I bumped into the old woman exiting the boat that I was supposed to board.
“Pardon me,” I quickly said. I then held my hand out to help her get off the boat. I suspected that she was a Forma since I saw her eight legs quickly turn to two.
“Thank you dear,” her voice trembled as she used her wiry soft hands to grab hold of the one I extended to her and followed her husband to the cab he had prepared for her. Then I grabbed the gondoliers hand as he helped me into the boat and placed my basket on the floor. He was Normal. At least now I didn’t have to worry about a set of legs taking my coins from me.
I put my basket down on the floor and set out a blanket as well. It was clearly indicated that I should sit on the benches but that makes it harder to look up. I grabbed a scone from my bag and began to munch on it as I stared at the floral arrangement above me.
As I travelled down the River of Tears, I watched the sprites above me plumping the young rosebuds and preparing them for bloom while some of the other sprites were searching for any imperfections in the beauty of the blossomed flowers.
The gondolier pushed me down the river occasionally giving me glances. This was most probably because I was laying on the floor of a romantic boat trip by myself. But I did not mind. He just did not understand the beauty in being completely and entirely alone. And neither did he understand the blessing of being able to watch flowers bloom or see the stars wink in the sky. But I felt as if he knew of some beauties. I could tell by a sparkle in his eye that he had a family that he loved very much. In fact, I could almost guarantee that he got this job for them. I also understood the difficulties of becoming a gondolier because it takes practice and skill to pass the test to become one. As my mind wandered into the world of gondoliers, I closed my eyes and breathed in the beauty of the curtain of flowers that shielded me.
Then I heard a rustling above me and the frantic yelps of sprites dodging whatever thing was disturbing their immaculate gardens. I quickly snapped my eyes open so as to see the cause of the commotion but found nothing. Then, my head flipped to face the right side of the boat so I could see my watch and check the time. But next to my hand was a puddle of blonde hair. And the last time I checked, I was not blonde. The clump of hair stirred causing a couple of curls to come out of place. The curls started to swivel and move closer to me until I saw the ball flip to its other side and reveal a full, smiling, normal face.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” I replied, “That was very rude, you know.” The sprites clearly did not appreciate him ruining their buds especially when they were so close to blooming.
“Sorry, what was?” he inquired. I forgot. I may have hoped, but I should never have forgotten.
“Never mind,” I decided, “Would you like a scone? I have plenty left from this morning.”
“Oh,” he stared at me blankly, “I guess I will…”
“What?” I asked as I sat up to grab a scone from my bag.
“I find you very strange, that’s all,” he said, “I usually get asked questions when this happens. I’ve never seen anyone react the way you did and offer me a scone.”
“And do you find that a good thing, or a bad thing?” I asked with a tinge of anger. He should have no right to judge me.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he sat up and accepted the scone I offered him. In all honesty, I hate people. Whenever I talk to people, I feel uncomfortable and want to request that they go away. And I always end up doing exactly that. However, this stranger was also awfully strange no matter what he had to say about me. I could almost guarantee that no one should eat a scone the way he did. Despite my interest to get to know him better, I felt like I was not staying true to myself and my usual decisions if I let him stay with me. So, as usual, I did what I always do.
“Please leave.”
He stared at me and found my statement to be rather abrupt considering he had a mouthful of scone between his teeth. Then I stood up from the floor, sat down on one of the benches near the gondolier, and watched the dryad nymphs transform into a flourishing apple tree. And, in the most annoying way possible, the blonde man sat down next to me and tried to identify what I was looking at.
“You like apples?” he asked.
“No,” I said. I loved apples. Then he started to laugh, “Excuse me?” I demanded heatedly.
“It’s really nothing,” he laughed, “I just find you very entertaining,” he continued laughing. I did not enjoy being laughed at.
“Why don’t you go entertain yourself down there,” I pointed towards the bottom of the River of Tears, “and never come up?” He bent over the side of the boat as if he were thoroughly considering it. Now that he was, I didn’t want him to leave. No one has taken this much interest in me for a while. So, I quickly started talking again to grab his attention, “I’m sorry,” I was not sorry, not in the least bit, “that was insensitive. We should start over. What the hell are you doing in my boat?”
“Finally,” he breathed out in relief, “I was beginning to think you were crazy! No one has gone that long without asking.” I rolled my eyes. This one was clearly an attention seeker, “I need help,” he said. Clearly, I thought. But despite that, I nodded my head and urged him to continue, “I have a friend,” wow really? “and he disappeared,” intriguing, “would you be willing to help me find him? His name is Austin Payne.”
And he thought I was the strange one. But then again, I am strange. As I looked at the nymphs and sprites and the silent gondolier, I knew that my world was different than the blonde mans and different from the unsuspecting husband of the old woman. I also had a feeling that he might have done his research on me and I could not let that get in my way. So, I reluctantly said, “Fine."
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