepare the cocoa. The young man approached the bed and the queen with a smiled he reserved just for her. Gently, tenderly, he lifted one of her hands and wrapped it around the mug.

“Here, Grandma”, he said, “I made you some cocoa.”

(This story is dedicated to Adiel who must get tired of me making her cry.)

The words flooded back into her mouth, wet and wonderful. For so long she had walked around dry and empty of all worthwhile words. She had tried not to say anything in that time because, no matter how hard one tries, when the words are gone there is simply nothing to say. Your mouth moves and you try to form thoughts, but all that walks out of your mouth is gibberish.

She often wondered where her words went when they weren’t in her mouth. Maybe they skipped off to vacation in the sun. She imagined a heavy dictionary sun-bathing on a tropical beach, the waves crashing in the distance. Her words would get warm and a little burnt in that hot, tropical sun. Usually her words were thoughtful and often tried hard to be wise, but who knows what goes on in the mind of a large dictionary when it’s let out into the sun next to a drink with one of those little umbrellas. Maybe her words had been in the tropics, but when they came back they didn’t look tanned.

Perhaps they went on a skiing trip to some snowy mountain top somewhere. She imagined the dictionary flying down a mountainside, the wind ruffling its pages, a fuzzy scarf flapping in the wind. She imagined the rush and the wind would be exhilarating to her words. They so often wanted to fly. Maybe if they hit a rock on those skis this would be their chance. But when her words came back they didn’t look windswept or chapped so it must not have been skiing.

Maybe they didn’t go anywhere. Maybe they were where they always were, but she was the one who was lost. She was in the file room of her words and she just couldn’t find the right file cabinet. The room was surprisingly well lit considering how the rest of her consciousness was lit with candles. The file cabinet was right in the middle of the room. There was even a spotlight on it, but perhaps she had just kept looking over it. She looked through her memories, her thoughts, her beliefs about kittens and all her fond memories of cheese sauce, but never could seem to find any words.

Whichever, whatever, wherever her words had been when she couldn’t find them they were back now. She settled down to enjoy them, savoring their flavor and letting them roll around her mouth before sending them out through her lips. Perspicuity. Mazel tov. Balcony. Partial. Tertiary. Bathroom. Transcendent. Pub….

“Why?”

She flung the question at him, defiant and fierce. It struck him right in the face and she felt no shame. She glared angry daggers at him and willed him to be far away from her and the question beating on his face.

It was not an ugly question though it could have been. If it hung there much longer it would surely turn ugly. She had touched it with her filthy mouth; if it wasn’t horrid now it soon would be. Everything she touched turned ugly. The flowers and the pictures and the song. She had so much wanted them to be beautiful. She had wanted them to prove that maybe she was beautiful. Now she just shoved them further back into the closet and hoped no one would notice them. They were ugly, almost as ugly as she was.

He wasn’t ugly. He was the most beautiful anything she had ever seen. Hard and soft, he defied description. She’d tried one time, but that had turned ugly just like everything else and she had burned it, the sparks floating up, bright against the night until they had turned to ash and fallen back to earth. She looked at him now and knew that any attempt at description she could craft in the next hundred years would never be sufficient. He even made her question look lovely.

He reached up with his master hands and plucked her question from the air. She looked away, shame making tears prick at her eyes. Why had she flung that question at him? Why had she made him notice her, made him look at her with those eyes deeper and more mysterious than the ocean? Why wouldn’t he just walk away like she knew he wanted to?

She looked back at him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his back as he turned away from her. But instead of his back she found herself starring at the side of his face. He was doing something with her question in his master hands. He hadn’t left yet. Not yet.

Just as she thought maybe she should walk away he turned to her. In his hands her question had been transformed. No longer was it all sharp edges and bitterness. Now it was a flower the color of peace, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen next to him. He took a step toward her and tucked the peace flower in her hair. He cupped her face in his master hands and looked deep into her shallow mud-puddle eyes with his ocean-deep eyes.

“Because,” he said, “I wanted to.”

“But-” she started, but before she could finish her half-formed protest he caught her word. He crumpled it in one hand and dropped it to the sand.

“No,” he said “Not but.”

Then he took her hand in his and together they walked toward the sun. Behind them the dropped word shriveled in the light and faded all away.

I picked a dandelion today. I was out walking the city streets in the spring sunshine enjoying the breeze and color. I almost passed the dandelion without noticing it. It was hidden in a clump of tall grass at the entrance of an alleyway. The flower appeared to be expecting me, waiting so patiently, so I bent down and picked it and stuck in it my hair. I walked on, happy, smiling, with a flower in my hair.

The people I passed all gazed after me with odd expressions. I walked on by without pause. One woman stopped me and asked why I had put a dandelion in my hair.

“It’s such a nasty, common flower,” she said. “A weed. Why go through the trouble and bother?”

I took the flower from my hair and examined it. It was brilliant yellow and sweet, sweet green. The petals were small, perfectly formed and tightly packed. The green fringe around the base of the petals was elegance itself. Standing there, in the sunlight, I turned the flower in my fingers and decided it was beautiful. I told the woman so.

“But,” she said, “It’s so very common. There is nothing special about dandelions.”

I thought about this, the flower in my hand.

“Really?” I asked her, “How can you be sure?”

And I tucked the flower back into my hair and walked away in the sun.

I went into my father’s library one day to borrow a book. I sought wisdom and knew he had shelves full of wisdom and learning and experience.

I entered the warm room and paused to breathe the scent of books. The years caught up in pages and binding require a way to make themselves known. The years slip through the pages like water through cloth and seep into the room. That’s what makes the smell, you see. I walked through the scent looking for that one book that would contain the wisdom I sought.

A shelf set off alone caught my attention. There were only two things on the entire shelf- a large, leather-bound book and a glass bottle full of clear fluid. In a room of shelves filled to bursting this shelf so sparsely settled was an oddity. I picked up the bottle and turned it over in my hands. It seemed strangely heavy in my hands, but that only added to the mystery. I replaced the bottle and took down the book.

Brown, soft, supple leather served as a cover for the book. It felt smooth in my hands, but the book too was heavy, almost too heavy to hold. I had to put in down on a table before I could open it. It was full of dates and notations written in my father’s writing. The dates all seemed familiar to me, like something I wanted nothing to do with.

I looked closely at some of the notes beside the dates. I saw my name repeated time and again. It was the same on the next page and the next. I was the center of this book full of troubled days. Some of the dates I recognized. They were days so full of heartache and trouble I would never return to them no matter how much wealth I was offered. There were days that had been much like any other aside from perhaps being more difficult than most. I left the book on the table and went back to the bottle.

I pulled the stopper from the clear glass, dipped my finger in and touched my finger to my tongue. Salt. The liquid was as salty as an ocean, as saline, as tears. I put the bottle next to the book and found understanding.

My father had sent me in here for wisdom. He sent me to a bottle of my tears and a book of my troubles. And here, in the midst of my troubles, I found understanding.

On a small rise under a wide sky surrounded by trees is a stone. It is flat, gray and has words written deep on it. It was laid here by men long ago and was instructed to guard the sleeper below it. The stone holds itself ready at all times, watchful, waiting for anything that would disturb the sleep of its charge. The stone would give its life to fulfill the purpose given to it so long ago.

Over the stone stands a rose. The rose is purest white, the only flower on the whole sparse bush. It stands proud and erect daring the elements to challenge it. There are buds slowly coming to maturity, but they are not ready yet. The rose is alone and has such an important task. To guard the stone and what lay under it, to add grace and beauty to this small hill. The rose never forgets the hands that planted it there and always works to please them.

Standing over the rose is a tree, a tall, tall oak. The rose stands among his roots and has never noticed. The oak is old, brown and green,his roots strong and deep, his branches flung wide, his leaves bright. He stands, rough barked and ancient, ready to defend the helpless that sleep at his feet. He defends the rose, the stone and the sleeper from the harsh wind and the beating sun. He gives a place for birds to rest so that their songs can dance around the hill and help make it beautiful. The oak had already past youth when the sleeper was planted. The stone and then the rose followed soon after. The oak has never forgotten the hand, its skin old and wrinkled like his own, the hand that rested upon his bark and asked him to watch over the sleeper. The oak watches and guards. He hopes that his faithfulness will ease some of the weight off of that sweet hand that rested against him for a moment so long ago.

These three stand together on the small rise, under the sky, surrounded by trees. They faithfully guard the one who sleeps below. One day the sleeper will waken and they will not be needed to guard, but that day is not yet. So they stand, rock, flower, tree, waiting, waiting for that day.

Once upon a time there was a snowflake. She was white-blue, star shaped, fragile and sharp edged. She lived in a cloud with other snowflakes and dreamed of the day they would be released to dance. She practiced her dance, sure in her steps and her skill. She would move just so and the whole world would be moved at the beauty of her dance.

And then it was time. She jumped from the cloud with her fellow snowflakes and together they fell. She saw that it was nighttime and felt a pang of disappointment. How would any be moved by her dance if they couldn’t see her? How would they marvel at her beauty if there was no light to make her glitter? But then the wind caught her and she forgot all her worries in the splendor of the dance.

She twirled, whirled, spun and glided. Her sharp edges sparkled in the little light there was. She moved with ease, grace, dignity. Her fellow snowflakes stopped their dance just to watch her move. She was beautiful.

As she glided down to Earth she felt exhilaration like she’d never felt before. There, below her was the biggest audience ever to witness a performance like hers. She pictured their upturned faces, the wonder in their eyes. She could almost hear the thunderous applause that she was sure would follow her dance. She smiled in expectation.

As she glided, spun and drifted down she found herself in a street. But there were no people lining the street. There were no wondering faces and that meant there would be no thunderous applause. There was no one to see her dance. The snowflake faltered, stumbled. How could she dance with no one to see her? What good was her splendor with no one to witness it?

These thoughts made her heavy. Their weight pulled her down and the snowflake fell to Earth. She crashed against the ground and danced no more. Right before she melted away she wondered if it had been worth anything at all.

Inside a house a young child and a woman stood at the window watching the snow fall.

“Look, Mommy,” the child said with wonder in his young eyes, “Snow. Pretty, pretty snow.”

The leaves whispered around her feet lifting her up higher than she could have jumped alone. The voices she had just left faded into black as she kicked and swished her way down the path. She raised her hands beside her to feel the wind on her palms. The movement made her feel still and the sound made her feel quiet.

The voices had all been lovely to her. They offered polite kindness, guiding hands and soft words, but she just wanted to be alone. The voices were all the wrong colors and they smelled of inside and artificial fires. She didn’t want to be polite anymore to the people who were so sweet to her when she wished they would just leave her alone. So she’d slipped away when no one was speaking to her and she’d run away into the wind and leaves.

Thin branches stroked her face like hard, gentle fingers. They brushed against her hair, coveting its softness. She stood perfectly still to listen. She opened her hands and her ears and listened. The woods sang around her as if she wasn’t there and she was invited to dance. So she danced standing perfectly still. The leaves she’d kicked over revealed new growth, its sharp green scent blending with the scent of dying leaves and branches. The wind picked up the smell and surrounded her with it until they were all dancing together.

She kicked and whirled standing perfectly still until a hand touched her shoulder and pulled her back to earth. Her feet felt heavy and cumbersome as she stood. The wind had died down and her skin began to slowly suffocate as all the air left her. The scent of green, orange, brown, old and new blew away with the wind and left her with herself and this other.

The owner of the hand moved it down her arm until it was holding her hand. The other’s hand was hard, cracked and beautiful like a mother’s hand. And when it spoke its voice was low, warm, rich and smooth like sunlight on dark soil just turned.

“Child,” it said in its brown voice, “This was lovely. I have enjoyed dancing with you very much. And now you must go back.”

The tree loved his little girl. He welcomed her into his arms when ever she came and held her up to the sky. He knew that she had a sad life and that the wind didn’t blow in her the way it should. But she could breath easily in his branches and he knew she loved him in her human way. He loved her very much in a tree way and made sure there were apples to eat and air to breath so that she would stay as long as possible. They were very happy when they were together.

Elisabeth’s mother was calling her. Elisabeth could hear the slight panic that was always in her mother’s voice when she didn’t know where the girl was. If Elisabeth wasn’t within sight her mother assumed she was somewhere dying a painful death.

Elisabeth sighed. She didn’t want to go home yet. It was so peaceful here in the tree. A faint breeze was ruffling the leaves and gently pulling on her hair as if it wanted her to come play. The tree was tall and in its branches she could almost reach the clouds. She didn’t want to come down and go back inside. She felt alive under the tree. She could breath in a way she never could when she was simply under the sky. When she was in the arms of the tree the air around her went in and out of her lungs easily. But the edge of panic in her mother’s voice was getting stronger.

She climbed down from the branch she was perched on and hopped down to the ground. As soon as her feet touched the ground a tightness entered her chest. It made her breaths come in sharp and go out short. She was clutching her side by the time she climbed the short hill to her house and her mother. As usual Elisabeth’s mother was furious at her for making her worry. She pushed Elisabeth inside and made her sit down in a chair and take her medicine.

The tree knew the woman was angry at his girl. He didn’t understand what made her so angry all the time and he hated to watch her yell at his girl so cruely. He wished now as he often did that there was some way to protect his girl from the adults who were so bad to her all the time. But for now he just watched the woman push his girl inside the house.

Elisabeth hated her medicine. It made her feel tired and stupid and it didn’t really help the tightness in her chest. It just tried to make her forget about it and kept her from her tree. Elisabeth hated her house. It was full to bursting with stuff nobody wanted and the air was crowded with smells and dust and cigarette smoke. She never felt like she could get a full breath while she was in the house. Elisabeth didn’t hate her parents, but she didn’t like them very much either. Her father spent most of his days out in the fields or down in the barn and when he was home he would just tell her to be quiet and take her pills. Elisabeth’s mother was a worried person who was sure the world was against her. She spent most of her days listing all the ways Elisabeth made her life difficult and how she would never have what she deserved. Elisabeth’s mother had been very pretty and was going to be a glamorous movie start, but then Elisabeth had come along and she’d had to get married to Elisabeth’s father and settle down. Now, because she spent all her time taking care of such an ungrateful child, she had no time to make anything of herself.

The tree’s branches stretched toward the house as if reaching for the girl who had just left him. He heard the woman yell at her and knew that she wouldn’t be back again that day. He hated to see her so sad and, not for the first time, tried to think of a way to rescue her from her sad life.

Elisabeth sat on the couch and felt heavy. Her father was sitting in his chair watching football on the television. When he’d gotten home from the fields he’d told her to be quiet, told her mother to get him something to eat and then sat down where he was now. Elisabeth wanted to go up to her room, but at this point her medicine made her too weak to get up. The medicine also made the floor move funny when she tried to walk on it and she knew if she fell down now her father would get very angry. So she sat and watched the bright colors move around on the television screen and dreamed of her tree.

“Hey you!”

Elisabeth was jerked back down by her father’s voice. She tried to focus her eyes on his face, but he seemed really blurry to her tired, medicine fogged mind. He told her to go get him something to drink and to be quick about it. And then he turned back to the television.

Elisabeth’s breath came sharp in her chest. She needed to get up walk to the kitchen and back now without falling. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it. Elisabeth closed her eyes and pretended she was walking down the hill to her tree. He was waiting for her with open arms. She could see the apples shining in his branches. He had put one in the sun to ripen just for her. She was going to sit in his topmost branches and eat the bright red apple while the sun danced on her face. She put her hand out and grabbed a low branch.

Elisabeth opened her eyes to see that she had made it all the way to refrigerator. Her hand was clamped around the handle. She managed to open the door and get a beer. Walking to the drawer with the bottle opener took great concentration, but Elisabeth held tight to the counter with the hand that wasn’t holding the beer. Luckily her mother hadn’t put away dishes that day so Elisabeth’s father’s special beer mug was still drying on the counter within easy reach. Elisabeth opened the beer, poured it into the mug and started back to her father. She closed her blurry eyes and once again pretended she was walking out to her tree, this time with a glass of water in her hands. She was walking slowly and carefully. It was important the glass of water didn’t spill.

“Hey girl!”

Her father’s shout broke all of Elisabeth’s concentration.

“Hurry it up!”

She was falling. The cold mug slipped out of her hands and she fell with it. It crashed to the floor seconds before she did and shattered. She fell on top of the glass and beer, cutting her hands and drenching her dress. With a roar her father grabbed her by her hair, lifted her out of the puddle and threw her back onto the floor, yelling and swearing. Elisabeth lay crumpled on the floor and felt the world spin away from her into black.

When she woke up, Elisabeth was on the floor in her room. She had blood on her hands from the broken glass, her head hurt from being thrown by her hair and she was pretty sure her father had dragged her upstairs by her arm. She smelled like beer becoming stale.

Elisabeth knew without checking that the door was locked. It would stay locked until her father went to the field the next day and her mother came to give her medecine. Elisabeth curled up around herself and tried not to listen to her fatherand mother yelling at each other. She hated the yelling, but knew it was better than just her father yelling. She tried to concentrate on forcing air in and out of her lungs. The night passed slowly.

The tree knew that the girl needed to get away from the two monsters she lived with. He knew that if he didn’t rescue her soon she could get hurt beyond rescue or healing. The tree thought through the long night. He thought and listened to his girl struggle for each breath in the house of those who hated her. As the moon moved across the sky the tree thought through the problem. When the moon touched the horizon the tree was sure he had a way to rescue his girl.

The sun shone through the dingy curtains into Elisabeth’s room. It shone on her face where she was curled up on the floor and gently woke her. As soon as she was fully awake Elisabeth found she hadn’t wanted to wake up. She was stiff, sore and hungry and she smelled terrible. She crept to the door, but it was still locked. Out her window Elisabeth could see her tree. Its branches were stretched towards the house as if it was reaching for her. Elisabeth smiled; at least something on the property wanted her. A locked clicked behind her and Elisabeth’s mother came through the door. Her eye was bruised and swollen and her lip was cut and had been bleeding. Without a word to her daughter she left the room. Elisabeth knew this was going to be a bad day.

She cleaned herself up and got changed before going downstairs. Her mother was waiting for her in the kitchen with her medicine. Elisabeth tried to explain that she felt fine and didn’t need the medicine, but her mother never listened. So Elisabeth settled in for another day of sitting around the house feeling fuzzy and sick.

Elisabeth sat on the sofa staring out the window. Everything was blury around the edges. She felt disconnected from her body as if it belonged to someone else and she was just a head floating in space. Her breath still came in short gasps, but someone else needed to breath so it was okay. Out the window her tree beckoned to her to come out and sit in its branches. It waved urgently to her. Elisabeth waved back. It waved still harder, insisting. Elisabeth’s mother was watching television in the kitchen and paying no attention to her. She got to her feet and immediately fell down.

The tree couldn’t see his girl anymore, but he knew she was coming. Come, he called, come to me and I will make you safe.

Elisabeth crawled to the wall and pulled herself to her feet. She walked along the wall to the door and then she was out of the house.

The tree called to the wind and asked her to help his girl come to him.

The wind blew her hair as she staggered down the hill to the tree. It blew some of the fog from her mind and helped her stand. Her vision cleared as she neared the tree. She tripped over a root and fell at the foot of her tree. She crawled up to the trunk and rested her face against the smooth bark. The last of the medicine fog was forced from her mind and she stood up and climbed into the tree’s branches.

The tree gathered his girl in his branches and held her close. He lifted her into the air and held her up away from the ground that dragged her down. He pulled her close to his trunk and whispered his plan into her ear.

Elisabeth was breathing without any difficulty. She closed her eyes and drank in the air. The dizziness she had become used to on the ground left her entirely. And then a soft voice spoke in her ear. It spoke of rescue, safety and comfort. It spoke of leavings and sanctuary. It spoke love to her. Elisabeth felt tears prick her eyes as she heard these word and thought about they meant. The voice also spoke of forever and goodbye. Elisabeth looked at her house and considered.

The tree was almost shivering with anxienty as his girl thought about what he was offering. He knew that his idea was frightening. But he hoped that she would say yes and let his rescue her.

Elisabeth looked at the house and thought about her mother. She though about the months and years that would be if she stayed. She looked towards the fields and thought about her father. She thought about what her future with him would look like. And then she wrapped her arms as far as they went around her tree’s trunk and whispered her answer.

Elisabeth’s parents never guessed what really happened. They found Elisabeth curled up in the tree. She looked peaceful and happy. Her mother assumed she was asleep and tried to wake her, but Elisabeth would not wake. Her father yelled and shook her, but where Elisabeth had gone he couldn’t hurt her anymore. Elisabeth’s parents mourned in a way for this child they had never wanted, though at times it seemed forced and it didn’t last very long. Soon, too soon, life became normal and they returned to their old ways. But Elisabeth and her tree lived long and happily ever after.

Once upon a time a young woman set out to obtain the book of wisdom. She searched for many days for an old man to tell her tales of when the book was much read. The man sat in his low chair and guestured at the covered mirrors.

“Does it look like we still know that book? If I had even a portion of it left do you think I would have let this happen?” he asked. And the mourners gathered around.

The woman left there and searched out a man whose father had held the book once and had listened to it many times. The man did not want to speak of his father.

“He forgot those words before they even reached his ears. If he had raised me according to what he remembered from that book do you think I would hate him so?” he asked. And he closed the door.

The woman left there and searched out a woman whose grandmother had sung many songs of the book. She served cookies on a floral plate and talked for hours about pure foolishness.

“I don’t really remember those songs anymore. I always thought Grandma was rather old fashioned, see, and after she died I just moved on.” And she went on talking about nothing.

The young woman sat in her room. She was dicouraged and ashamed of those she had found on her search. It seemed there was no book of wisdom to be found anymore. Those who had kept it had used it imperfectly and had never passed it on ato others nd now it was merely a memory. So the girl took up her pen and set out to write a new book. It would be worth far less than the true book, but it seemed that it was the best she would ever be able to find.