Sean Robin Hughes

I was browsing on one of those online websites for realty properties when I saw the perfect home.  You know the site I was on… they have the pictures of the houses with the smiling real estate agents in their carefully posed photographs, with either the straight tie or the gentle curve of pearls at their neck.  And no matter the sex of the agent, you can’t forget the coiffed hair.  Every single one of them has perfect hair. I am sure there are bald real estate agents, but if they are successful or not is probably another story.

I am getting off-track.  Kind of.  I will come back to that.

The website shows homes, and I knew immediately when I saw mine.  It wasn’t anything fancy really. It was modest, only a hundred square feet larger than our current home, but the inside was beautiful.  A great kitchen, spacious bedrooms, and the right layout for a multilevel home in the burbs.  My wife and my kids were excited when I showed it to them.  They ooh’d and aah’d at the right places, they asked when we could go look at it.  So I looked up the number for the smiling agent on the site, and gave her a call.

I did not notice in the picture that her eyes were almost violet.  Perhaps I did.  I probably waved it off to a clumsy photoshop effort or some silly lenses.  I completely missed the ears.  You really have to look hard at that picture to see them.  I can’t explain it really… its like seeing a cloud behind another cloud.  Indistinct in a way, but you know something is there.  You can get the presence of it… the sense that depth exists beyond what you are seeing.  Your mind fills in the gaps. It copes. It adjusts.

We are nothing but animals really.  Maybe that is why it happened.  Maybe that is why I didn’t look closely at that coiffed hair.  The pictures all blend together anyway.  You aren’t looking for an agent, you are looking for house.  More importantly, you are looking for something that can be a home.  Not a place, but your place.  A pivot point for your family’s life.

It has to be special and I knew this one was it.   I just didn’t know why.  On the surface it was very nice, as I already pointed out, but it had an intrinsic quality that I just loved.  The way the walk went up through the front yard. Not straight, but meandering to the left and then back to the right, with small garden boxes on either side, and a tall tree standing guard at its starting point near the street.  A great green guardian, standing proudly in front of the home it shaded from the afternoon sun.  A good healthy tree, giving shade to the house, but light to the boxes.

I could grow a garden, I thought. A place for tomatoes, cucumbers, perhaps even some salsa ingredients.  A salsa garden!  That is what I wanted. Jalapenos, onions, peppers, garlic, cilantro… I would have enough room with this place.  Just had to call the agent.

So I did.

Her name was Aurora.  Like the Northern Lights.  She was available immediately and when could my family stop by, she asked.  I told her Thursday, at 4 o’clock, and it was a date. And that was it.  Nothing weird or out of place.  I came back to the website every day, and looked at the photos like a regretful husband perusing a dating site, noting the shingles on the roof (looked new), the paint on the siding (looked fresh), the brick work (solid), and the lovely landscaping around the eaves and the window wells (b-e-a-uti-ful).  I think I was ready to buy before I had even seen it.

The day arrived.  Like any other when you are counting the seconds tick by, so like molasses running uphill.  I trudged my way through work, did my meetings, gave my bullshit project updates and referenced the current position of the clock every 12.5 seconds in eager anticipation.  Four o’clock could not come any slower… time had been absorbed by my evil wall clock, so like any good employee, I said screw it and I headed out early.  I drove home, picked up the wife and kids, and headed over to the house a full half hour early.

We drove into a secluded cul-de-sac off a secondary road within a pleasant little neighborhood.  The drive wasn’t far from the main roads in town, and the potential future neighbor’s houses looked well kept and tidy.  Actually, it looked like an geriatric neighborhood, where lots of older folks might live.  You know the sort of people, they care for their yard, and their trees, and look down their nose at anyone that wasn’t caring for their fair share.  I told my wife that there was probably a typical blue haired old lady who comprised the entire neighborhood watch sitting in her cardigan with one of her 10 cats on her lap peeking nervously out of her curtains, just waiting for the opportunity to call 911.  I circled the cul-de-sac slowly at least twice before parking.  That way it looked we were casing the joint, I laughed. My wife was not amused.

Which, honestly, is exactly what we were doing.  Except it was legal.  Its called “shopping around.”   So sue me. I let the kids out, and they took off like rockets in search of the oddities and new discoveries all around the front yard.  I told them to stay out of the garden, but they didn’t listen to me of course. They zoomed through the boxes, weaving under the trees, screaming and laughing.  The aforementioned make believe cat lady was probably having kittens seeing a family of six descend on her peaceful street. And I didn’t even bring the dogs.

I walked up to the house, but the curtains were drawn. I tried to peek in around where I could, but I didn’t see anything that I had not already seen on the website.  Still, it was lovely.  I think I was smitten.  My wife slapped my shoulder and told me to snap out of it. I pointed out all the things i loved, and she nodded and smiled at the right parts.  She just told me to settle down, then yelled at the rugrats to keep it down.

I heard the tinny mosquito buzz of a scooter far off, the undertones of an older Italian model, deeper and throaty as it came closer.  Around the corner, the bright red scooter came into view and popped up onto the curb without any hesitation.   The driver popped her helmet off, and wouldn’t you know it, the coiffed hair didn’t even look out of place.  I was surprised.

“Ah, Mr. Davidson?” She took off her riding gloves and tossed them gently into her upturned helmet balancing precariously on the seat.

“It is.  This is my wife, Shelly, and my horrible children are running around.  If you hadn’t noticed the moment you turned into the neighborhood.” I said.

“No such thing as a horrible child,” she said with a small smile. “Just misplaced enthusiasm.  Mrs. Davidson, nice to meet you.  My name is Aurora.  What do you think of the curb appeal?”

My wife smiled. “I think it has great appeal.  The garden is very nice and brings a lot of color to the yard.  I am excited to see inside.”

“What is important to you?” Aurora asked.

“A good kitchen, with plenty of storage.  We are always needing more storage.”  She nodded at the kids, still running about.

Aurora laughed.  A bright tinkling laughter, full of silver coins bouncing down like gentle rain.  My youngest daughter stopped midstride a few feet away and came over to the agent.  She is a precocious four year old, with a bright smile and a silly nature.  Kind of shy around strangers most of the time.  But she ran up to the agent with awe in her eyes and hugged her leg.

“You’re pretty!” She laughed.

Aurora smiled.  “So are you, little one.  Do you and your siblings want to see the house?”

She nodded her head vigorously. She turned her head and looked at her siblings, and then in an earth stopping breath, yelled. “GET OVA HERE!”

All the other kids amazingly enough filed over and stood in a cluster around Aurora.  They were little planets in orbit around the star of our real estate agent.

“Now, children. Your sister wants to see the house, and I want to show to all of you.  But I need you all to be good little children.  That means no running, no screaming, and no touching anything or anyone you may see.  Do you all understand?” She said.

My wife and I smiled at each other as we saw awe-inspiring head nodding from my horde.   I don’t think we heard what she actually said.

“Very good!”  She turned on her heel and lead the way to the front door.  I noticed there was not a key or lock involved, but a very fancy looking door handle in the middle of the door.  It was the neatest looking door I had ever seen.  She knocked three times, turned the handle and stepped into the cool dark of the empty house.  We all filed in behind her.

She looked around and smiled.  “Welcome home.”

I took it all in.  The house wasn’t huge by any standard.  This was not a micro mansion or even a large well appointed home.  This was a home made for living, and enjoyment, and rest.  It was a well designed home, making the most of the space it had.  The rooms were spacious, and lit well from the shaded windows.  Even in the filtered light, I could tell this was something special.  The main room was huge… all hard wood floors and open right into the glamorous kitchen.  My wife did not even take in the front area, she made a beeline for the kitchen and started to lovingly caress the counter-tops and cabinetry.

“This house was built about twenty five years ago, and it was owned by only person in that time.  The seller unfortunately passed on recently, and his family lives out in California.  They decided to put it on the market without ever visiting it unfortunately.  Their loss, really.  This home is wonderful.  I personally love it, and I don’t even live here.” Aurora said.

“It is very nice.” I admitted.  The floors were a glowing hard wood, reflecting the windows, and kitchen with a mulled sense of age and duty.  The room smelled faintly of cinnamon and nutmeg, fall flavors permeating the wood.  The walls were painted a gentle white-ish color, reminded me of autumn snow and brisk frosted mornings.

“This is the main room, down those stairs is the family room and basement, and up those stairs are all the bedrooms.  The original owner had no children of his own, but he was quite the hobbyist.  He used the master as his own, and the other three bedrooms for an office, workspace, and storage room respectively.”

“I thought it had five bedrooms?”  My wife said, still admiring the cabinets in the kitchen.

“It does.  The last one is in the basement, a very neat bedroom indeed.  Let’s save that for last.  Should we head upstairs?”

We toured the house, and every room was reminiscent of the main great room, but in a different way.  The master bedroom was beautiful, with curled driftwood used as a railing on the short elevated on-suite bathroom, hardwood floors and amazing tile work in the bathroom.  The closet was spacious, with clever cabinets and storage units that folded into the walls. My wife’s eyes went wide.

“This may be the bedroom of my dreams.  I thought the kitchen was nice… but this bedroom.  My god.”  My wife said.

“The house seems like a perfect fit, doesn’t it?  That would probably be your bedroom little one.”  Aurora said to my youngest, pointing at the next door down.

She ran off and I heard a squeal of delight from the next room.  I quickly headed her way, and found the perfect little girl’s room.  The walls were a soft muted pink, with a special closet that had a small door that lead to another tiny little room.

“A crawlspace above the garage.” Aurora commented with a wink. “But the perfect hideaway for a little girl and her secret dreams.”

The next bedroom was a perfect fit for my son, the ceiling was lifted to follow the line of the roof, and a small loft had been added. Again, Aurora winked at my wife and I. “Every boy needs a fort of his own.”

I will let you guess what happened with the next bedroom and the next child.  A perfect fit.  I was sensing a theme.  Like this house was made for us.  Isn’t that bizarre?  But it was.  Wasn’t it?  We were meant to be here, looking at it.  I could feel the sense of need from the house.  It was not meant to be empty, any more than we were meant not to live in it.  A strange yearning from the walls, and the floors, and the edges of everything.  I could almost taste it.

The basement though. It blew the rest away.  First, it contained the perfect teenager girl’s room.  It had a built in vanity and furniture around the walls.  Each area of the room was designed to be the perfect storage for clothes, shoes, and jewelry.  The office, or should I say, the man cave, made me drool.  Power… water… bar… built in mini-fridge with custom cabinets and a keg fridge hidden away beside the sink.  This house was only 2000 square feet, but it felt double.  I could fit a mind-blowingly awesome movie, game, and computer room down here.  Just give it to me.

“I shall name it… Tardis.”  I breathed. “Its bigger on the inside.”

“I am so very glad you like it. The garage and the back yard is all that is left.  Shall we?”  Aurora smiled.

The garage was a garage, again, plenty of storage. The floor was sealed concrete, everything was finished.  It was like a race car garage, with lots of lights and plastic lined walls.  Very nice.  I could use this easily I thought.  We headed back into the house, through a well designed mud room and into the backyard.

The backyard made the front look quaint.

It had a hedge against the rear of the yard, backing up to a number of large trees in the open space behind.

Wait a minute.

“Aurora?  Is there a park behind the house?  I thought the street went behind the cul-de-sac?” I asked.

“No park… just a small empty space between the houses.  A very small place that a couple trees call their home.  Probably a few rabbits and field mice are back there too.  Definitely some robins.  I saw some nests on my last visit.  There is a gap in the hedges over in the corner, if you want to take a look.”

“Oh no need.  Just curious.  The landscaping is amazing.”

“It is lovely isn’t it?  The shed is over to the right behind the garage… it is empty right now of course, but plenty of room for garden tools and the like.”

My wife grabbed my hand and without looking at me and said, “We’ll take it.”

That is how we ended up in our house (under our budget too)… after Aurora gave us the keys, we were in bliss.  We moved in a week after closing, and we made it our own.  It was summer, so the kids hadn’t started school yet, so we set to making the house ours.  My youngest told me about the fairies that very week.

“Daddy, I saw a bug.”  She said.

“Oh yeah?” I replied absent-mindedly. I was putting together a spice rack, and she was a yapper.  I only have half-paid attention to our conversations as they happened.  In all fairness, I did that with all my kids.

“Yeah, it had two legs, and big wings, and it smiled and waved at me.” She said exaggeratedly. Her hands were her punctuation, waving up and down with her statement.

I stopped screwing the spice rack together and looked at her carefully.  She was calm, and it appeared she had not hit her head, so I played along. “Oh yeah?  Was the bug pretty?”

“Yes, Daddy. Very pretty.  She is the prettiest bug I ever saw.  She has purple eyes.”

“Purple eyes, huh? That sounds…” I thought about it. Purple eyes.  Where did I see purple eyes? “… that sounds neat. It doesn’t sound like a bug though.  It sounds like fairy.”

“Yes, Daddy, yes.  She is a fairy.  Like Tinkerbell, but way prettier.”  She said very seriously.

“And only you can see her?” I asked.

“No, Daddy. Everyone can see her. You are silly, Daddy.” She admonished.

“I am, aren’t I.  Go play.”  I smiled.

Then my son pointed out something about the backyard at dinner that night… but I still didn’t think much of it.  In retrospect, the signs were all there.  Adults just don’t see it easy.

“The space behind our yard is huge.” He said.

“Oh yeah?  How huge?”  I replied.

“I don’t know, but I walked and walked and walked.  I never found the street.”

“That’s weird.” I said, heaving a mouthful of green beans in.

“I found a cool tree though.  It was covered in moss, and had those hanging branches.  What are those called again?”

“A willow?”

“Yeah, a willow.  I found this huge willow, and it had these huge leaves.  But the little beavers I saw where the coolest.”

“Little beavers?” I said around my bite, chewing slowly.

“They were small, like cats, but had wide tails.  I thought they were beavers.  They must be someone’s pets though.”

“Why is that?”

“They had little vests on.  They looked like vests.  Why would a beaver be wearing a vest?”

“No idea, buddy.  That sounds pretty weird.”

“They loved those leaves from the willow though.  They kept picking the fallen ones up and carrying them off somewhere.  Must taste good?”

“Maybe… that is something. You kids have some good imaginations.” I said. Then the conversation moved on to some other trivial thing…

Then I met my first brownie. Not the edible kind.  I met that edible kind when I was kid and have loved every one since.   No such thing as a brownie I didn’t like.  Nope.  This brownie is named Vert. Like Bert with a V.  He is roughly 23 years old, likes beer, and can curse lividly in about 14 languages.   He has a foul mouth, but a heart of gold.

Literally.  He showed me.  It was gold.

It was a week later, and I was doing some work on my new inherited garden in the backyard.  The boxes were sizable, each about the size of a twin bed, and each had overrun a little with weeds in the absence of a owner that was, you know, alive.  I was pulling weeds, and mixing in compost, when I a little thing caught my eye near the shed.  I thought it was stick bug sitting on the ledge of the little shed window near the door, resting calmly in the shade, but when I looked closer, I saw a little arm lift a little mug in my direction.

At first, I thought I had passed out in the heat and was delirious.  So I put down my rake and pinched my arm.  It still hurt.  So I took off my gloves and rubbed my eyes carefully with the clean bit of my shirt. It didn’t help.  In fact, the little guy just sat there staring at me incredulously.

“Oi.  Alright?”  It squeaked at me.

“I am seeing things.” I replied.

“Yeah, that is what you are supposed to use your eyes for.  What else would do with eyeballs?  Juggle them?”

“You sound British.”

“And you sound like an imbecile.”

“Hey, no need for calling names.” I protested.

“You started it.” It laughed back. “I am about as British as you are.”

“And you are?”

“I am.”

“You are a what?” I asked. I walked over very cautiously, squinting in the sun, trying to figure it out.  It had to be a trick of some sort.

“I am a Vert.” It said without hesitation.

“A Vert? What is a vert?”

“I am.  My goodness you *are* an imbecile. I thought brains were supposed to be bigger in the large folk.”

“So lots of Verts running around my garden?” I asked.

“Just the one today.  I am not a vert, I am Vert.  That is my name.  I am a brownie.  A gnome.  Whatever fits your fancy.”

“And why are you sitting on my shed?”

“Oh, this and that.  Watching you struggle with the brutish tools you have is actually quite entertaining.  Its like watching a troll trying to have sex with a tree.  Seriously.  You need a mirror.  And I need more beer.”

“That does sound good…” I admitted.

“Well off you go then.  Bring me some.”  He waved his hand at me while he drained his little thimble of a mug.

I walked back inside puzzled at the interaction, trying to rationalize it through.

“Done already? I am impressed.” My wife called from the kitchen.

“No, just getting a drink.”

“Don’t dilly dally, dinner will be ready at six.”

I grumbled some sort of response and reached the beer fridge.  What does a gnome drink?  Lager? Ale? Stout?  I grabbed a lager (its what I wanted, screw the gnome), and headed back outside, waiting to crack it once the door was shut.  I had kind of hoped that the gnome would be gone, and a stick would be leaning on the windowsill, my imagination just running on overdrive, rampant assailing my common sense.

No such luck.

The little guy was still leaning against the window, smiling at me with a crooked grin.  I walked over with beer and poured it slowly into his tiny mug.

“Alright, alright, alright.”  He said.

“I hope you are ok with lager.”  I said.

“In my opinion my friend, no such thing as a bad beer.  Everything is drinkable in fitting proportions.”

“And that is?”

“Doesn’t matter how bad it is, if there is enough of it, it is worth drinking!”  His laughter was pealing lilt, which he quickly drenched with a swallow from his mug.   I took a swallow too.

“My name is John.”  I said as I leaned against the shed.

“Nice to meet you, John.”

“Nice to meet you, Vert.” I replied.

“Now that we are on a first name basis, I hope to drink more of your beer.” He admitted.

“Now that we are on a first name basis, I hope to share more of my beer.” I laughed.

We drank in silence for a few minutes.  I had a million questions, but had no idea what kind of protocol existed for questioning a gnome about what the… hell… is… going… on.

“Oh come on, mate.  I know you are dying to ask me something.” He teased.

“So… been a gnome long?”  I asked.

“All of the questions in existence and that is what you come up with?  Been a gnome long?  Well, nope, about two minutes ago I was a dog.  Of *course* I have been a gnome long.  All my life. Born and raised on the other side of that wall.”

“In the space between the houses?”  I looked over at the small empty area, my hedge pushed right up against it.

“Not so much a space between, but a space convergent really.  Its a bit of land where things cross over you see.  There used to be millions of such places in the world, but times have changed, the fae has waned, and there are only a hundred or so left.  You happen to be living on one.”

“Oh, well, that… is good.”  I stammered.

“Truth is, I am a bit of a welcoming committee myself.  Just letting you know that things will be coming and going time to time.  Nothing harmful mind you, we keep those sorts of things away from the spaces, but a bit of traffic, if you please.”

“Um. Ok?”

“Great!  I will be back in a day or two, just to check in on you.  Let me know if you have any questions, eh?  Of course if you have any questions, just ask the house, she will let you know too.”

“The house?”

“Yeah the house!  Goodness me.  You sure have your moments.  Oh, one last thing… if a jibber shows up at your door, don’t let him in.  He owes me money still.  Oh, and don’t talk to the Grevious, he is downright evil.”

“What’s a jibber?”  My confusion was running all over the place, a dog chasing a squirrel in circles.

“Eh, shortish balding guy, likes card games.  Notoriously hard to get rid of.  Welcome to the neighborhood!”  He spun in place, and the sill was empty.

Welcome to the neighborhood?  Then it hit me.  Violet eyes.  Aurora the realty agent.  Heh, more like a reality agent I think.

Welcome to the Fae neighborhood, I guess. At least the house was awesome.  I could deal with a little strangeness time to time.

…

Wait a second…  The Grevious?  What the hell was that about?

William sat on the bench.

The bench was old, the weather had stained it every way it could be stained, although human beings and pigeons had done the rest.  It was cracked, the wood a dirty gray contrasting to the mottled iron frame that held it all together.

It was a good bench. William like this bench.  He had been coming to this bench for the last 20-some-odd years since his wife had died.  Nothing tragic, just getting old really.  Things start to break down, sickness comes and goes, and sometimes it just forgets to go.  So it takes your wife with it.  William was pretty open about his life if anyone ever asked, but most folks didn’t.  Most folks just went on with their busy lives and William sat on his bench watching the world speed by with all its comings and goings.

He dressed the same everyday, and matched his bench in many ways too.  His suit was old, but serviceable.  His shoes shined, although they had cracks at the soles.  His socks were darned by his own hands while watching the news after dinner.  His hat was newer, and carried a small pin at its base, a pin his late wife had given him 50 years ago before they had gotten married.

Her name was Louisa.  Although everyone called her Louise. She didn’t mind. William always called her Lee anyway.  And she called him Willy.  Even when they had their fights, Willy always carried a note of something silly.  A pet name that was a secret between them.  A shared something that started at the beginning of their relationship, and growing like a vine, creeped its way through their lives from the start under the ferris wheel, to the end, under the blinking lights of another kind.

A deep love, William would say, if anyone asked.  But no one ever did.  It was his own fault in a way.  He hadn’t wanted children, but there is nothing wrong with that.  Lee never wanted kids either, but William always thought she was lying.  He caught her looking at babies sometimes… a far away, wistful look that some people get remembering a fond time in their childhood or when they finally made it to the ocean.  A thing, far away, not sure what it is, but knowing you kind of want it again.  Whether you had or not.

William shook his head morosely, he was feeling morbid today.  Lee was happiness and joy most of the time, he missed her. Today William wore a heavy coat, winter had almost arrived, and the snow had not gotten the memo yet.  It had started to come down while it was clearly fall still.  The leaves were still orange, many clung jealously to their trees, their bark covered worlds, and watched the heavy flakes float past like William did.

He pulled some bread out of his pocket and started tearing it into small chunks that the birds would fight over, if they did at all.  Most of the time the fattest bird just waddled the others out of the way and ate it all.  He called that bird Hugglemonster.  Because with the waddling, and the shoving, it was giving all the other pigeons hugs.  Spin the ugly into something good. No Hugglemonster today though, no birds at all.  Too cold for them, but not too cold for the old man on the bench.   He tore the bread up anyway and tossed it into the snow.  They would get it eventually.  Waddling through the snow, some fat bird would come.

People kept their heads down, headed to work or home or to some where warm.  The women huddled into themselves, the men cowered under the promise of shoveling their walks and the water damage to their dress shoes.  Students, obviously truant, didn’t bother hollering at each other, just ran off to whomever’s house was closest.  The snow was thicker now. Not pummelling the earth heavy flakes, just a soft drifting fall that ended up in piles faster than the eager wind could blow it away.  William tossed another bit of bread out to the snow.

The world slowed for a mere moment.  People walked more slowly, pushing into this pocket of time.  William watched the wind push against people, pushing the snow into their faces and down their collars, making light of the fact that most people were miserable in weather like this.  Goes against their nature.  Nature against nature.  Funny that, thought William.  The cold didn’t bother him, he dressed warmly enough, and he was so old, the cold tended to ignore him anyway.

The crunching in the detritus of leaves and snow behind him perked up his ears, but he didn’t bother lifting his head.  It was probably a mailman or lawyer or nurse cutting across the park to get to their destination.  He just tore at the bread slowly and deliberately, marking the passing seconds as the feet found their future told point upon the ground and pressed the snow into itself, folding water and leaf into a strange origami that would melt soon enough.

“Beautiful day, don’t you think?” He felt the words cross the world to him, slowly drifting, like the snow, settling on the bench next to him, with a creak and groan.

“I suppose,” William smiled, still looking at his gloved hands tearing at the bread. “If one likes that sort of thing.”

“I love it.  The trees, the wind, the snow.  Look at all these people, scurrying about… at least the voles in the park have enough sense to sleep in today.  Who is the bread for?”  The bench creaked again, the weight of his unnamed visitor settling it in some odd way the bench wasn’t prepared for.

“For the birds.”  William smiled widened.

“There aren’t any birds.”  The voice had sounded old, but now it sounded younger. Shifting like the weather, the seasons.

William looked up and say a young man sitting on the bench, his feet kicked out in front of him, barefoot. His toes were long and lean, well calloused soles, and the pants that were almost not.  The hems were a full couple inches above his ankles.  The absurdity continued as his eyes worked their way up the stranger’s legs, the pants were like dress pants of some by gone era, made for a young lad riding a horse, cropped and slender.  The jacket was like a riding uniform too… except the sleeves were rolled up to the stranger’s elbows.  The boy was looking into the sky, the snowflakes falling slowly onto his shaggy grayish hair, bits of leaves and branches stuck here and there.

“There aren’t any birds,” he repeated himself not looking at William. “They seem to be keeping the voles company.”

“I suppose.” William stammered. “Aren’t your feet cold, young man?”

“Not at all.  The cold ignores them.  I watched you watching people for a little while, I hope you don’t mind.  Can I ask what you are looking for?”  The snow was caressing the stranger, not sticking to his skin, just landing and then sliding slowly off to the side, falling onto his shoulders like soft sand.

“Just watching them come and go.  Remembering my life, really. Just remembering being busy. Its comforting.  Life has a way of just becoming a haze, a fog that we just wander through.  In a rush to get through it, but never really understanding that the fog is where we are supposed to be.  Maybe. Something like that.”

“No that makes sense.  I like it.”

“Not that you would know about things like that being so young.  Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Ha! You are funny too!  My name is Jim.”  The boy turned his head, still cocked towards the sky and made eye contact with William.  His eyes were startling blue, deeper than the sky, wide as an ocean.  Azure.

“My name is William.”  William offered his hand, and Jim shook it merrily reaching across his chest, his head still lolling with a kind smile across his face.  Jim was young, probably not even eighteen yet, his skin was smooth and flawless, like an overnight snow covering the world in white. His skin on his hand was smooth as well, but the grip was warm and firm. William shook it twice as formally as he could.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. William.”  He turned his head back towards the sky and sighed softly. “I am not in school. Haven’t been for a very long time.”

“No parents?  No family?” William asked.

“At one time.  Not so much any more.  My family is a bit… different now.”

“Passed on?  I can understand that.  My wife has been gone for 20 years now… it is different, but it doesn’t feel like it has changed much. I still miss her. They never really leave, you see.  They are still with us, we just can’t see them.”

“Yeah.  That is true.”  Jim smiled at the sky. “My mother is still around, I just don’t see her much… she is busy most of the time.  My dad… well he is sleeping.”

“Sleeping?  Interesting thing to call it.” William gruffed.

“It just happens to be the truth.  My father can’t die.  The world would end if he did.”

“Now, Mr. Jim, I may be old, but I am not gullible.”  William winked.

“Hear me out.  What if? What if my dad was just sleeping?”  Jim scratched his neck, his fingers were long and delicate, much like his toes.

“And where would he be sleeping?” William asked, the bread forgotten in his lap. His fingers curled around themselves, forgotten as well.

“Under a mountain.” Jim laughed.

“So he is dead?”

“No, just sleeping.  He is man of so much life, he helped start the world.”

“And your mother is… what… a fairy?” William jested, not letting his strange guest get the best of him.

“No, not a fairy. An elf.”

“Right. An elf.”  William know knew he was being made fun of. But the young man was very entertaining.  Despite himself he was having fun with it. Better than watching the non-existant birds or the rushing people still passing on by without a glance at William and Jim on their precipice at the edge of winter.

“She is.  A very old Elf too.  A dryad of the eastern sun.  One of the few left.  The world is so… very old.”

“And your father under the mountain? A goblin? A dwarf?”

Jim laughed merrily.  “Not at all!  How strange you think.  He is the rock.  He is earth.  He is the foundation of the world, the turtle of the earth, the demigod holding it upon his shoulders.  Combine all of that, and you get close to describing my father.  He is a titan, asleep since the world decided to grow up.”

“And that would make you?  A child of an elf and a mountain?” William smiled at his strange guest.

“I am what I am.  Just a nip at your nose.”

That phrase stuck in William’s ear, lodged sideways, making him remember something from his childhood.  Jack Frost nipping at your nose?  Something like that?

“I get the name.”  William admitted.

“Do you now?”  Jim stood from the bench and flourished with a bow. “Pleased to meet you!  Now, come with walk with me.  Let me show you the world, William Ableton.”

“Funny, I never told you my last name.”  William puzzled.

“You didn’t have too.” Jim said. “My mother told me. Time for a great adventure, William.”

“To where?”

“To where ever the wind takes us.  To lands of dragons and knights, to worlds of crystal and stone, to places where the earch is young and the lines of the universe have not been drawn.  Where ever we please!” Jack smiled and jumped lightly to one side.

“I must decline, Mr. Frost.  I am… old.” William frowned.

“Nonsense.  Your wife wasn’t old when I met her at this bench.  She still isn’t.”  Jim smiled.

“My… what?  What did you just say?  How did you know my wife came here?  To feed the birds… the birds.  The silly birds.  Did you know, Jim, that I actually hate birds?  But Lee… she loved them. Adored them. Even the fat ones.”

“She is waiting for us, Mr. William. Come.  Let’s have an adventure.”  Jim put out his hand placatingly.

“Hrmph. I think I am about ready for an adventure.  Screw the pigeons.”  William reached up and took the sprite’s hand.  The wind blew, the snow swirled, and the bread laid forgotten on the snow at the front of the empty bench.

People paid no mind.