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Princess of the Labyrinth

By

Jaffee Leeds

Mom always hated it when it rained. Not only rain, but thunder and lighting, especially in the summer. Heat lighting without rain scared her the most and I never knew what to do with her when she ran around the house closing and locking windows. It was as if the rain brought some fearful ghost with it that filled her with terror. She would pull me close and tell me not to be afraid, but she was really telling herself. I was never afraid of storms.

For all this my mother is a strong woman, independent and bold. I have seen her stand up to the meanest, nastiest people, men and women and come out of it the winner. She told me that she had learned a hard lesson that made her strong, something she would never forget. Although she never said exactly what this lesson was I could see that it reached deep into her core and her eyes flashed when she spoke of it. She is beautiful in those moments, her gaze seeing things beyond me.

I inherited this strength from her, but by some perverse way of rebellious youth I found myself fighting against the things my mother feared and loved. I reveled in the storms and during our greatest arguments I would stand in the yard, the wind whipping my hair and the rain drenching my clothes. I laughed and danced like a mad thing just to show her that while she was strong in her way, I was equally strong in mine. I have always felt strong. And as the years went by my mad dancing and love of rain diminished and I grew up.

When I was nineteen I went away to California Tech for an engineering degree. Architecture and the construction of buildings, hospitals and schools fascinated me. I roomed alone off campus and went to and fro everyday with my books. I had friends, quite a few in fact, I seemed to gather them around me like followers, but every few close companions. I attracted my share of nice boys, but again no one that seemed –right- somehow. Still, college was my life and I reveled in it as I had once reveled in storms. I was lonely sometimes when I was studying, but I always worked well alone. This was another trait that my mom said I got from her.

But one night I learned that all the times I had felt alone, I was really not alone at all.

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It was June 30th, I remembered because it was exactly one week from my twenty first birthday; when I sat down with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food and a book about Winston Churchill. Although I was fond of movies I refused categorically to have a television set because I never studied or read if there was one nearby. I am a girl who knows her weaknesses.

However, I had just sat down and was getting to the point where Winston nicknamed his wife, "Kat" for the first time, when I heard a strange series of noises coming from the kitchenette. I lowered my spoon and listened hard, because there was something very strange about the sounds. They sounded like the creak and squeak of mice, but just under it there were…voices.

"It was my idea. I should be the one to talk to her first." The first discernable voice said.

There came a few snickers and a gurgle.

"But I was the one who found the place." A second argued.

More snickers—more gurgles.

"But I'm better looking than both of you so I should go." A third enjoined.

Someone hit the third speaker and I could hear them squabbling around the linoleum.

As they continued arguing I discarded my ice cream and armed myself with the thick biography as I knelt on the couch. I couldn't have told you what I thought was in the kitchenette, but I was pretty sure that I wouldn't want to face it—them— unarmed. I had just edged my way off the couch and took up a position beside the doorway when a rolling ball of fur and metal clanged into the living room.

Instead of attacking me—I screamed anyway— they rolled to the far end of the room and began knocking things over in their efforts to subdue each other.

"I'll show you who the pretty one is! Pretty dozy face with buck teeth!" a sort of rat shrieked out.

"Here now! Get off my tail! I didn't do nuffing!" his scaly victim (a snake I think) yelled shrilly, "Nuffing but tell the truth! Ow!"

The rat and snake were pulled apart by what appeared to be a little man with an oversized head. A filthy cap was clapped on his head and he wore breeches, a vest and a gray shirt that looked as if it had once been white. His large blue eyes blinked rapidly as the snake spat and hissed at the rat who swiped at his enemy with a tiny needle-sharp sword.

"Ouch! Hoggle, make him stop! He nearly cut off my tail!" the snake squeaked.

"Both of you stop it before we wake up the –Oh." His eyes fell on me and the snake sank its fangs into the rat's foot who howled in rage and pain.

The little man, Hoggle, gave them each a rough shake that set the armor on the rat clinking against itself. I stood there, my book in hand, watching them with horror and fascination. They were like something out of a movie or a fairytale. They were like—

"Goblins," I stammered.

"Eh? What?" Hoggle looked up sharply. The struggling rat and snake stopped and stared at me, their mouths falling open in shock and surprise. I almost laughed to see them both hanging limp with amazement from the little man's hands.

"What did you say?" the one called Hoggle asked.

Suddenly afraid I swallowed and raised my book a few inches, "Goblins—you're all like goblins."

Then to my amazement and consternation they all dropped to the floor and Hoggle whipped his cap off his greasy hair as they all bowed. Hoggle lifted his blue eyes to my face and said, "We have found you at last—Princess of the Labyrinth."