2.8 The Abyss of WonderLand
Meanwhile, Timothy, apparently warmed up by his simple crawl, was doing the butterfly. I’d tried that once. Mouthfuls of water and almost sinking had given me the idea that such a feat was beyond me. I was a simplistic swimmer, a minnow, I think they called it when I was younger. I remembered how I’d longed to pass into the mermaid group but never achieved it. At least I hadn’t half drowned, which happened to one of the girls in my group. After her traumatic rescue by two of the lifeguards, she never came back. I couldn’t remember her name, but the panic on her face had made me a bit fearful for a while, but I’d kept coming back, hoping to get better. But the summer ended, and the next year, I had to start all over again. I think they called me a goldfish then, and the elite group were the dolphins. Fatigued, I stopped and sat down on the steps where I’d walked into the pool. I watched Timothy continue his swim for a bit, but his non-stop performance made me feel lazy and, well, like a minnow or a goldfish. I climbed up the stairs, picked up my towel, and sat down on the chair, continuing to watch the expert in the water. It was probably no more than fifteen minutes later when the Greek Adonis, I mean, Michaelangelo’s David exited. Oh, my, the man had a body that my friends would have called eye candy. When the water dribbled down his back, it made me want to lick it off. Actually, to lick him everywhere. Now why had I thought that? I sank down in my seat, glad he couldn’t read the thoughts flittering around my brain. They were hot and delicious. Timothy toweled himself a moment and then came to sit in a chair beside me. “Everything you see is yours, my darling.” I stood up, fastened my towel more tightly around my body, and took a step in the direction of retreat. “I have to go wash my hair,” I said. “Wait. How about we walk over to the waterfall as requested. Then perhaps, a lesson in some class, a ride on one of the club’s horses, or we could check out that cake decorating class?” I bit my lip, considering. “Yes, but I don’t know the first thing about riding. Only when . . . “I stopped. Was I supposed to discuss such things when we were outside, where someone might overhear us? “They have an old hobby horse that is gentle as a carousel steed, except she doesn’t bob up and down. Molly, I think her name is. The only negative is that after riding, they’ll make us change clothes. Some people don’t like the smell of horses.
2.7 The Abyss of WonderLand
I thought I’d be alone, but I wasn’t. Timothy was already engaged in his laps. He was good, too. He looked like he could swim races in freestyle. I watched him flip over when he reached the end of a lap. Smooth. I wasn’t in his league, but I did love to swim. I’d been given lessons at the public pool as a child. I could swim adequately, but not with any speed, not like Timothy, the showoff. (Although, I doubted one could consider a person an exhibitionist if they didn’t know they were being watched.) Timothy looked like he was in his own world, a swimming tiger, caged by the length of the pool, pacing via strokes and kicks. But watching him wasn’t getting my exercise in. I tossed my cover-up towel on a lounge chair and stepped into the pool. No diving into the deep end for me. I was turtle slow and cautious. Any signs of sharks, and I was out of there. (Just kidding.) I edged to the side and did a couple of stretches, practiced a float on the back, then a dog paddle, and shoved off. Swimming came back to me almost instantly. It felt wonderful. The water was the perfect temperature, not overly warm as it had been sometimes in the city pool, and the smell of chlorine didn’t assault my nose like it had in the public’s urine-heavy water. I made my way to the opposite side of the pool and found Timothy waiting for me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your concentration,” I said, wondering if I should get out and come back later. The water surged, and he was suddenly beside me, giving me a lightweight kiss. “You can join me anytime, my darling Penelope. In fact, I look forward to it. I am happy to see you enjoying the pool. Although I’d really like to take you in my arms and show you exactly how happy, I’d better just let you swim, right?” He sounded so plaintive, I almost wanted to disagree, but I said nothing and splashed off, swimming back to the shallows with my awkward and rather winded mode of free style. I’d been going to the gym, working mainly on the treadmill, but swimming was a whole different set of muscles. My arms were weak and my stomach muscles were already complaining by the end of my second lap. I dog paddled a lap, then turned on my back and did a back swim or whatever they called it. Then I rotated into swimming on my side. That seemed to work the best, no necessity of that difficult breathing process.
2.6 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy was sincere. Even I could read someone’s face enough to check for earnestness. “That is marvelous, actually, that it’s in your nature to do good. That’s not why you fastened on me, is it? Was I sending out alarms of unhappiness?” “Not at all. Your presence flooded my system with, first, the recognition that you were the one, then a tidal wave of commitment, followed by a need so great, so vast, I was almost speechless with the urge to sweep you into my arms and carry you back to my house. Of course, I knew not to do that. It would have destroyed all my chances for happiness, but the instinct was there, and also the fear that you might disappear, might choose someone else, or even worse perhaps, might reject me as Andrew’s wife did.” “I haven’t rejected you. I’m just unsure about things,” I said, feeling slightly nauseated from being unsettled and suspicious of pookas, Fairie, and the idea that real magic existed. “I know. I understand. As I’ve said before, I will be patient. But please don’t turn away from me or reject me for being what I have no control over. I would never discard you for being a brunette. (Your hair is lovely, by the way. Blondes are not to my personal taste.) I would not fling you away for being too young for me, or not being able to dance . . .” He added the last with a wry curl of the lip which told me he was kidding. But he was right. If he didn’t hold it against me that I was a mere human, should I cast him aside for being a pooka? “Yes, please don’t. I would be a pooka with a broken heart, not a pretty sight since I’d weep and wail for at least a century.” “Only a century?” I said, smiling back. Chapter Ten That night, I slept in the room I’d been given and no wild stallion or pooka entered my dreams. I think I was rather disappointed, but also, glad, if that makes any sense. I guess it was like my mind in general. Completely and totally mentally disarrayed. In the morning, when I woke up, I thought I’d grab a swim in the pool that Timothy had shown me. I slid into the most modest of all the bathing suits, a one piece that looked perfect for lap swimming. Bless Simone for not expecting me to wear a bikini to do serious swimming. I grabbed a towel, then ran downstairs without making any noise. I was tempted to pass through the kitchen and see if someone had made coffee, but it was better to get right with the exercise rather than sit down and luxuriate with a hot cup of the nectar of the gods.
2.5 The Abyss of WonderLand
“How did you know about Charles Montgomery? Did you research my background?” I demanded. Timothy fidgeted, look over at me, then away out to the grass. “Of course, Penelope. I have everyone I encounter investigated. You, especially, since I knew that we were going to become intimate.” “Intimate?” I gasped. “Close might be a better word to use with you, but I hope that one day you trust me enough to lower your shields so that we can become intimate in the other sense of the word.” “Fore,” yelled a golfer who’d strayed overly close to Timothy’s residence. “Back away,” Timothy yelled at the man, shooting up. “This is private property, and according to the Clubs’ rules, golfers must maintain their distance.” The golfer said nothing, but he picked up his ball and sped off. “Does that happen a lot? I mean, golfers invading your property with flying balls?” I asked curiously. “There is a net between the greens and my house. A ball could not get through, but golfers are still told that they must stay away from residences. I believe the rule is fifty feet. That man seemed closer than that. I imagine the camera will record his golf cart number and report back to the golf office. The penalties can be severe.” The golfer had seemed surprised at being called out. He’d turned and given Timothy the finger, but he had retreated. Timothy nodded as if following my thoughts. “Such gestures, as the one he just made, are also automatically reported. Silver Springs is big on cordiality. I imagine that this fellow will get docked a couple of thousand for his disregard of etiquette.” “Whoa. I guess, I better make sure my fingers don’t wiggle wrong. It’s not just my feet that are uncoordinated,” I said, laughing. Timothy turned to look at me. “You, my dear, are entirely safe. The club would never dare to challenge one of my guests.” “Because you’re a pooka?” I exclaimed, then immediately looked around to check that no one was close enough to have heard my outburst. Timothy chuckled. “No, Penelope. Because I donate money for their many causes. Intimidation is not an overly productive procedure. Benevolence and consideration go further, not that I practice such traits purely for the avenue of their success. I believe in kindness and what I call soul charity.” “Which means?” I asked, intrigued by the tidbit of new information he was releasing. He sighed. “I suppose the closest explanation would be the passion for feeling. When someone is hurting, it forms an imbalance, a red alarm for a pooka. It is in our nature to guide such inequities back into a more even distribution. Of course, I can’t solve the world’s problems, only those around me, but I assume that the ripple widens into something soothing for humanity in general. To think otherwise might throw me into internal chaos or despair.”
2.4 The Abyss of WonderLand
I put down my mug, and even though it had been years since I’d thought of Charles, I felt my eyes welling up. “No. Well, yes, I guess so. He wasn’t nice. I think looking back that he was abusive, but at the time, I hadn’t dated much, and I didn’t know the signs. I thought he was just trying to improve me, to fit me into his world.” “Pookas are not revengeful, but I could learn to be, if you’d like me to put him in his place.” “No. He went his way, and I stumbled off to the library. It was actually a good thing, although I didn’t know it at the time. The breakup made me buckle down and study with an intensity that shot up all my grades. I even earned a scholarship to law school, but even so, I couldn’t pay for it. My grandma’s cancer took most of our money. I barely made it through San Jose State without big debts.” “I wish I had known you then. I would have . . .” “No. I was proud of achieving it on my own,” I said, pondering the line that I always spouted when someone got overly possessive of my history. Or perhaps I should admit it was just their pity I shrugged off. I didn’t want to think back to those times. I missed the grandmother who’d been so full of love and life. I picked up my mug and took a sip. It had grown cold, or rather tepid. I wasn’t a fan. “Pour it out and get a fresh mug,” Timothy suggested. I looked around, but saw no place to toss it. Timothy stood, grabbed the mug from out of my hand, and tossed the contents over the balcony. I surged up and looked over the balcony’s railing. Underneath us was a patch of plants. I hoped the coffee wouldn’t stunt their growth. Timothy trudged over to the pot and poured a fresh mug. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s nice to have someone at my beck and call to empty my cold coffee and bring me fresh.” Of course, I was joking, but his eyes grew serious. “I would do more than that for you.” Like make sure that Charles Piermont Montgomery III ran into a streak of bad luck? What would that mean, exactly? How would he do it? What kind of powers did a pooka actually possess? But then it hit me, he’d known Charles’s name.
2.4 The Abyss of WonderLand
I put down my mug, and even though it had been years since I’d thought of Charles, I felt my eyes welling up. “No. Well, yes, I guess so. He wasn’t nice. I think looking back that he was abusive, but at the time, I hadn’t dated much, and I didn’t know the signs. I thought he was just trying to improve me, to fit me into his world.” “Pookas are not revengeful, but I could learn to be, if you’d like me to put him in his place.” “No. He went his way, and I stumbled off to the library. It was actually a good thing, although I didn’t know it at the time. The breakup made me buckle down and study with an intensity that shot up all my grades. I even earned a scholarship to law school, but even so, I couldn’t pay for it. My grandma’s cancer took most of our money. I barely made it through San Jose State without big debts.” “I wish I had known you then. I would have . . .” “No. I was proud of achieving it on my own,” I said, pondering the line that I always spouted when someone got overly possessive of my history. Or perhaps I should admit it was just their pity I shrugged off. I didn’t want to think back to those times. I missed the grandmother who’d been so full of love and life. I picked up my mug and took a sip. It had grown cold, or rather tepid. I wasn’t a fan. “Pour it out and get a fresh mug,” Timothy suggested. I looked around, but saw no place to toss it. Timothy stood, grabbed the mug from out of my hand, and tossed the contents over the balcony. I surged up and looked over the balcony’s railing. Underneath us was a patch of plants. I hoped the coffee wouldn’t stunt their growth. Timothy trudged over to the pot and poured a fresh mug. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s nice to have someone at my beck and call to empty my cold coffee and bring me fresh.” Of course, I was joking, but his eyes grew serious. “I would do more than that for you.” Like make sure that Charles Piermont Montgomery III ran into a streak of bad luck? What would that mean, exactly? How would he do it? What kind of powers did a pooka actually possess? But then it hit me, he’d known Charles’s name.
2.3 The Abyss of WonderLand
He said nothing about my shudder or the fact that I’d moved away from his touch. As if that hadn’t occurred, he merely poured another cup of coffee, handed me my mug, then poured himself another round. Ignoring the fact that I’d started trembling again and was standing at a distance, he casually sat down in his chair and stared out in the distance, as if the golf course greens were absorbing all his attention. “You have nothing to fear from me, Penelope. I won’t suddenly change into an ogre and eat you up.” “But you could, right? I mean, probably not to eat me up, at least I hope not . . .” “No, pookas have no interest in eating beautiful women. And yes, I might be able to change into an ogre, if I had a clear concept of what one looked like.” “Or a unicorn?” “You want me to transform into a unicorn? Right here?” “No, but could you? Could you become something magical like that, something mythical but not real?” “It has been a long time since I went to Fairie, but the last time I looked, unicorns were rather sparse. They, like pookas don’t breed abundantly, even in Fairie.” “Tell me about Fairie. Are there castles of spun sugar or forests that reach out and entrap people? Do some of the people have wings? Are they pink or glittery green?” “You are not yet tied to a pooka. It would be better not to discuss Fairie with you. Discussing it always draws attention. That you do not want. If the queen saw you, she would surely want to add you to her court because she collects the most beautiful, even those from this plane.” “Don’t be silly. She would never want me, then.” We’d been sitting. Yes, I’d collapsed back in the chair and was greedily sipping the most delicious brew in the world. I felt it before I saw it. Timothy had suddenly grown silent and had turned morose. He was usually so positive. What had I done or said to change the core of his personality? “Was it that Charles Montgomery fellow who knocked all the confidence out of you?”
2.2 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Wait a minute. You said that was you. You were in my dream. How was that possible? Did you creep into my bedroom?” “I’m a pooka. Remember? Magic. But no, I didn’t do any sneaking into your room in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t do that. Not physically. But the dreamscape is a realm of magic. I can enter it freely.” “So, did I ride you or not? I mean when you were a horse.” “Yes, you did. Quite well, actually, for a first time rider. You’ll get better with practice.” “Okay, next subject. When can I go home? When will it be safe?” He curled up his legs, and I saw that the tension had returned to his face. His brow shifted higher, his eyes darkened, and a small tic near his cheekbone writhed once. “I have someone watching your building. They will let us know when it’s safe. But let’s count on a week here. Would they be too much to ask? We can have fun doing things together.” Apparently, I reacted to his sentence, and he quickly added, “I mean things like ping pong and badminton. Maybe cake decorating, but definitely not dancing lessons.” He made me smile, which was his intension. I finished my coffee and set the mug down on the table. “Well, if I were going to be here a long time, I guess dance lessons might be a good idea. But I don’t want to embarrass myself. I’ve got two left feet . . . or two right feet. See, my feet don’t know which ones they are, which is why they get all confused.” That made Timothy smile. “Who would even notice? “ he said. “Maybe we could do dance lessons here at the house, and then you wouldn’t be worried about anyone observing your two feet of the same directional position.” I was pouring a second cup of coffee. His same directional position me want to laugh so hard I had to put the coffee pot down and force myself back into seriousness. “I like it when you laugh.” “What? How did you . . .oh, I looked like I was getting goofy, right?” “And something separated you from that coffee you love so much.” He rose up and came towards me, then placed a hand on my back. “Need some support? Or would you prefer that I pour your coffee?” I whirled away, not feeling like I wanted him to touch me, yet, the absence of his hand on my back felt cold. I wanted it back. I wanted the other Timothy back — the way he’d been before the great reveal.
2.1 The Abyss of WonderLand
Carlos left us to sip our coffee. I relaxed into the pleasant surroundings, the horizon of green, the waterfall off in the distance. “I’d like to go see the waterfall,” I said. Timothy smiled, took a drink from his mug, and said, “It would be a delight to take you there.” We sipped for several minutes in silence. A bird was singing in a nearby tree. I liked the sound of birdsong. I found it relaxing. “There’s a tennis court nearby. Do you play tennis?” Timothy asked. I shook my head. “In college when they made us take PE classes, I chose badminton and ping pong. Very useful,” I laughed, hiding embarrassment, because I knew that those two sports weren’t things adults in Timothy’s social position played. “Ah,” Timothy said. “I have played both games. There are ping pong tables in the rec room. I challenge you to a game.” “I haven’t played for a couple of years,” I warned. “I haven’t played for longer than that. Likewise, badminton. It will be fun to face up to you for a match in badminton, if we can find a place that is set up for it.” “What else do they do here. I mean, besides golf.” Timothy stretched out his long legs. I wondered if that was a sign he was relaxed. Were his fears over? Was he sure about me now? I wasn’t positive I was over my shock and fear, but for the moment, it was nice to just sit outside and watch the golfers. “Horseback riding, yoga, bingo, card games, water aerobics, a whole list. Are you interested? They have parties and dances, too. I think there’s a square dance or maybe it’s a line dance coming up.” “Pass. My dancing is at point zero.” “There are lots of lessons offered: knitting, crochet, painting with oils . . . dancing.” “How about golf? Can anyone play?” “Have you ever tried it?” Timothy asked, raising his eyebrows. I shook my head. “I’ve never done anything, well, except take care of my grandmother when she got sick. I learned how to. . . Never mind, let’s not get into that. It’s sad stuff. I want to talk about happy.” “Ah, I forgot one. Cake decorating. I saw that advertised in a flyer they put in my mailbox. As to golfing, they have a whole squad of instructors for that. They seem to specialize in golf and tennis lessons.” “I don’t get it. You take the stick and hit the ball. What’s so hard about that?” Timothy started laughing. “They’d kick you out if they heard you say that. Did you ever bowl?” I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. “Okay, not a good illustration. How about this. Riding a horse just means you sit down and hold on.” Timothy probably remembered how scared I’d been in my dream . . .