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The Art of Happily Ever After

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Once upon a time, a group of knights received a distress call. “It’s another princess in trouble,” the leader of the knights said. “Who wants to deal with this one?”

“I helped with the last one,” Sir Cadmium said. “The one who turned herself into a goldfish somehow. It took me forever to find the right fish in that fountain. It had fourteen basins, and every single one was filled with goldfish. I had to hold them up one at a time for the prince to kiss, and it made him really grumpy.”

“I helped with the princess stuck in a tree. Why on earth she wished for wings, I don’t know,” Sir Ultramarine said. “The wings were all tangled in the branches and they didn’t want me to snap a single twig of the tree because it was some rare ancient important tree. I was there for twenty hours, and she complained every minute.”

“Don’t look at me,” Sir Ochre said. “I just got back from rescuing those twin princesses last week. The ones lost in the cave looking for some sort of fairyland ball, you remember? They didn’t want to be rescued, not matter what their parents said. They kept ordering me to leave, and the king would order me right back in. In the end, they gave up, but by then my feet hurt from running back and forth and fetching them things so they wouldn’t starve to death out of stubbornness. I still have blisters on my blisters.”

The leader looked around the circle. “Sir Umber is still tracking down the princess who ran away with the unicorns, and Sir Viridian is rescuing the princess who wished to be a mermaid. That leaves you, Sir Sap.”

“Why do I have to be Sir Sap. Can’t I be Sir Thalo or Sir Payne?”

The leader shrugged. “It’s the King who knights us. He picks the names.”

“Fine.”

“You’ll take the assignment? Great. Here’s the folder.”

Sir Sap jumped out of his seat. “That’s not what I meant. I helped the princess who got turned into a baby and crawled into a cupboard and fell asleep and no one could find her and…”

It was too late. Everyone had already left. Sir Sap sighed and picked up the folder. As always, the king had written the details in an awful scrawl that was nearly impossible to read. The hand painted map was lovely, but impractical. Sir Sap sighed. Was it too late to go back to dental school?

Hours later, he was following the map, hoping to rescue a princess who was maybe stuck in a well or writing a will. It was a little confusing. The woods he was passing through were dark and scary, and there wasn’t really much of a path.

But, Sir Sap was a brave knight who wasn’t scared of the dark at all. And if he was, he wouldn’t tell anyone. He pulled out his lunch and decided to eat while he walked. He always felt braver when he was eating. It was a good thing being a knight had so many opportunities for exercise, or he’d probably weigh a thousand pounds.

Just then, he heard growling off to his left. He looked down. Perhaps eating a roast beef sandwich in a forest filled with who-knows-what was a bad idea. Something started crashing though the bushes, and it sounded like it was getting closer.

A bear crashed onto the path. Sir Sap threw his sandwich as hard as he could to the right. After the bear ran past, chasing the sandwich, Sir Sap ran to the left. He stopped to catch his breath under a tree. “Is the bear gone?” a voice asked from above.

Sir Sap looked up. A lady dressed in black was sitting up in the branches of the tree. A witch? “It’s gone,” he said. “Couldn’t you have magicked it away?”

“I’m an herbalist,” she said. She began to climb down. “I make potions. It’s a different kind of magic. It doesn’t work right away. You have to be patient. But it works better because I tailor the potions to the individual, so it’s just what you need and works just right for you.” She jumped from the lowest branches.

“It is good to meet you, Madam Herbalist. I have great respecct for your craft. Could you tell me the way out of the forest? My map isn’t very clear.”

She pointed the way, and soon Sir Sap was able to rescue the princess stuck inside a rosebush on a hill. It was a massive, enchanted rosebush, and he ended up needing to find a prince to cut the whole thing down with tiny enchanted silver scissors. Organizing the witches and wizards and silversmiths and the very confused prince to find the solution took days.

Luckily, the princess and prince fell in love over the whole ordeal, and looked like they’d probably live happily ever after. This was always the best possible scenario, because it meant one less princess getting into trouble. Sir Sap went home, happy with the knowledge that all went well, and he wouldn’t have to rescue the next princess in trouble. It was probably Sir Ultramarine’s turn.

When he reached the forest, the herbalist was out picking leaves off of some harmless looking weeds. Suddenly, Sir Sap was struck by how normal it was. Here was someone who climbed a tree when she was chased by a bear, and didn’t ask her fairy godmother to change her into a bird or a dragon or a snowman in the middle of the summer.

Sir Sap realized he was tired of being a knight. He was tired of trying to help people who kept misusing powerful magic and never learning their lesson. He was tired of princesses. “Is it hard to learn to be an herbalist?” he asked.

“Well, it takes patience. You don’t learn everything all at once. But, if you like helping people and are good at figuring things out, it might be just right for you.” She smiled and picked up her basket. “I wouldn’t mind having an apprentice to help out at the shop. I have more business than I can deal with right now.”

“I’ll return within the week. I just need to hand paint a letter of resignation,” Sir Sap said. He was already mentally composing the letter. He was thinking of using one-point perspective to draw attention to the words “I quit” in the center of the page. He would sign it John, and be Sir Sap no more. And maybe, if things worked out just right, he’d find his own happily ever after.

The Food Critic

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The restaurant owner came to the reception area as soon as the celebrated food critic, Mr. Gruff, checked in with the hostess. His first impression was that the man was immensely old. He was stooped over, with white hair and a long white beard and little wire-framed glasses.

Looking more closely, the restaurant owner realized that Mr. Gruff was a goat.

“Is this a joke?” he asked.

Mr. Gruff looked up at him. His eyes were strange. “Mr. Smith, I assume?”

The restaurant owner took a step back. A talking goat? Then he straightened up. He was a professional business owner. He could handle this. “Yes, that’s me. Are you Mr. Gruff?”

“Of course. Here’s my card.” The goat reached into his suit packet and handed over a little card stock square.

Mr. Smith read the first lines. “William G. Gruff, professional food critic.” He put the card in his pocket. “Right this way, sir.”

On the way to the table, Mr. Smith went over his options. He really didn’t know much about goats. Didn’t they eat cardboard and tin cans and such? How could a goat be a reliable food critic? Would his restaurant get a terrible review because the silverware didn’t taste good?

Mr. Gruff slid into his chair and looked around. “I see that most of the people around me are eating large salads. Is that today’s special?”

“It is. Here’s the menu. Would you like anything to drink? I can send it with the waitress who will come to take your order.”

The goat looked up from the menu. “Water is fine.”

Hurrying back to the kitchen, Mr. Smith pulled out his phone and started searching for information. What do goats eat? Apparently not tin cans or cardboard. The silverware was safe.

Salad would be fine. Mr. Smith let out a breath of relief and shared the results of his search with the chef. They could continue on as normal.

He thanked Mr. Gruff for coming after he finished his meal, and life at the restaurant went on. He nearly forgot to look for the review two weeks later. It praised the salads and professional staff. Mr. Smith framed it and put it on his wall next to the other positive reviews for his restaurant.

That would have been the end of it, except that a few days later, a horse in an expensive gown came in after making a reservation over the phone. This led to more internet searches, and some slight alterations to the food she ordered.

And then the crows came. And a family of pigs. And the entire restaurant was booked by a greyhound for his mother’s birthday one evening. The waitresses learned to add the customer’s species when noting down any dietary restrictions.

Time passed. Mr. Smith continued to host a surprising number of animal customers. This was strange, because when he went about town, he didn’t see any talking animals wearing clothes. Where did they all come from?

He did ask, once. A very pleasant parrot that chattered away a mile a minute came one early afternoon for lunch. The restaurant was empty, and Mr. Smith was working at the front desk.

He led the parrot to his table and paused. “Would you like a taller chair?” he asked, looking at the distance from the chair to the table.

The parrot flapped his wings and flew up onto the table. “No chairs at all, thanks. I just want one of those salads everyone’s talking about.”

This was his chance. “Where are they talking about it?”

The parrot squawked with laughter. “Oh, your security clearance isn’t high enough to know that.”

Mr. Smith frowned. Government work? How many animals were working for the government? What did they do?

Well, it wasn’t really any of his concern. He had a business to run. He didn’t have time to get mixed up in any sort of strange government something-or-other. But he did have one more question. “So, did you read Mr. Gruff’s review then?”

“Yes, of course. The extended version. He said that this was the first place that didn’t offer him tin cans or cardboard. You do your research and care about your customers.”

“Extended version?”

“Your clearance still isn’t high enough.”

Mr. Smith laughed. “Fair enough. I’ll get you that salad.” On his way to the kitchen, he was already searching his phone for what parrots ate.

Flashback Friday: Lost But Not Forgotten

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This story was originally posted on August 19, 2017. I like this spin on the classic Orpheus story. I wish the original had a happier ending, too.

Melvo lived under Jason’s bed. He was pretty lucky. Most monsters under beds were lonely and lived on a diet of dust bunnies and half-finished homework. But Jason was different. When Melvo first moved in under the bed, Jason quickly made him feel welcome.

Jason had grinned. Instead of yelling or turning on the lights and banishing him back to the shadowlands, Jason offered him an odd sock. “Hi, I’m Jason,” he said. “I always wanted a monster under my bed.” The sock was soft, and covered in pictures of cartoon bats and ghosts.

“Are you sure I can eat this?” Melvo asked.   “This is a very nice sock.”

“I have lots of socks,” Jason said. “What’s your name?”

“Melvo,” Melvo said. He bit into the sock, and it tasted better than any dust bunny he’d ever eaten. Melvo smiled, and then remembered that monster smiles are scary. He frowned and looked down.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.

“Aren’t you scared of me?” Melvo asked.

“Of course not,” Jason said. “Monsters aren’t scary. I know lots of nice monsters. We have a mummy visiting from Egypt next week, and my uncle is a vampire.   There’s a werewolf next door, but he thinks we don’t know about that.”

“Okay,” Melvo said. “So does that mean we’re friends?”

And they were. They talked in the evenings, while Jason recopied his homework so that Melvo could eat freshly done, high-grade completed homework. On holidays, Jason shared his socks and told him all about their traditions.

Melvo told him about dust bunnies. He tried to describe the taste of a good sock.   He told him about the shadowlands where there was nothing to do but sleep and wait and dream.

“What do you dream about?” Jason asked.

“Finding a home,” Melvo said.

“Is that a good dream?” Jason asked.

“It’s the best dream. I found a home and I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” Melvo said.   And he was very happy.

Then one day, Jason told him his family was moving.   “You have to come too, Melvo,” he said.

“How?” Melvo asked. “I know how to find your room, but if you move you’ll be somewhere else.”

Jason thought for a moment. Then he smiled. “I’ll put a box under the bed. Climb inside. I’ll close it while it’s still dark and not open it until we get to the new house.   Then I’ll open it under the bed.   That way you won’t have to go to the shadowlands until after you know where my new room is so you can find it again.”

“That might work,” Melvo said.

So, when the time came, Melvo climbed into the little box, and Jason sealed it shut. After a long wait, the box moved. There were noises and voices and the box swayed.

“The box is really light,” he heard Jason say.   “What if he isn’t in here?”

And then he heard the scrabble of fingernails on the outside of the box. There was the ripping sound of tape pulled back, just a little. The corner of the box lifted. For just a moment, he saw Jason’s face, framed by a brilliant blue sky, and then he was pulled back into the shadowlands.

The new family in Jason’s old house didn’t like monsters under the bed. So Melvo hid, and ate dust bunnies. Some nights he paced under the bed until the floorboards creaked so that the lights would go on and he could be sent back to the shadowlands early. He missed Jason.

And then, one evening, as he woke in the shadowlands, he saw a little dot of light. He’d never seen anything like it. Instead of following the well-worn path to Jason’s old room, he raced towards the little light.

It led him down a new path, and just before he caught it, he tipped over the edge into a new room. And when he looked up at the bed, he knew where he was. “Jason?” he whispered.

“Melvo!” Jason said. “I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t know if that would work.”

“What did you do?”

Jason smiled. “I wished on a star. Have I told you about stars yet? They’re pretty amazing.” And Jason told him about stars and gave him a sock with pictures of angry pumpkins. And Melvo was happy.

A Surprise

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Alex opened the door, but instead of a pizza delivery person, there was a lady with laugh lines and steel-gray hair and a pencil behind her ear. There was no pizza.

“Hello?” Alex looked around for the pizza. “Three pepperoni, extra cheese, right?”

The lady looked concerned. “Alex, didn’t you get your letter?”

“How do you know my name? What letter?” Alex stood a little more behind the door, prepared to slam it shut and lock it if the old lady took a step forward.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

Alex thought through the long list of teachers and librarians and neighbors and old ladies from church. Maybe she was familiar. Would she be offended if he admitted he’d forgotten her? Would she cry?

“Ummmmmm….”

The lady leaned forward and whispered. “I’m the principal of the Chickenfeather School of Mathematics and Science. There was a picture in the brochure we sent in your letter. Your name has been on our rolls since you were a tiny baby. You’re a mathematician, Alex.”

“Why are you whispering? Everybody knows about math. And I’ve never heard of your school.”

“What do you mean?” The lady looked around and spoke loudly. “Of course everybody knows about math. It’s so boring and pointless.” She leaned in and whispered. “That’s what they think, right? Only mathematicians know the true power of math.”

Just then, a car drove up. A large man with a scruffy beard jumped out and retrieved three pizza-sized boxes from the back seat. Finally, something that made sense.

The lady frowned as she watched the pizza delivery person approach. “I’ll be back later. We can’t talk now.” She hurried down the front steps and passed the delivery person before turning left and disappearing around the corner.

“Three pepperoni, extra cheese?” The man said. Alex shoved his hand in his pocket to pull out the money. Below the stack of bills there was an envelope that he didn’t remember putting in his pocket.

He put the envelope back into his pocket to look at later. He paid for the pizza and took the boxes inside. Mysteries could wait when there was food. “Pizza’s here,” he called as he shut the door.

His grandparents and little brother Marcus appeared as he set the pizzas on the table. “Happy birthday,” his grandpa said.

“Yay, pizza! Oh, and happy birthday,” Marcus said.

As Alex sat down, the envelope in his pocket made a crinkling sound. He’d forgotten it. He took it out and opened it. There was a letter and brochure inside, all about that Chickenfeather School. Where did the envelope come from? How did it end up in his pocket?

“What’s that?” his grandma asked.

“A letter I got today. Did you sign me up for a math school?”

“I don’t remember, but maybe grandpa knows.”

Grandpa handed them each a plate. “Remember what?”

“Did we sign Alex up for a math school?”

Grandpa thought for a moment. “Maybe. I think free enrollment came with a set of encyclopedias. You remember? And that nice set of kitchen knives.”

Grandma clapped her hands. “Oh yes, I still use that nice vegetable peeler.” She jumped up and started rummaging through the drawers. “I know it’s here somewhere.”

“I don’t really need to see the vegetable peeler,” Alex said. But Grandma ignored him. Grandpa was leaning over her shoulder telling her where he thought it was.

“You’re going to a math school?” Marcus made a face as though he’d tasted something sour. “I thought you were going to school with your friend Harry.”

Alex sighed. “No, Harry is going to some magic school.”

“Magic?” Marcus looked impressed. “Do you think he’ll learn how to pull a bunny out of his hat? I always wanted a bunny.”

“Yeah, well, apparently magic school didn’t come with the encyclopedia and the kitchen knives, so I’m going to math school.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Or maybe I’ll just skip math school and go to regular school.”

“Nonsense.” Grandma appeared at his elbow, triumphantly raising their old vegetable peeler in the air. “If they know how to make great kitchen knives and encyclopedias too, then they obviously know what they’re doing. You’re going to math school.”

“I am?” Alex frowned. Then he looked up at her hopefully. “Well is math really super powerful or something?”

“No, it’s really boring,” Marcus said.

“And mathematicians are kind of useless,” Grandpa added.

“Don’t listen to them,” Grandma said. “They’re just jealous. I’m sure it will be fine. Now eat up, the pizza’s getting cold.”

And as they ate the extra cheesy pepperoni pizza, Alex wished more than ever that encyclopedias were like pizza. You knew what you were paying for when you ordered it. Ten years later, there were no hidden school enrollments from ordering a pizza.

Alex took out the letter again and started reading it more carefully. It was time to find out exactly what he had to look forward to in a few months. Like it or not, apparently he was a mathematician.