The Sphinxes' Eyes

If you don't recognize the above, then you're probably one of the ones who make me feel old. In case you are, or if it's just been a really long time since you've seen The Neverending Story, all you really need to know is that the sphinxes you see there are the first gate the hero Atreyu must pass en route to the Southern Oracle, where he hopes to find the means to keep his world from being ripped to shreds. In order to make it through this first gate alive, one must be confident in the pureness of his heart. Anyone with ulterior motives or uncertainty about this being the right course of action will be flash-fried by laser beams shot from the sphinxes' eyes.

It's a simple enough set-up. Be confident, and you live to get your answers. Waver, and everything falls apart while you sizzle. The Southern Oracle is 10,000 miles from the Swamps of Sadness. That's a long walk when you don't have a luck dragon to take you most of the way.

I got some advice this week, and as I walk, I'm trying to follow it, even though the execution is so alien to me, I don't feel like myself. Hopefully, by the time I get to the sphinxes, I'll have been able to decide if it's worth it. Hopefully, my heart will tell me either to make the leap of faith and not look down for the safety net, or to stop and figure something else out before I approach the gate. Hopefully, when I do get there, the sphinxes' eyes will stay closed. Maybe then, I'll get to ask the Oracle where to go from there.

"Who is Colin Farrell?"

About a year and a half ago, I got this text message from my mom, who was in California for a work-related conference, that just said, "Who is Colin Farrell?" This kind of random question isn't really odd for my family. My brother will probably never get a smartphone or use 411, because he just calls or texts me to ask where he can get a Bob Marley t-shirt in Virginia Beach at 2:00 in the morning. Anyway, I told my mom, who admits to just not being good with names, "He's an actor - you like him. He's one of the pretty ones. Why?" It turns out she accidentally had tea with him in her hotel. I think she'd have preferred to accidentally have tea with Hillary Clinton, who was also a guest there at the time. The next text message I received from my mom during that trip was asking me for the identity of the tall, attractive African-American actor on Heroes. I don't watch the show, so I had no answer for her other than, "why?" As it happened, she'd collided with him on a staircase. Along with the willingness to shoot the breeze with just about anyone, klutz runs strong in our family, you see.

All of this is to say that my mom has had more quirky Hollywood moments during her visits than I've had since I moved here. Yeah, this is my way of saying by the way, in case you didn't know, I moved to Los Angeles. I got to California on the 5th - Guy Fawkes Day, which I know we don't do in America, but it's easy to remember, remember.

I've been chastised for not writing about this sooner, and also for neglecting tales of driving across the country, experiences I've had, and people I've either gotten to meet or see more of since I got here, but I'll get to it. I promise. Just not today.

Vanity Goes After a Fall

I don't remember the first time I heard about my mom's antique vanity; it's just one of those stories that gets repeated in the family every once in a while and just becomes part of the backdrop of the world as you know it. The world as I grew up in it included the broken pieces of the vanity, of which I only caught one glimpse when I was little, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The story goes something like this: About 30 years ago, my mom was moving to a new apartment and, being surrounded by brothers and brothers-in-law, was not lacking in hands to help load her furniture on to the truck to move it. Unfortunately, said brother-type-people didn't do a very good job securing things and well, when you add a steep hill and gravity to a poorly-secured vanity, nature does the math and gets a grim result - all over the pavement. Ever since that day, my mom has lived by the rule "if I want it done right, I'll do it myself," and who could blame her? Lucky for her, and for the rest of us, she's competent and capable at just about anything she sets her mind to. She may be but little, but she is mighty, my mom is, and she loves as fiercely as she does everything else.

I, on the other hand, am not so little and not so mighty, not by myself anyway. I like to think of my philosophy a little more in terms of what happened to the vanity next. Sam Kelley, my great-grandfather, was a bit of a notorious packrat in the family. I was only 8ish years old when he died, so I didn't really get to know him, but from what I do remember, he was also a kind, gentle-souled sort of man. I like to think that this was the driving force behind his saving everything, as much as Depression-era thrift. Why else would he have gathered up the splinters and shards of my mom's beloved heirloom and stashed them away in his cellar, where they remained until after he died? I asked once, but no one would tell me anything other than I wasn't supposed to be poking around in the cellar.

Therefore, I'm left to draw my own conclusions. I have decided that Sam Kelley just couldn't bear the thought of seeing something treasured by someone he loved thrown away. I have decided that this was his way of loving - perhaps a subtle way, one that may not be noticed by anyone who didn't go looking for it. I could be reaching with this one, but it comforts me to know that this is at least a possible and plausible explanation, because I know how beloved he was, and still is among those who were lucky enough to know him. It comforts me because I see this pattern in myself and wonder if I might have gotten it from Sam.

I'm sure I could spend hours with an analyst to break down all of the reasons it's hard for me to come right out and just say "I love you," or why I smile and nod and keep my distance when inside I'm screaming for the chance to let go. I don't even think I could learn to flirt if it were taught at the graduate level. Well, whatever the reason, my heart or my shoes, I am who I am, and maybe, just maybe, people will see my unconventional declarations of affection for what they are. At least my apartment doesn't have a cellar, though it has got a vanity.

Rabbit Loses More Than His Tail, Part 3 (conclusion)

Now Rabbit not only has a long skinny tail replacing his old fluffy cottontail, but one of his long ears has been blunted. Butterfly has fared no better and is hoping for some peace and quiet to recuperate on her cloud.

Butterfly had finally managed to fall asleep, but almost as soon as she'd drifted off, she was ripped awake again. Something was hurtling toward her, and before she could register what it was, it had knocked her from her resting place. Her musings about the indignity of one such as she falling to her death were interrupted by a new set of terrified ponderances as she found herself suddenly clasped firmly in the beak of a sparrow. She fought as hard as she could, but that's not saying much.

To her continued surprise, Sparrow glided to a stop on the next sturdy-looking cloud he came across, spit her out, and then collapsed. Once she realized she was still alive, she thought about jumping for joy, but passed out instead. When she came to, Sparrow was still there, still lying on his side. Butterfly crawled a tentative pace forward and noticed that the cloud was reddish and dissolving around the unconscious bird.

For a moment, she thought about just trying to fly away, but her conscience wouldn't let her. After all, Sparrow had saved her from falling, even if he had been the one to cause the fall. Besides, she probably wouldn't make it very far with only one good wing.

"Hey," she called out, nudging Sparrow with her foot. When he didn't stir, she kicked him a little harder, earning a startled "Ow!" and a "What the...?" for good measure.

When he'd gotten his bearings, Sparrow explained that he'd been minding his own business, singing to himself in his tree, when Rabbit had told him about a shiny new birdbath that had been installed in a neighboring yard.

"The birdbath was there, all right, but so was the little Antichrist with an equally brand-new pellet gun. Little bastard got me right where it counts," Sparrow said, holding up his own tattered wing.

Rabbit, Butterfly thought. Always with the ever-loving Rabbit.

"We gotta do something about that guy," she said.

"I think we'll be lucky if we can get off this cloud," said Sparrow balefully. "We've got one good wing apiece and this thing is breaking up fast."

"Well, we've got one shot then," Butterfly stated with a determined nod. Before Sparrow could reply, she wrapped her good arms around him. The cloud was almost completely disintegrated as she screamed, "Fly! Now!"

Sparrow wanted to argue, but knew there was no time. He squeezed his eyes shut and beat his good wing for all he was worth. To his surprise, they did not fall to their death. They were falling, to be sure, but with Butterfly's wing working with his, the descent was slow and controlled. They were going to make it.

Sparrow opened his eyes just in time to see Rabbit poking his nose out of his hiding place.

"Look!" called Butterfly, who had spotted not only Rabbit, but Cat, who was crouching in the alley shadows, watching the oblivious Rabbit.

With a little more effort, the pair hang-glided right up behind Rabbit, letting Sparrow catch him by his remaining long ear. Rabbit screamed and squirmed and wriggled so hard that his ear broke right off in Sparrow's beak. Deciding he'd worry about how ridiculous he looked - with two blunt ears now AND that stupid long tail - he made a break for his hiding hole once more, but Cat had other ideas.

Butterfly and Sparrow watched as the speeding trickster fled, while they made gentle contact with the ground.

"At least we know Cat will never give up," Sparrow chuckled. "That guy has a serious one-track mind."

He was right, as you know. Cats have chased those long-tailed, blunt-eared rodents ever since, in a neverending symbiosis, whether they know why or not. What you might not know, however, is that without ever formally deciding to do so, Butterfly and Sparrow were also partners from then on. Neither ever flew on their own again, but when they got tired of walking, all they had to do was lean on each other and the skies were theirs.

Rabbit Loses More Than His Tail, Part 2

When we left Rabbit last, he had just sent the beautiful but poisonous Butterfly unwittingly into the lair of Alley Cat, satisfied with himself for defeating both his enemies at once.

Having dealt with his tormentors so quickly, Rabbit decided to focus on getting a new tail. He felt off-balance without one, but he couldn't find anything fluffy; all around him were just vast stretches of the tall grasses of the field.

"It's only temporary," he told himself, sticking a long, whiplike blade of the golden grass to his fur where his tail had been. He was too busy examining his handiwork to notice the winged, purple streak hurtling toward him.

"Asshole!" Butterfly screamed over her shoulder as she darted past Rabbit. Cat was hot on her heels, knocking Rabbit head over long-tailed behind in pursuit of his new prey. One of Cat's razor-sharp claws caught Rabbit's ear, slicing half of it right off and flinging it backward into the alley. Cat stumbled a little, giving Butterfly the chance to get ahead, taking refuge on a low cloud.

With Butterfly out of reach, Cat turned his attention once more to Rabbit, who had made a few hops toward the alley in hopes of retrieving his ear.

"Not again!" screamed Rabbit, and he skittered back into his hiding hole. Cat glared and growled down at him for a few moments, but was too hungry to stick around for long and soon went back to the alley to scrounge in the dumpsters.

While Rabbit shivered and Cat scrounged, Butterfly panted and whimpered on her cloud. One of her wings was shredded to ribbons. She'd lost an antenna, and a couple of her legs were hanging useless at unnatural angles. Still, she was alive, and all she wanted was sleep. Deep, peaceful sleep, floating along on a cloud was the perfect way to recuperate - quiet and alone.

To be concluded...

This sketch of Butterfly came first. Words and story followed.