gently to sleep.
And so it happened that Catherine took up residence in the enchanted forest, without ever sparing a single thought to the life she left behind. The forest kept her so captivated that she could no longer remember that there was anything to go back to. Had she kept a memory of her other life, it would have only pricked or irritated anyway. But even this much was spared her. She could no longer call to mind even the smallest detail.
This new life consisted only of pleasure. Like the fairies she imagined to be all around her, Catherine flitted from one end of her enchanted forest to the other. She had developed a sort of primitive communication with these beings she believed were fairies. They did not speak, yet they were there with her. She felt she understood them. She had come to respect their reserved silence, believing them to be timid and skittish because she, too, now preferred to be kept hidden from others. Yet she acknowledged their presence in a number of innocuous little ways, such as leaving them treats here and there—much as she believed they did for her from time to time—and in wishing them the goodwill that she felt they had likewise brought upon her.
Yet real communication, as she had formerly known it to be, did not seem possible. That there was intelligence and reason around her she could not, for a moment, doubt. But there was no one to speak her language to, no one to address her in her native tongue.
One day, perhaps it was months or possibly even years after she had first discovered the enchanted forest, Catherine stumbled upon something peculiar that captured her attention. She instantly recognized it as something coming from the other world outside the forest, although she didn’t know what it was or how she knew this. It was a strange object, something not indigenous to her forest. There was something about it that caused it to stand out from the rest of the surroundings, like something alien. Its colors were what she noticed first, for they had an unnaturally dull tint, completely void of the brilliance she had become accustomed to seeing in the wildflowers of the forest. These colors seemed a poor imitation, and she wondered how they had got there.
Curious, Catherine reached down and picked up the foreign object. It was not terribly large but it was quite heavy. It was orange and yellow, with orange bands coming out the sides of it. One of the bands appeared to be broken. It seemed that beneath its outer casing, it held more objects inside. She noticed that there was a strange seam all along the edge of it, and an eerie sense of déjà vu crept over Catherine as she grasped hold of the little tab at the end and slid it backward along the seam, opening the outer casing. She fished through the many different objects that were inside but, try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what they were. The peculiar feeling stayed with her as she stared at them uncomprehendingly. But eventually she lost interest and laid the objects back down where she found them. Yet there was undeniably something strange in all of this, if only for the unusual effect it was having on her. Catherine stood up and looked around. And then she noticed something else—something she did recognize—in the plush woods nearby. More curious than ever, she moved nearer. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was, in fact, hair. But it was hard to tell if came from an animal or human because, whatever it was, was hidden in the bushes nearby. Something stirred in Catherine.
She moved carefully, not really out of fear as much as instinct to be cautious. She tentatively moved some of the branches aside to get a better view, but then abruptly jumped back. The hair was attached to a skull! Just as Catherine had instantly recognized the overabundance oflife stirring all around her in the forest, she now instantly perceived that life had gone from here. A haunting sadness welled up in her. She moved the branches away again and carefully brushed aside some of the fallen leaves and other debris. There was another brief moment of a kind of general, vague recognition, but Catherine was far too detached from the faded thing disintegrating into the earth to actually own it. She shook off the discomfiting stirrings. But she could not help feeling a powerful compassion for the woman who had died there.
Looking up, Catherine noticed that dusk was coming. For the first time since that day when she had first discovered the enchanted forest, she was afraid to be wandering alone in the dark. Yet she was hesitant to leave the poor girl alone. Acting on instinct, she carefully replaced the leaves and brush over the body, mindful this time to cover the woman’s hair, as well. Next she darted off to a nearby field to collect a handful of wildflowers. Uttering a small prayer for the woman’s soul, Catherine placed the flowers on top of her leafy grave. With one last pause, she got up, brushing the leaves and the strange melancholy off her. Then, with the adroitness of a spirit, or a fairy, she flitted out over the flowery field, fluttering toward home and the pleasures that awaited her.
Disenchantment
Everything was going wrong and now, on top of everything else, she was late. Maryanne skittered over the wet cobblestones, rushing to get to the restaurant. She would be a mess by the time she arrived. But she’d had to drive four blocks away just to find parking!
Why was she even bothering? She tried to silence the pessimistic voice in her head but it would not relent. It reminded her that she had no reason to expect this guy to be different from any of the others. There was nothing special or noteworthy about him that made it worth the effort. Even by online-dating standards he had offered little intrigue, and with all the embellishing that takes place in preparing one’s online profile, that was rather dismaying. She tried to recall what prompted her to go out with him, and then she remembered that he had caught her in a weak moment when, feeling unsettled and lonely, she suddenly longed for a normal life with an average guy. So here she was, on a Friday night, rushing around to meet this average or—more likely—less-than-average guy.
She took a deep breath and tried once again to assume a positive outlook. At least she was getting out of the house. It could be interesting. She might as well try to have a good time. There didn’t have to be any entanglements. She couldn’t hide forever.
And perhaps this one would work out differently. But she couldn’t count on that and she knew it.
She dashed through the restaurant doors and found him waiting for her. Just as the little voice in her head had predicted, he looked nothing like his picture and yet she recognized him instantly. Something in his present look was more like what she would have expected anyway. Within their casual online correspondence, she had detected an inherent gentleness, a kind of considerateness in his demeanor that had initially captured and ultimately held her interest. While these qualities had not been evident in his picture, she recognized them in his face, and her reluctance eased up the tiniest bit. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she murmured.
Dan stood up from the bench where he had been waiting and smiled warmly at Maryanne. Clearly he had embellished his height in his online profile, as well. She resented this; she could have at least worn lower heels to minimize the difference had she known. She tried to hide her annoyance. Yet he did not seem to mind so much; she noticed that his eyes were looking over her slender form with approval.
“Maryanne? You’re so much more beautiful than your picture!” he said earnestly. Then he blushed slightly, as if embarrassed by this outburst. She had the impression that his comments, at least, were spontaneous and genuine. “Don’t worry about being late,” he said good-naturedly. “I figured you were having a tough time finding parking. I did get us a table, though.”
He led her to their table and pulled out her chair for her. “Wow,” he remarked as he sat down across from her, “those are some guns you’re packing there!”
Maryanne drew back, startled, and Dan quickly gestured to her arms, once again embarrassed. “I mean, you must work out,” he clarified.
“Oh…yes!” she said with a laugh, feeling the tension leave her. “I practice yoga,” she explained.
“Yoga’s quite the workout,” he surprised her by saying. “I tried it myself a few times, but I found it difficult to hold many of the poses. I get distracted too easily. Let’s see, what was that one? You stand sort of crouched with your hands high up in front like the bug…the locust, was it?” He put his hands up in front of him in an exaggerated simulation of the pose.
“The praying mantis,” she corrected, laughing.
“Yeah,”