Oliver #3
Not only can we not see Socks’s ribs, we can’t even see anything behind him. But Delilah’s tactic works. “Well,” Socks simpers. “In that case…”
He leans toward Edgar’s outstretched hand and gobbles the rest of the biscuit in a single bite.
“Now,” Orville coaches, “make a wish.”
Delilah immediately grabs my hand so tightly I can feel her fingernails cutting into my skin. Socks’s eyelids drift shut, and I hold my breath.
Slowly, meticulously, Socks’s bottom begins to shrink inch by cellulite-dimpled inch.
“Socks,” I yell. “Focus!”
The horse’s eyes snap open, and he shakes his head with regret. “Sorry, sorry…” He closes his eyes once more, and I start to feel a tingling in my fingers and my toes. I look down at my hand, still in Delilah’s, as it begins to fade.
In that last, horrible second, I realize what Delilah has been trying to explain to me: if you love someone, you have to let them go.
I grab her shoulders while I still can. She is staring at me in terror, her mouth trembling. “Listen to me, Delilah: Live your life. Fall in love again.” I take a deep breath. “Don’t you dare wait for me.”
She is sobbing, wrapped tight in my embrace, and I am kissing her, and then suddenly…I’m not.
Becoming two-dimensional again feels like being crushed from head to toe, having the breath forced from one’s lungs, and being rolled out and flattened like a piecrust. I find myself facedown on the beach, the wind knocked out of me.
When I try to push myself upright, I fail at first: the muscles I used to move in Delilah’s world do not work as well here; action is executed through thought and intent, not brute physical force.
It’s like learning to ride a stallion again. By the time I manage to flop onto my back and Rapscullio offers me a hand up, Socks is prancing in a circle. “I did it, I did it!” he sings. “Do I get a medal for this? I’m thinking gold goes best with my eyes….”
I am surrounded by well-wishers—the trolls, who clap me hard on the back; the mermaids, who blow me kisses; the fairies, whose excitement shows in small bursts of sparks. Queen Maureen folds me into her arms. “How grand it is to see you again, Oliver,” she says.
Over her shoulder I look around to find others helping Seraphima to her feet.
She looks dazed and rattled. Then she catches sight of something behind a boulder and rushes toward it, her eyes wide with wonder and joy.
“Oh, Frump! You are here,” she cries, and she kneels in front of Humphrey, reaching out to pat him.
The hound wags his tail, happy with the attention.
He cocks his head. “Hello, beautiful woman. I am Humphrey, and I would like to sleep at your feet tonight.” Seraphima’s face falls, yet she lets Humphrey lick her face.
She looks completely out of place in her jeans and T-shirt, but then again, so do I.
I glance down; Delilah’s tears still stain my shirt.
I stumble away from the crowd and crane my neck toward the top of the page. Delilah’s face looms over me, pale and pained. She lets out a small sob and very slowly closes the book.
“All clear!” calls Orville, the same words Frump used to say when the book was closed by a Reader.
The characters begin to wander off the margins. “Does this mean we don’t have to have laser practice anymore?” Biggle asks Snort.
Queen Maureen pats my arm as she passes. “I’ll get supper started, dear.”
Orville is the last to leave. “I know this may not be what you wanted, Oliver,” he says, “but we’re glad to have you home.”
But home, to me, is Delilah. Without her here beside me, the world is just the place where I take up space.
I sit on the beach by myself long enough for Queen Maureen to finish cooking dinner and the air to grow cold.
I sit long enough for the sky to turn black and the moonlight to dance on the ocean.
The stars overhead look ragged, knocked out of position by the removal of the wishing biscuit.
There’s a giant dark space in the heavens where something seems to be missing.
As I watch, a new star is born. It flickers twice and then burns more steadily, bright and effervescent, outshining all the others around it. The smaller stars are tugged into order by its gravitational pull, forming a constellation I’ve seen before.
Chris called it Canis Major, and he pointed to the brightest beacon in the night sky: Sirius. The Dog Star.
I smile, having underestimated Frump’s loyalty to me. “Welcome back, old friend.”
I am fairly certain he winks at me.
From my pocket I pull the photograph of Delilah that I stole weeks ago: that Halloween picture, where she is young, dressed in a princess’s gown, with a crooked tiara balanced on her head. “We all made it back here,” I say to her. “Me, Seraphima, and even Frump. You’re the only one who’s missing.”
I wait for her response, but of course, it’s no longer that easy. With a sigh, I get to my feet and go to slip the photograph back into my pocket, only to find that my sweatshirt and jeans have already become a green velvet tunic and hose, that my sneakers have given way to black leather boots.
In the distance, I can make out the buttery lights of the castle.
And just like that, I’m merely a prince again.