Wendy watched a heavy stream of smoke levitate freely from the end of a brown incense stick. She saw it multiply and divide from both above and underneath itself, collapsing into weightless entities of swirling, perfumed white. And for a while, this was all she saw. Until it climbed the height of the tall, rectangular bathroom and slipped through the skylight, leaving nothing behind but the delicate fragrance of lavender and smoke. She slid down further into the deep, vintage tub until the tip of her nose reached the summit of her bathwater. And there, she shut her eyes, closing herself off from the hypnotic artistry of the smoke. But the moment she turned her world to blackness, memories from the last three days came flooding back in. Her eyes snapped open and she rose back to her normal sitting height.
"And to think," she muttered, reaching for the remnants of her Rum and Coke and taking a sip, "I was doing just this three nights ago."
Her eyes traveled to the floor, where atop her towel sat an unimpressive no-contract flip phone and memory set the "incoming call" light aglow.
"If only I had reached..." She turned, but her arm never emerged from the water. No, grief overtook her and she slid back into comfort. "I didn't."
She didn't. Yes, it is true; she didn't reach for the phone. They'd ignored one another before, and even this time, they'd both agreed that it would be justified to ignore one another for just one night. After all, it was the evening before their wedding day. Why, you might ask, was Wendy alone that night? Her girlfriends had planned the most spectacular of Hen Nights for her- there would be drinks and music on the deck of one of London's finest yachts. Surely this would make a poor girl feel like royalty for a short while. But all sweet things turn bitter when they're left to breathe for too long and in her secret heart of hearts, Wendy knew that her engagement to Percy had gone stale. She'd grown increasingly bitter and untouchable as the wedding approached. And, as with many cases, her dearest friends received each defensive blow full force, suffering alongside her beneath a cloud of misery.
She remained in place for what seemed like hours, shutting her eyes and reopening them once the soreness of exhaustion, sadness or the effect of the incense overcame their momentary slumber. All of the rest that she'd given herself those last three days could be counted in elongated blinks, it seemed. Shifting from the light of life and the shade of repose gave Wendy a sense of renewal- once memory clouded her mind in one world, she'd slip into the other- never to stay there for very long.
Snippets of a thousand yesterdays seemed to create themselves out of thin air, just as the cloud-like sculptures of the smoke did. She recalled their schooldays, crunching through the leaves of the amber Septembers, the untouched snows of the glistening Decembers and the gentle trods over the newborn grasses of early Mays. She recalled the promise he made in the courtyard of the alabaster university that Indian summer before the air turned cold. Every memory was derived by things that she could find with every sense that she possessed- but above all, she could feel the coldness of that silly ring, even when it was all the way across the house.
It is not that a proposal seemed silly to Wendy; though she was never quite the kind to settle down and become a home keeper. But once they moved away from the dreamlike village of Stratford-upon-Avon to the "big smoke" and the awkward proposal happened, things started to fall short for Percy and Wendy. And the ring, oh, that dreadful thing! She'd told him in the past that she wanted something plain and practical with perhaps a sweet little jewel embedded in its center. So, she hardly expected him to come parading through the door one night, piss drunk with a piece that King Arthur himself would save for a special occasion (example, protecting his finger from a blow in battle) and an elaborate story of how he'd happened upon it. Rather, in his drunken state, Percy was very proud of himself for dislodging it from underneath a manhole in Trafalgar Square. But Wendy was somewhat embittered to think that this was "it"- and her discontent only grew as the years wore on and he never bothered to find her a more suitable engagement ring.
This was not the only falling out for them, for the true slope from love to indifference was found in the move. The two of them had let go of what existed in nature and turned to the "machine", so to speak. Those long walks along the river in the sunlit countryside transitioned into longer walks through foggy waves of manmade atrocities. The real shame, however, was that it took them both so long to realize that any fragment of companionship they'd found flourished so dearly when close to nature.
In London, this companionship turned to greed and competition. It became a race to see who could work harder and longer and bring in the greatest profit. Wendy worked for the newspaper, making minor edits and formatting stories that other authors- better authors had written. Percy stood on the same primary step toward his ultimate aspiration. For the time being, he thrived in the underbelly of a greedy law firm, reviewing the work of much brighter minds than his, while on the path to work as a respected London lawyer- someday soon, perhaps.
When what was left of the incense faded away into nothingness and ash, Wendy took one final sip from her glass and rose from the tub. She shook the phone off of her towel, letting it clatter on the bathroom floor and leaving it behind after wrapping up. Upon passing the mirror, she made a little stop to make a few minor adjustments to the partially damp bun she'd fashioned her chaotic tresses into before her bath. She found her reflection to be, simply put, unimpressive and soon grew weary of looking upon it. After all, she had no evening arrangements or impending visits- except perhaps the passing friend, stopping by to offer their condolences. But in the last couple of days, even her dearest of friends had learned that this was a lost cause. For the time being, none could reach Wendy but Wendy herself.
The flat was just as dark as ever, dimly lit by weak light bulbs favored by migraine-ees throughout the UK. She and Percy both were tormented by the dreadful headaches after moving to the city and although they could never quite wager their cause, they blamed them on hard work and weariness, nonetheless.
"You know you're a true Londoner", he would say, nursing his forehead with a damp cloth, "when you've become intolerant to the natural light of day." Of the two of them, his headaches were the very worst and he grew, well, as Percy so boldly put it, intolerant of not only the light of day, but the lovely little fires that Wendy built in the living room on cold evenings. Their marvelous footed tub aside, there was nothing in the flat that Wendy loved more than that quaint little fireplace.
Their first winter there, Percy had given her a beautiful bag of teal-frosted pinecones and dried out wood-like things with a big silver bow to seal in its contents. She thought at first that it was merely an ornate bag of potpourri, so she was surprised when he grabbed a fistful out of the bag and tossed it over the crackling embers of one of her simple fires. Much to her surprise, as the flames danced before them, they turned an even more brilliant shade of teal than the pinecones themselves. It was a beautiful gift. Simple, yet magical- a dying gasp of who they once were.
Upon entering the bedroom, Wendy found that the uneasiness of seeing his pillow, his dresser and his fine leather business shoes lined obsessively along the walls, had yet to vanish since the last time she was in there. And so, she decided to spend yet, another night in the living room alongside her beloved fireplace. She hadn't lit it since the accident, however. Come to think of it, the fear of offending the ghost of Percy still controlled many of her actions. Whether or not this would grow or lessen with time was still unclear. But this night, she decided to make a change. As she stepped into her flannel and topped it off with what was once Percy's solemn black housecoat (she'd stolen it years ago and with those years, the shame had died)- she made a promise to herself, tonight, she'd light a fire.
Excitement took over her. "A nice, warm fire!" She thought to herself, bundling up and stepping into the frigid hallway.
"It doesn't hurt to be a tad selfish every now and then. In fact, we must be. So long as it's few and far betwee-" she stopped herself, and dead in her footsteps, she turned back. Her eyes scanned over the empty room and from the distance of the doorway, it seemed more appealing, somehow.
As she looked, her eyes stopped at his dresser; on his side of the bed. On top of it stood a single photo frame, a cheap one, like the ones they sell at M&S over the holiday season. And she was drawn to it. As if it were an omen, the desire for one last look demolished all of her willpower and strength.
And so, Wendy made one final, glacial cross to their bedside, stopping when she was faced by that unprofessional university portrait housed in its crude silver frame. She looked at it once and saw in that single glance, all of Percy's softly spoken beauty.
He was embracing her tightly- so tight, in fact that the sides of their faces smushed together comically. But the twinkle in his green eyes and elegance of his facial structure was more than preserved. His golden curls poured over her tragic brown frizz and although she looked, as far as Wendy was concerned, a mess, it was still her favorite picture of the two of them. Perhaps because it was the only shot they had of themselves in that special courtyard in which he made her a supposedly enduring promise of love and adventure. Secretly, to both of them, it was far more significant than the proposal. Perhaps that is why he kept the picture there for so long.
Wendy removed the picture from the frame and glanced at it one more time before folding it up and putting it in the housecoat's pocket. She threw the frame on the bed, stuck her nose in the air and turned on her heel to leave the room and build that fire she'd so promised herself.
As she made her way across the house, however, something else stopped her. It seemed as though there was something she'd forgotten. Though she didn't quite know what it was. It seemed to be calling from the room, but she scarcely wanted to reenter its gloom again- at least not until the morning, when it would be filled with the sweet light of day, pure and bright enough to soften even the ugliest gargoyle's face.
"No," Wendy thought, "I will not go back tonight, anything else of his I cannot bear to see right now. The picture will have to do."
She created herself a cozy nest on the floor out of random, mismatched pillows and throws and once she was snug, she began to tend to her fire. But comfort wouldn't last long for Wendy and second that the wood started to burn, a surge of energy overtook her.
"A drinky!" She thought, "I can get away with two in one night. And it should keep me from drinking in the morning."
She leaned over the newborn fire and started to contemplate what kind of little mixer she could create that would settle okay with the Rum and Coke. "Gin and Tonic? Blah, that wouldn't sit well at all. Hmmm… apple martini? No, Percy loves apples. Oh, fuck it. Rum and Coke." She rose to her feet. "No, no that's caffeinated. Of course, I could call in… again."
The newspaper originally gave her two weeks off, but in Wendy's eyes, that was far too generous. It was not that she needed the money, all together with the savings and incoming support from family and friends, she was covered beautifully.
Rather, she wanted something to keep her moving, so she didn't crash. But now that she had crashed, even though she'd deny that she had, Wendy didn't want to stay in motion any longer. She was now at the edge of the abyss, longing to shrink down to Alice's size and drown herself in a glass of her favorite drink.
Wendy rose. And it was only moments after she started walking out of the fire's light that she realized where her feet were taking her; and it was not toward the liquor cabinet at all. It's a strange feeling really, letting go of oneself. And Wendy knew this all too well. She wanted so badly to be at peace; but as ever, her silly heart longed to be in the eye of the storm. Deep down, she already knew the answer. She had mourned so little, cried so little and felt so little after losing him, that she wanted to feel something again. Perhaps that was the real reason why she tortured herself so.
As she re-entered the room, her body tensed and stomach turned; for she knew at last what it was she sought. A sliver of moonlight peeped through the window, illuminating the space above her dresser. Upon it was a mess of newspapers and a Doc Martens shoe box full of partially discarded, partially important sticky notes. Three nights ago, after coming home from the hospital, before grabbing the housecoat and leaving for the living room, Wendy had thrown the ring into the shoebox. And there it had remained, awaiting their next encounter.
She picked the cold thing up. It was heavy and uncomfortable in her hand. She twisted it, allowing the colossal silver band with Celtic knots strewn in here and there to reflect the moonlight. When she came to a stop in the center, she realized that the clear stone in its center could find no reflection.
She moved it around again. Nothing still. Her tired knees buckled from underneath her and without thinking, Wendy lowered herself onto the bed. Right as she touched down, an image showed in the center of the stone. She sprang to her feet, conscious that there was nothing in the room that matched that particular reflection. Her eyes narrowed and the image presented itself again. It was a fire; gentle and controlled, just as the one she had made. Upon seeing it, her heart grew greedy once more. So Wendy crossed the lonely flat to her fire.
Before leaving the room, she put the ring on her finger again. A force of habit. She wagered in the back of her fuzzy mind that it was another action done to please Percy. As she grew closer, her exhaustion built atop itself with every step. As her warm little nest came into sight, Wendy started to doubt that she'd make it there before collapsing. And she found that the same place where the fire gave her that sudden energy before, now beckoned her to the first real sleep she'd had in days. She fought the weight of her dreariness long enough to reach her spot and curl up under the afghans and fleece and things.
Her eyes shut and stayed shut longer than they ever had. Across her face, a tiny grin of satisfaction in herself and perhaps even in the world transpired. But as they say, no rest ever comes to the truly weary. Before the first faint image of what would grow into a dream could be conceived in her mind, a familiar cold and darkness crept into the room. Wendy could feel it cover her as a wicked cloud that comes to darken the sunlit shore. Her eyes blinked open and she found that the fire put itself out prematurely. She rose in frustration, pushing the blanket to the side. Within the briskness of this action, however the ring flew off of her finger and landed near the matchbox on the mantle.
With a contained grunt, she crawled over to retrieve it and to strike another match on the wood. But the closer she moved toward the fireplace, the colder the air around her grew to be.
"Well, this is most unnatural," Wendy thought. She laid her hand on the matchbox and a familiar glow was born inside the stone again. Only this time, warmth- straight, un-diluted warmth seemed to originate from the ring. She abandoned the matchbox and touched the band with her finger tips.
With one touch, the heat of a thousand lovely fireplaces and goose down blankets filled her. She could hardly remember the last time she felt so complete. Only- she could. She'd never admit it, but she could. She remembered their train ride to London, when love was sweet and the world, undiscovered. It was the first time either of them had been to the city.
As the train left the station, he grabbed hold of her hand and pressed his lips against it. His mouth remained at her hand as he spoke, "Just think, this is only the first of so many adventures."
The name built up inside of her until at last it spilled out her lips, "Percy?" And as she spoke, the warmth was gone.
Her face hardened as she flicked a lit match on the half-burned firewood; once again, regaining her previous, comfortable stature. She watched the fire build on top of itself, until at last it roared with all its might. It seemed odd that such a grand fire could be born of secondhand firewood, but Wendy thought little of it.
The calming waltz of the flames entranced her, quite like the smoke did earlier that evening. But as the fire grew far past the size of being controllable, her consciousness slipped farther away into a hypnosis of sorts. And there she stayed until a spark freed itself and jumped onto the far corner of her housecoat. Quickly, she reached for the thickest blanket to suffocate the flame, but by the time she'd reached it, the tiny flame had extinguished itself. Wendy stood, her heart pounding in her chest. "Mary Queen of Scots, I never get a break!" She exclaimed, moving in to tend to the unruly fire.
After a while of picking and coaxing the flame, things died down for Wendy. Still, she knew now that the night forbade her to rest. And thus, she never allowed herself to pass into a state of comfort again.
"I'm moving out." She whispered, rolling her chest over her knees and pressing her forehead against the floor.
"It's over. All over." A deep pain grew from within her chest, choking her from the inside. She lifted her torso in hopes of blocking the pain, but it only grew with each upward fold of her spine. She was far too weak to hold herself up any more. She supported her head with her hands- and there, she released it. As much as she could release any way. Fat, warm tears dampened her icy cheeks, deep, internalized sobs shut down her proper breathing functions.
"Why? Oh, why!? Why, God? Why must you be so stingy with your second chances? Is it because we were so careless? So ungrateful?" She went to wipe her face, only to hide it from the almost scorching quality of the cold air.
"What do I have to do? I'd do anything in this world and the next and all other worlds and lives accessible to my supposed "everlasting soul" if"- she stopped, mid-cringe. She'd never been a religious girl, no, she thought that religion was meant for the weak. And perhaps that is why, in the moment of her greatest weakness, she'd harkened to it. "If," She continued, "I could see my Percy again."
Silence swallowed the remainder of her sobs, leaving her alone in the soundless room. And there she sat, until at last, Wendy found that she couldn't sit any more. So on to her side, she fell. Her head was still locked in an uncomfortable position above her knees; but at this point, she didn't care if her back cramped. She didn't care at all. All that she wanted in that moment was to give all of her weight to the ground- so that she might not have to worry about carrying herself anymore.
In the distance, the church bells chimed the hour in- two o'clock. And between the two o'clock toll at the three o'clock toll, Wendy slept. She found herself in the deepest, darkest, and undoubtedly the most dreamless slumber she'd ever known. All was empty and silent, there was no trace of emotion or thought in her mind. This single hour of darkness came and went in a silent, shadow-like quality and it ended with a small vision that transpired in the back of Wendy's restful mind. Out of the darkness, appeared the ring. Just the ring. It started in the distance and began to move closer within her field of vision. As it approached, the clear stone filled with fire once more. As this happened, a loud "pop" from the fireplace caused Wendy to rise in a cold sweat. After quickly collecting herself, she looked down at her hand and found that the ring was still alive with the image of fire. She turned to the fireplace, however and saw that it was not. Except for one, lonesome, suffocating ember on the mantle. Her eyes shifted from the ember to the ring and the ring to the ember. After studying them both, Wendy realized that they were burning in the exact same time, with the exact same quality. Entranced, she placed her hand next to it on the mantle and watched the hauntingly impossible synchronization of both forces. Then gradually, very gradually, their energy grew- erupting into quick and ruthless slashing of flame. Wendy could see before her that this had coaxed the fire back to life and within seconds, it was teeming with force- with aggression. Five larger embers surged from the fireplace, pounding down on Wendy and setting her housecoat ablaze. In a panic, she started to pat the fire down, but she found that these flames were not of this world. They were cool and soft as a linens flapping violently in the breeze. She lowered her hand. Upon this action, the flames moved from all around to her hand- to the ring. There, they found their power. They consumed her hand completely, twisting and turning in a terrible, barbaric dance. Until, from there they spread and swallowed Wendy entirely.
For only a short while, the brilliant orange light filled her eyes and then it softened into a peach like glow- dimming, dimming until none was left but darkness. By now, panic had been somewhat exorcised from Wendy's body along with all other mortal attributes. Not a single thought or care remained in her mind- all except for one question, "Is this what dying is like?" Out of the darkness, soft-burning balls of light appeared. They were far away, smaller than a needle's point- much too small to be stars. Over time, the empty space filled with them- tiny dots, rapidly appearing, chaotically sticking themselves all over the blackness until at last, there was no darkness left. Blinding white. But Wendy found that she could not shut her eyes. She had to see what would happen next. And she was lucky that she chose to be patient. This entire time, her feet had remained planted in the ground, but the emptiness around her forced her to feel as though she was flying. And now, a sense of stillness and security found her feet. Below them, as her comfort became centered, she felt a crunching sensation that seemed to suggest that she was standing in a bed of fallen leaves. As the gentle "crunch" ended, greener, more livid tips of leaves penetrated the blank canvas of white. The white slowly subsided, like a dense fog backing away into a thicket. But the enface light refused to diminish, leaving Wendy with a mighty beam of light that was framed by an opaque casement of leaves. Something stirred from within the light and with just as much certainty as the splattering of white, an outline of a man took shape. Even from a distance, Wendy could figure that he was well over twice her size. She moved backwards. Another crunch. His features began to take their form. Yet, another crunch. She saw that he was an elderly man with a long white beard and a staff tucked under her arm. She moved back as far as she could go. A crunch, followed by a thud. She'd backed herself into a tree.
"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch. It's God." Wendy gasped.
The man's face moved from the ethereal to the human as it twisted into a pleasant smile. "It's been far too long, my old friend. Tell me, what is your name? I seem to have forgotten."
She held her tongue, but only momentarily; contemplating how to reply. "Wendy Wenzel." She lifted her weight off of the tree and stood straight again.
"Wendy Kipling, as it should be." Wendy lowered her eyes at this. It was the first time she'd heard what would be her future name uttered in real time and not only within her mind.
"As it should be, indeed."
"And does the name Bronwen Bittles mean anything to you?" He asked, almost joyously, kneeling to her height.
The name rang no bells for Wendy but, in its peculiarity, it did make her smile. "I'm sorry, I've never heard such a name before."
"Hm. Pity." His face grew solemn, "Well, you shall remember on your own time."
"I beg your pardon. But remember? Remember what? It sounds to me like I've been here before, but I cannot bring to mind any memory of these woods."
"No." He whispered. "No I imagine you wouldn't. I wish that I could have more answers for you, my friend. But I am just as puzzled to find you here and as new to this world as you are. In this form, at least. But I do remember you. I have a sort of keen memory for my hobbit friends."
"I'm afraid I don't understand. Are you calling me a hobbit? Like a Tolkien hobbit?" She'd read the books as a girl, but had no extensive memory of them.
"I know of no hobbit named Tolkien. You must be speaking of one in your own world?"
"In my world, hobbits exist only in books and Dungeons and Dragons. We're limited to humans- like me and like Tolkien. He wrote books about hobbits. I write- well, I write for a newspaper. Or at least I'd like to. Oh- but we aren't all writers, you see. I'm sorry. This is very confusing."
"Hmmm... yes. Yes indeed, it is." He snorted.
"Okay, this is what I have so far. This is heaven, you are God, I'm a hobbit- say, do we become hobbits when we die?"
"I'm not, as you call me, God. My name is Olorin. There was a time when you yourself called me Gandalf. You may call me that again, if you so desire. And to answer your question, I do not believe that you are dead."
"You mean to say... I didn't." She paused, remembering something from earlier. Something important. "Hey, how do you know my maiden name? And Percy's last name?"
"Just a feeling."
"Begging your pardon once more- but you can't just come up with two names like Gwendolyn Wenzel and Percy Kipling on a feeling. I don't care if you're God or Orion, Lord of the Onions! Things don't just happen that way."
"Well," He said, gently sweeping a leaf off of Wendy's shoulder, "begging your pardon, little miss, but if you had any more of a button's worth of knowledge as to why you're in this new and undiscovered land, you still wouldn't possess an inkling of the way in which things happen. Or why they happen, just as well. That is beyond both your reach and mine."
Wendy moved her mouth to speak, but no words could be found.
"I do," he continued, "know that if you're in search of a second chance, there is no better place to start than where your feet are planted now."
She leaned in, finding her words at last. But again, he interrupted her thought.
"But do be careful, little Wendy. For shadows can find their way over even the most pleasant dreams. Above this enchanted forest, a mighty storm of anger and lust covers up the light of day. We who dwell here are fighting every hour to win the light back. And now, I fear, you must join the fight."
"I'm sorry. But in order to fight for something, I must first know what it is I'm fighting for." Wendy demanded.
"You already know the answer. That ring around your finger. What happened before you were burdened with it- that was the light."
Gandalf hardly left Wendy to contemplate what was said. And for good reason, too. Upon acknowledgement of the ring, a fierce desire to look upon it filled her. "Is it", Wendy asked herself, "still aglow with that image of fire. Perhaps Gandalf can tell me why." Her eyes dropped, but the ring could not be found. For when her body had decreased in size, her loungewear hadn't shrunk an inch. So naturally, her hands were completely hidden within a mess of black fleece. In a brisk action, she tugged the sleeve back and once again, the amber glow upon the silver band filled her eyes.
"What is it doing?" She whispered. "And how- how did you know that it was there."
Again, a grin. She had yet to grow tired of his grins, for they provided her with a special comfort. He extended his hand and on his finger, Wendy saw a ring that was far more ornate than her own. A surprise. She believed that hers was just about as regal as the Crown Jewels.
"Meet Narya. You might say that it is a distant relative of your ring. Mine is the ring of fire. It is very powerful and has a mind of its own, so to speak. Yours, too is a marvelous possession. Though the reason for you being here is still unclear to me, it is the ring and its connection to mine that brought you here. Do not take your ownership of it lightly, no matter what you do."
"You must be mistaken. It's just a common ring. Percy found it for me in London. I still don't know why he gave it to me-" Whiplash. At last, it had figured itself out on its own within Wendy's mind.
Seeing her revelation, Gandalf's grin transitioned into a chuckle. "So that you might find him again." Yes, of course. So that she might find him again...
