"Over there?"
"No, wait up, darling. Don't trip over the sidewalk."
Too late. The little blonde girl running far ahead had turned too sharply in her haste, catching herself against the jarred concrete of the sidewalk and making a tumble. As quickly as she fell, though, the angelic tot pulled herself back up. She was past the age of little tantrums now, thankfully for her parents, and she was too excited to have a little fall hinder her in the quest. She skittered down the walk, careful not to step onto any cracks or stumble over another slab of walkway.
The tree-lined street was just like any other, but it was all alien to the girl…walnut trees, oak trees, their red and orange-leaved branches extending over the walkway. Trimmed grass lined the street, well-groomed lawns were the staple in this quiet Connecticut neighborhood. Common, too, were the aged Victorian homes, the little four-bedroom home that held the ideal nuclear family. Chimneys. Parked cars of all colors and models. Perhaps there were blooms by the door, and mail stuffed in the boxes at the front of the drive, a little greeting entity that welcomed father or mother when either pulled into the garage. A normal neighborhood. A nice neighborhood.
All this simplicity was lost on the cherubic girl running far ahead of her father. Hair tucked into two plaits – a few strands too wayward to obey, as usual – she did not heed the rules of the neighborhood traffic. The dutiful father caught up to the girl and scooped her in his arms.
"Down, Daddy."
"Slow down, precious. We've lost your mother already."
"Where's it at?"
"Don't you want to see where-"
"No."
She squirmed, and reluctantly the statuesque figure set her back down on the ground. He tugged at the sleeves of his red work shirt self-consciously, smoothed out the rumples her dress. She was blithe as she skipped, the perfect vision of heaven in the eyes of the older man, long blonde hair streaked with silver and dressed in a summery pink dress. Tiny sandals, with straps she closed herself that morning. To any passersby, they were an ordinary duo, a very attractive father walking his preschool-aged daughter to the park the season melded into another.
"Daddy, the leaves! The trees! They're like the fireys."
"Yes," the father chuckled. "But the rocks and trees don't talk around here."
An old man pushing a rickety lawn mower smiled to hear the wondrous imagination the little girl had as they passed by, just as his own daughters had had in their youths, and his grandchildren had now. His was the second-to-last house at the end of the lane, a brownstone structure with ancient shingles. The father stopped at his mailbox.
"Do you know of the shortest shortcut to get to the local park?" He inquired.
"The shortest shortcut," the old man ruminated. "Go through my backyard."
"Why, we don't mean to trample over your petunias," the father said with a small laugh. Turning – frustrated – the little girl grabbed the end of her daddy's work shirt and gave it a tug.
"Will there be goblins?"
"No goblins. They don't live around here."
"I am a goblin," the old man smiled.
She pouted. "You are not a goblin! Goblins are far uglier, and squat, too." She gave a little authoritative spin, her fist resting on her hip.
The old man agilely spun his mower around the mailbox, a routine he perfected in his weeks of mowing the lawn. "Well I am very much mistaken then. Yeah, the park is just in my backyard."
"Thank you, sir."
The old man chuckled and swerved his mower down the driveway, leaving behind a little trail of clippings. He could hear the child as she and the tall man disappeared behind the house.
"Will there be fairies?"
"Not a one. There are no goblins, fairies, foxes, junk ladies, smelly swamps or talking hands for miles around here. Now try to find Mommy and she can show you where it is."
"How boring," the daughter complained. "There's Mommy!"
Across the field, a chocolate-haired woman emerged from the thicket of trees, a picnic basket in one hand and a book in the other. She turned her head and caught her little girl's gaze, then trotted up to catch the party just as raindrops began to appear on the macadam, a flowing red dress behind her.
"Sorry I'm late, you have no idea how this neighborhood has changed! My high school is non-existent!" She led the way down the path, rounding a hill and kicking up stones as they went. Past a park bench and children playing under pavilion, and past two lovers strolling hand-in-hand in the opposite direction. And the three – two calm, attractive adults and the child – stopped at the center of the park.
"Is Toby meeting us?" He asked.
"A little later," the woman replied. "He's so excited to meet you, Annie!"
She wasn't listening, however, as to whether he uncle would attend their little picnic or not. Instead, her eyes were transfixed on a wooden bridge held stiffly above the creek, where the path met the stream.
"It's here, isn't it?"
"Yes, darling, I met your mother here. She spent many hours in this same spot, practicing her monologues and wearing those costumes in the trunk." He shared a look with his wife, and their eyes sparkled, clearly sharing a secret privy only to them, a far-off memory that must have brought such joy and nostalgia to both. A recollection of beginnings. The memory of an adventure. The seed of a passion, the vows of a marriage.
By now, reader, you should know that this queer family could only be that of the Royal Family: the Goblin King himself and his bride, as well as the latest addition, the heiress. It was to be a traditional sojourn, an educational trip for all children both now and later. The trip was sacred to the couple, who had regarded the spot since their union as the spot. To anyone but them, it was a nook of the park, an idyllic bend, a quiet landscape in the equally quiet neighborhood. It was a path, a bridge, an expanse of green lawn dotted with trees. Few owls swept over the lawn, although the occasional pedestrian and pooch milled by, taking little notice. No fairies, no goblins, no fireys, no talking hands. Nothing from the Underground. Just contentment.
Under an immense willow tree just a few yards away from the spot, the three settled and smoothed out a blanket. Sarah began to read from the book, curling under a bough and breathing in the scents of the Aboveground:
Give me the child. Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have
"…fought my way to the Castle Beyond the Goblin City." Anneliese recited.
"For my will is as strong as yours," Jareth echoed.
"And my kingdom as great," Sarah replied.
And just gathered near that historic spot, the three visitors listened to the sounds of the cicadas as the raindrops started to fall.
Author's Note: There is no treasure for the writer than an honest and sincere response to his or her work. That being said, a penny for your thoughts? ) To be honest, I'm more of an angst person, but my muse had me by the arm and wouldn't let go. Anyway, this fic was written quickly and between homework assignments. My apologies for disorganized writing, I'm trying my best. Thanks for reading. Tea and Cakes.