It's impossible to feel alone with a book in hand. Unless, of course, it happens to be closed. Maybe you've finished it and feel as though a friend has moved away. Maybe you're hesitant because you've had some sort of presentiment about the turn of events ready to unfold before your eyes.
Just like life, it's not always what we ask for. Also like life, it might herald a surprise both welcome and enlightening. The kind of change we were waiting for, but didn't know it.
Because if there's one thing we learn over time, it's that people, like books, can surprise us.
Shortly after the arrest of Doctor Dillamond an enchantment fell over Shiz University. Not specifically of magical origin, this enchantment abided only in the minds of the students who felt disillusioned by the onslaught of reality and how far removed the school had seemed from the trials of the rest of Oz. The classrooms were frostier than they had been in winter when the furnace broke down.
Among those most deeply affected was one Elphaba Thropp, who felt bombarded by the relentless changing fate seemed to inflict on her. The first had been the sudden befriending of the mad hatteress, Galinda Upland. The second had been the disconcerting departure of her Goat mentor, Doctor Dillamond. And the third had been a most peculiar incident involving a lion cub, an uncertain prince and an almost-kiss.
One gain, one loss and one conflicting gaining loss.
Elphaba had never had parents to guide her, capable teachers to teach her or friends to laugh with her, so she always resorted back to those which were the pinnacle of her existence. Books.
With a book in her lap Elphaba was more than just Elphaba. She wasn't even a someone. She was endless; infinite. For once she could be the bystander of someone else's life. She could observe their dreams and their mistakes rather than her own and then use it to hone her personal sense of wisdom.
Reading was intrinsic in Elphaba as shine was in stars or fashion in Galinda. But it wasn't that simple. Not when, left and right, people used it as a way of isolating her further. To those that did not understand the sanctuary of the literary world, it seemed alien; a waste of time. They failed to understand that value was a trait determined by the doer. To Elphaba, shopping was a poor usage of time. The difference was that she only voiced this opinion when she was out of ammunition and then severely regretted it afterwards.
So Elphaba took her internal love affair to a spot no one dared disturb her in. Even the most ruthless of enemies had their limits and resolved that provoking her when she was alone was futile.
With a name as unpleasant as the Suicide Canal, one would never guess the magic Elphaba experienced there. Christened Elphaba's Spot, the patch of dirt between two uprooted roots of a Vinkun cherry blossom was a cozy alcove that became a throne of sorts. The overhang of the tree kept the spot comfortably cool and gave off colours so beautiful a painter would weep at the sight. The grey water slapped against the grassy banks of the canal and carried all sorts of wildlife with it. Majestic water fowl glided across the stream while the amphibians croaked their hellos. It was a landscape so alive that it was frozen; each intricate chain biding its time. It was her taste of the great wide somewhere.
No one cared to watch the green girl when she scuttled down to her spot except for the increasingly interested Prince of the Vinkus. Watching Elphaba had become as important a part in his routine as reading was in hers. He delighted in the look that crossed her face when she read. He didn't know someone could look so lost and so found in the same instant.
Since the lion cub, something had changed inside of him and now he was left to map oblivion all on his own. The reflection in the mirror still dictated the same placid blue eyes, but they were different. They had learnt to look. They had seen that Elphaba was as human as anyone else. The crease that formed between her brows when Nessa demanded the life out of her. The way she twirled her hair around her fingers when she was concentrating. The downward twitch of her lips when people laughed at her.
But she placed that hat on her head and trudged onto the dancefloor. She always did.
And he had noticed little tidbits about everyone else. Galinda wasn't quite as pretty as she made herself out to be. And the only thing separating Pfannee, Milla and Shenshen from a flock of sheep was a healthy coat of wool.
It made Fiyero doubt himself. He didn't know who he was and he didn't know if he liked it. The only time he felt right was when Elphaba positioned him on the scaffold underneath her x-ray eyes. He felt exposed, but it was a good feeling. She saw something in him that no one else saw. And the more confident he grew the more he felt comfortable saying the same for himself about her. Elphaba was more than one colour. She was millions.
One day after history class Elphaba skirted around Galinda's posse and headed down the corridor towards the Suicide Canal. Fiyero followed at a distance.
Suddenly she stopped and leapt towards the circular window just high enough for her to see out of. She obviously had not been prepared for the influx of disappointment presented by the streaks of angry lightning and the melody of torrential downpour.
An audible sigh escaped her lips and Fiyero wanted to reach out and comfort her; stroke her heart until it was better. He watched as she tugged on the strap of her bookbag and turned the opposite direction onto the lonely pathway to the dormitories. Fiyero silently reprimanded his feet for following her before consulting him.
He waited outside of the room and listened to the rustling as she settled herself. If he was going to go through with this it would have to be timed perfectly. While she was comfortable, but before the haphazard delirium of the daydreaming state.
The caressing slide of paper. Now or never.
"Um...Elphaba..." The words were out of his mouth before he knocked. And then he remembered to do so.
Through the ajar hang of the door, Elphaba peered at Fiyero with slight amusement. "Can I help you with something?" She predicted the answer to have to do with either mathematics or picking an appropriate tie to match Galinda's eyes.
"No...uh...yes." Fiyero rubbed the back of his neck and cast his eyes ceiling-ward. "Maybe you can help me get a coherent sentence out of my mouth," he muttered.
"I'm no miracleworker."
Having to talk to her with the barrier of the door between them was bothering Fiyero. He wanted to be closer. He wanted to feel the pulse of energy around her. "Can I come in?"
Elphaba looked down at her book, the longing for her spot at the canal apparent in her eyes. But she drew a breath and closed it, using a leaflet of paper as a bookmark.
"No!" Fiyero exclaimed, a little more forceful than he meant to. "Don't close the book. I just- I wanted to say that I've been watching you read-"
"-and you're here to tell me it isn't healthy-"
"-and I think it's amazing."
The initial reaction was shock. Elphaba's mouth hung open in surprise. And then she forced her chin back into position and laughed. She didn't want to believe him, but she did.
"I was wondering if maybe...I could sit with you." Fiyero stumbled forward and knocked over a pile of books. He had been in Galinda and Elphaba's dorm every day since his arrival at Shiz and had never knocked that pile over. Picking up one of the trampled victims, Fiyero tried to cover for himself. "This one looks interesting. I've never seen it before."
"Fiyero, that's our history textbook."
Fiyero turned the cover over in his hands. "So it is."
A throaty chuckle emanated from Elphaba and she slid over until her back was pressed against the wall. "Sit down before you hurt yourself."
"Gladly." He wandered over to the spot she had indicated, taking in his surroundings. The little trinkets on Elphaba's shelf, the pen and pad of paper kept on the little table next to her bed, the frilly quilts messily strewn across Galinda's bed, the monstrous wall of shoes. It certainly felt homier than his own dorm.
And there she was beside him. Cornered. Her legs tucked under her skirt and her hands wringing each other in front of her chest. Fiyero leant back against the headboard of the bed, giving Elphaba a rather nice side profile to occupy her eyes.
But he didn't want to stare at the opposite wall. He wanted to look at her. So he turned his head and watched her. Her head was bent downwards as she fingered a loose string on one of the sheets, her hair falling across her face and shielding her from his gaze. And then he didn't just want to look. He wanted to hear. He wanted her to fill the bottomless appetite of his senses.
"Why do you like reading so much, Elphaba?" he asked quietly.
"The literary world is the one place where we can all be different while being the same."
Fiyero manoeuvred the words in his head, imagining what they meant; feeding it with his own assumptions. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
Elphaba bit her lip. "Well...it's like...it's like breathing. Your mind takes in these words and turns out ideas. But no person does it in exactly the same volume or pace."
There was a moment of silence. It was heavy and soft at the same time.
"People can tell you how to dress and how to speak, but they can't tell you how to read," she continued silently. "And these books, they're the noblest form of life. People judge them, but they never judge back." Her voice was tiny; a phantom of what it usually was.
Steadying himself with his hands at his sides, Fiyero crossed his legs and relaxed in the shadow of her words. "You know, I think I understand what you're getting at."
"Really?"
Fiyero recognized it immediately. The drive in her eyes fueled only by hidden hopes and glow in the dark dreams. He wanted to know what that was like. Reaching for the book she had abandoned upon his entry, he pressed it into her hands. "Read to me, Elphaba. Show me."
"You have to imagine you're there," Elphaba advised, tracing the title of the book with motherly care. "Close your eyes."
Squeezing his eyes shut, Fiyero smiled. "It must be nightime."
Elphaba started to open the book and then paused under the pressure of diffidence. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this."
"Scared?" Fiyero opened one eye and was greeted with an irritated glare. Another comment like that and he was sure he'd be getting brained by one of those beloved books. "Come on, Thropp. Everyone has a story. This is only the beginning of ours."
Waiting until Fiyero's eyes were closed and the strain gone from them, Elphaba carefully returned to her page and began illustrating the story for him; painting pictures with her words. Fiyero listened, but didn't hear. Rather than paying attention to the plot and the setting, he focused in on what mattered most. Her passion, her tone of voice, her contagious adoration. He could tell which characters she liked and disliked. He could tell that she felt she was there in the fantasy world with them. And he could tell that ideas were blossoming in her head, having been exposed to sunlight.
Then she stopped.
Fiyero opened his eyes and Elphaba was looking down again, her cheeks flushed.
"I think you should go," she mumbled, clutching the book close to her chest.
All he could do was blink. He couldn't process anything. There were so many invisible things that caused controversy in the world- religion, politics, personal opinions. And so many things that were just so real. Pain, war, hunger. But he had just been caught between them in a place that seemed much more inviting. What's more, he had been caught in it with Elphaba.
The pleasure he took from that thought was almost alarming. "You feel it, don't you? Like you're one of the characters?" he asked.
She wouldn't look up. "It's not a strict constant, but it's almost like...like you have someone relying on you to see them safely to the end. And you get them there every time."
Fiyero looked down, training his eyes where hers were. No matter how hard he tried he would never be able to see what she saw. Not in himself, nor in any other person. Tentatively sliding his hand across the blanket, he curled his fingers around her fidgety hand, holding it still. His thumb faltered over her wrist and he could make out her pulse.
"Read to me, Fiyero." Elphaba tilted her chin upward, her eyes blazing with the force he adored so much.
Settling the book in his lap, Fiyero began. He wasn't nearly as articulate or fervent as Elphaba, but his attempt meant more to her than anything else. She pressed his hand and traced the lines across his palm.
Tomorrow Elphaba would go down to the Suicide Canal and read by herself. That's how things had placed themselves here at Shiz. Every day just like the one before.
There would always be the inevitable antagonists and the possibility of dreary settings, the pushy editors and greedy publishers. But even if their plots didn't play out the way they wanted or expected them to, Fiyero and Elphaba would always have this moment to treasure.
After all, the ending is the least important part of the story.
A/N: Now, my philosophy buffs, I have a question for you. Who is the Beauty and who is the Beast?