In Wonderland: A Combination Of Fact & Fiction

The birds in my dream are large and grey. They peck at my arms and call me by a name I can’t decipher. I run through a field and into a pasture where a woman with long dark hair is milking a cow. The birds track me from the sky, their voices following the beat of their wings. I see them through the clouds – above the clouds. Their beaks tear at each other as they close in on me. I hear them behind me but don’t dare pause to look back. The woman leads me away from the violent sky, guiding me by a rope around my neck, a bell dangling and ringing with each step. She offers me a drink of water from the bucket of a stone well.

“Don’t look down,” she warns me as I lean against the well. The cold, damp stones soothe my skin. I lean against them for a while and watch as the cow eats the birds, one at a time. The raised raw marks on my arms from the birds fade as each bird is digested.

“She’ll swallow you whole,” I reply, nodding at the cow. The woman’s eyes, once blue like tourmalines, have turned red. One of them is missing, I realize, noting my mistake, just hollowed out, black in spaces where the skin did not regenerate. Her face is beauty and horror. She watches me as I take her in, then bends to empty her bucket and spits the remains of the birds into it. Feathers, now black, and small white bones. Bits of tendon. She empties the contents of her bucket into the well. “This is my bone garden,” she tells me, with a toothsome grin. She picks at the gristle in her teeth, with one of the bones, spitting again before sitting down to whittle it into a knife. I look down, curious to see the carnage festering at the bottom. It appears to have no end. The stench is unbearable when you hang your head over the well. I pull back sharply and cover my nose, choking on the lingering scent in my throat. It stings my eyes. The horror of the mass of carcasses stays with me when I close my eyes.

“They search for her in all of us, but we take care of them, don’t we, pet?” She laughs, stroking the cow’s soft ear and whispering words to mollify it. She nurses the cow to soothe its throat. When nourished, the cow stops its tears, nuzzles my stomach, and then lumbers back to the sweet grasses and sunshine. “No foe but friend is she,” says the woman, and we watch the cow as it stares up at the sky.

Something draws the woman’s attention away from me, her head jerking in the opposite direction. Some sound or a thing invisible to me. The woman laughs and tells me to always carry an umbrella with me. “You never know when it will storm,” she adds before she looks up at the sky and screams at what she seems to know is there. Her head becomes a skull. Her arms are wings. She cocks her head at me, calls out the name given to me by the birds, then flies away.

The sky is full of stars. They weep but do not fall. I walk for a long time until there is quiet again. Then I heard the sweet and soft voice of my mother’s mother. She says my real name, strokes my long hair, and I am a child again. I curl up in her lap, my little arms wrapped around her waist, clasping my hands together to lock us in place. She sings an old song I remember from when she was alive and comforts me. I stayed there with her for a long time.

She leans in to kiss my head and whispers to me. “Wake up, Caroline. Things to do now. And bring an umbrella tonight. A light summer rain.” Amaranthine flowers sprout beneath her feet as she carries me to a window and watches me climb a ladder. When I touch the ground, we wave to each other.

I hear the soft beat of wings before I notice the two white swans. Have they been there this whole time? The ground surrounding the well is white. My grandmother’s voice wakes me, “And brush your hair, dóttirbarn; it’s a forest.”

The wisp of a ghost remains, spinning threads of shivers down my skin. I check my arms for bug bites, shaking the ugly bits of the dream away while I try to hold onto my grandmother’s voice. So I pour myself a cup of chamomile tea and eat breakfast slowly, shaking the fog from my mind, before wandering outside to see if Alice has read my message.

“On Mondays, I’m a dragon named Fred. Alice.” I smile, and it lightens my mood.

“Do dragons eat fish? Caroline.” I scratch my answer into the wet sand with a new stick.

I check on the chickens and see that they’ve already been fed. They squawk at me on my way back inside. Because, of course, you are one of them, I tell myself, looking at the last texts with Henry. I cluck the rest of my way up the front porch and laugh when I get a text from Effie that says, “Come for a run with us!” I groan at the idea. “I would rather do 100 pushups than run one mile,” I reply.

“Done. Suit up.”

“Damnit.”

“Never offer pushups to a trainer. Muahahaha. Seriously. We’re giving you 30 minutes to meet us here.” She includes her Aunt’s address.

That explains the muscles I caught a peek of last night, and I admit to myself that I have been a bit lax on exercise during my trip. I laugh at my hair in the mirror and take a brush to it. “Grandma’s always right,” I say to my reflection, ignoring the shade behind me, before replying to Effie’s text.

“Fine but no burpees.”

“There will be burpees, and you will thank me for them.”

She’s not entirely wrong, I tell myself later, when the group of us grunts away, dropping to the floor before springing back into the air together. I look around as we move. Thankfully, my silent companion seems to only follow me when I’m alone.

“Sadist,” I mumble as we move into our fourth set.

“Careful,” Jessica says, “She’s a cruel master.”

“I prefer Mistress,” Effie grins, “And you’re almost done. Twenty more to go!”

“Evil. Pure evil,” Rebecca pants, slowing down a bit.

“Your bodies will thank me once you regain consciousness. Fifteen.”

“My body will thank you so long as I get to eat all of the lobster,” says Emma.

“With butter,” I add, dropping to the floor and bouncing back up.

“Butter gets you going, does it, Yankee?” Effie teases as she springs herself up. “Eight more, kids. You can do it.”

“Oh fucking hell, Effie. I hate you,” Rebecca blows her hair out of her face but pops back down.

“Eh, you’ll get me back when you yell at me about my atrocious budgeting skills. And two more, Loves.”

Rebecca grins as we lay on the floor. “She really has a crap head for finance.”

“It’s the maths. I hates it,” Effie scoffs, wiggling her fingers at us and letting her voice take on a slight hiss that makes us giggle.

“So, what do I owe you for this torture? I didn’t know you were a professional,” I pant, gulping from my water bottle.

“Hmm. Zero dollars,” Effie says as she directs us into stretching positions.

“But we can trade services. Typically, I would only offer that deal to these three goofs, but I’ll consider it with you. What can you give me?”

“I can teach you how to kill at Double Solitaire. Or how to dance the merengue.”

“Sold! Merengue and cards.” Effie stands and folds her body in two, stretching and wiggling her toes.

“How often do you let her torture you like this,” I ask the rest of the women and take their collective laughter for my answer.

“Five days a week at home. Three days a week when we’re on vacation,” Jessica says, heading towards the kitchen. “Smoothie?”

“Only if there’s nothing green or brown in it.”

“No brown. Just a touch of green. I promise you will not taste it. You’ll think you’re basking on a tropical island.”

“I burn easily.”

“Basking on a tropical island with some handsome guy reapplying sunscreen every thirty to sixty minutes.”

“Deal. Give me the spinach.”

“Oh no, darling. Kale. And celery. And ginger.”

“And this transports me to The Bahamas?”

“Pineapple, mango, strawberries, coconut milk, and just a touch of vanilla. You’ll survive and thank me for it.”

“And The Sunscreen God,” I remind her as I turn my ponytail into a messy bun.

“Of course,” Jessica nods, “Give me five minutes, and you will be pink and sweaty on a beach.”

“Minus a sandy crotch,” I note, pointing a finger in the air.

“That’s her job, you know,” Rebecca tells me as I stare at the beach. She runs a juice bar back home. And we have miraculously clean crotches — not an ounce of sand.”

“Excellent,” I nod, pasting a severe look onto my face. “Then I trust her with my gut. What do you do, Rebecca?”

“Nothing to do with our lady bits,” Jessica calls out over the blender, finally causing us to break into guffaws.

“I do financial consulting for a big monster of a bank. I’m about to go rogue and open my own shop, though. I’m ready to do my own thing.”

“As though you were doing it like this,” Effie snaps her fingers. “No, our gal has been planning this for years. She’s our planner in the group. She’s got clients lined up. We’re some of them. Of course,” she adds, tossing her arm around Rebecca’s shoulder and squeezing it.

“Bugger off, you stinky chick. Wash your pits.” Rebecca laughs as she pokes at her friend’s ribs.

Emma wanders into the main living room, looking like a damp mermaid toweling off her hair, which is long and thick and full of a mass of curls. The sort that those of us with pin-straight hair itch to borrow. Her eyes are green. Her hair is auburn. Her nose is delicate and dotted with a slight splatter of fine freckles.

“I might have a girl crush on you, Emma,” I tell her as I watch her shake out her curls. “I want your hair on my head.”

“I’ll allow it,” Emma grins, “But only if I can borrow your voice for a day. Especially your laughs.”

“Mmhmm,” nods Effie. “Excellent laughs. Throaty. I bet you catch the guys with it.”

I snort in reply, but I take the compliment. “Effie’s legs. Rebecca’s abs. Emma’s hair. Jessica’s hands – I want your fingers. My voice. And a clean crotch. Perfect Bride of Frankenstein! Thank you,” I add as Jessica hands me her concoction.

“I’ll take your eyes,” Jessica says, making a popping sound with one of her long, slender fingers in her mouth. “Pop! Pop!”

“Hah! This has taken a gory turn,” I chuckle and sit on a blue ottoman in front of the window that runs the length of the house. “I’ll keep my eyes and flat hair while we’re at it. Besides, your eyes are fantastic. Grey like the ocean.”

“I like her. We can keep her now,” Jessica states and plops onto a matching blue chair.

“And,” she asks me as I take my first sip.

“I am baking on a beach right now. This is really good, Jessica. I’m ready to float away on a wave now. It just needs a teeny tiny umbrella.”

Jessica grins and stares out the window. “I tried to bring mine, but they were flagged. Teeny tiny stabby weapons,” she laughs, punctuating her last sentence with her finger.

“Okay, you’re the horror flick friend in this group. Clearly.” I add, inching slightly away.

“Absolutely. The gorier, the better,” Jessica replies calmly. “Effie is the action hero. Rebecca is the comic. Emma is -“

“The romantic,” Emma interrupts. “I’m a glutton for it. Give me the sap and the cliché and roll it into a musical, if possible.”

“Hallmark level?”

Emma scoffs. “No, we can do better than that, surely. But give me any Jane Austen adaptation, and I’m yours. Especially if you hand me a bowl of popcorn. Just not one with Keira Knightley in it.”

I nod. “I knew we would be friends. That movie was shit.”

“Absolute garbage,” Emma agrees.

“So,” Effie adds, ” what will you do with the rest of your day before the Great Lobster Massacre?”

“This one is the vegetarian in our group,” Emma says.

“I would have hedged my bets that it was Jessica.”

“Nope. Give me all the meats,” Jessica replies as she finishes her drink.

“On a plate, not in a glass.”

“Gross,” says Effie.

Jessica stands up and responds, snapping her hands like claws and following Effie around the house. Our laughs echo through the rooms. Five happy fools.

“Bikes and beach and lunch,” Rebecca asks, appearing after her shower.

“Add a nap to that, and I’m yours,” Emma replies, twirling a thick strand of hair around a finger.

“Join us?” Rebecca nods at me, but I shake my head.

“Count me in for next time. I have to tackle some stuff today,” I say, unfolding my legs.

“I’ll allow it. We’ll pick you up later tonight for the party.”

I nod and make it to the beach, untying my shoes and stuffing my socks into them as quickly as possible. I curl my toes into the sand, feel the waves on my skin, and watch the sky for signs of a storm. The shade stands behind me, its toes in the sand.

“Only blue and white and yellow,” I say. Silence replies. “And who are you supposed to be?”

More silence, but it wiggles its feet further under the sand, rooting itself behind me.

“You’re just a little taller than me, so you can’t be me.”

It kicks sand at my legs. I look at my skin, and there it is – sand.

“Nice.”

I return the favor. It kicks again, and we battle each other with our feet kicking up sand, waging a silent battle until I start to laugh hard, earning a stitch in my side that causes me to bend over.

“What the fuck, Caroline,” I say, lecturing myself. “Get it together.”

The shade trails behind me as I head back toward the house to catch up on calls and emails. I’ve decided to try ignoring it as my next tactic. A useless attempt so far, but this has turned into a trial-by-error game.

On my way inside, Alice’s reply greets me in the sand. “Cheese pizza and chocolate sauce. Do you like movies?” I smile and leave her my answer, ignoring my escort as it pauses and waits for me to brush off my calves and feet by the porch.