Forgotten Fadeland

It was the first day of second grade, and Joseph had spent the hours fawning over his new pencils and notebooks his mother had purchased for him at the store. He had tagged along, choosing what pack of a particular color he had wanted, what sort of erasers, what color cover of notebook. Today was the day he could finally use them, and the thrill of it still filled his heart with excitement to overflowing.

Even better, it was an overcast day, with the grey clouds curtaining the world from the sun, and it had rained throughout the entire morning, stopping just as it was time to go home. Joseph had frolicked through puddles and slipped into his hoodie jacket, humming as he sauntered along. The sound of tires gliding along wet asphalt as cars zipped by was one of his favorite sounds, and the walk home was rife with them.

The first day was always his favorite day—but then the novelty of it all, his new school materials and paraphernalia, his new teacher, would fade and the days would become a bore, dragging on in mundane routine broken up into two parts: of classes where he would look forward to lunch recess, then classes in which he would wait for the dismissing bell.

Imagine his surprise to see a box sitting before his doorstep that wonderful day, as if to top it off like a well-matched dessert after a fantastic course meal. He inspected it closely. This was not like other boxes—no, other packages had a variety of stickers slapped onto them, addresses, store logos and the like.

But this one was wrapped in brown paper, the thick, expensive sort which they sold in stationary stores as a minimalist giftwrap. It had been set perfectly geometrically aligned before the doorway.

Joseph peered at it closely, before hauling it inside. His parents were working, and he had the house to himself for several hours—hours during which he would watch television and walk around in his underwear before hearing the keys rattling as the front door was unlocked, and he would dash into his room, get dressed, and feign distress over a particular math problem on his homework.

Joseph did not usually open deliveries on his own. He had tried several times before, but they were usually filled with things that bored him, such as his mother’s clothing, father’s computer wires, or sometimes grocery items. But this particular package was too entrancing, and Joseph felt the warm wind of temptation flow over him and wrap him cozily in its embrace. Perhaps it was a new toy, or a video game system his parents had purchased for him without his knowledge. Or perchance, his grandmother had sent him another birthday gift, though his birthday was still four months away. He tore through the paper hungrily, opening the box to see—nothing.

Joseph slumped onto the ground in disappointment, wondering who in the world would have done such an absurd thing. Oh well, he thought. There were slices of cherry pie waiting for him in the refrigerator. Such a thing would not daunt him!

Suddenly, the world around him became a blur, swirling and whirring like how it appears when on a merry-go-round. But here, Joseph knew that he was standing still, and the world was spinning, instead of the other way around. A thunderous wind echoed in his ears, and with a cry, he fell onto his back with his arms around his head.

Joseph found himself in a starry hall, like those found in planetariums with the constellations floating around you.

“Hello,” a voice said. The person strolled over to Joseph. He was about twice Joseph’s age, a teenager. He knelt next to him. The surrounding stars dotted his face with white pools of light.

Joseph groaned. “Where are we?”

“Don’t know. I’ve been here for about half an hour.” He pointed at the opposite corner. “That man there though, he’s been here for over two hours, he says.”

Joseph squinted in the direction of where the teenager pointed. A man got onto his feet and walked glumly over to them. He was dressed primly in a suit and tie, with a posh golden watch on his wrist. His beard and mustache were closely trimmed, and his hair was scrupulously gelled.

The man offered his hand. “The name’s Joe. Good to meet you.” The fragrance of his cologne wafted into Joseph’s nostrils, reminding him of his father before he headed off to work.

Joseph took the man’s hand. “My name’s Joseph.”

The teenager laughed and opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly there was a turbulent whirlwind of twisting white, writhing not far from where they stood. The three fell back with a cry. The wind faded away as fast as it had arrived, and in its place stood an old man, white of hair and a staff in his hand.

“Hello.”

Joe helped the other two onto their feet, before crossing his arms indignantly.

“Did you bring us here? What is this place?”

“This is the Fadeland. You all have been here before, though you probably don’t remember it. It’s the land we come to when we’re dozing off to sleep, or deep in slumber. Some of us enter it when we’re working furiously, or writing, or drawing. We spend more time here when we’re young, then forget about it as we grow older, but we always yearn for it in our hearts. Then when we grow old, we remember this place and return to live in it.”

“Send me back,” Joe demanded, looking down at his watch. “I have a meeting at four o’clock I can’t miss.”

The teenager shuffled his feet nervously. “Me too. I have a submission due at eleven fifty-nine tonight, and I haven’t started.”

All Joseph could do was stare wide-eyed at the old man.

The old man limped languidly to where they stood.

“You may leave,” he said. “But there is something I would like you to try.” From his pockets, he drew an apple, gleaming golden at one moment, shimmering silver in the next. Joseph rubbed his eyes and watch with fascination at the fruit. He had not known such a thing existed in this world. He found himself wanting to grasp it, look over it, take a bite out of it to see how it tasted. He looked over at the teenager, then at Joe and was quite surprised to find them observing with indifference.

“If I take a bite of this, you’ll send me back?” Joe said, taking the fruit.

“Yes,” the old man said. He beckoned with his hand and leaned forward expectantly. “Well, go on.”

Joe frowned at the fruit suspiciously, slowly held it up to his mouth, and took a bite. In an instant the frown twisted into a grimace, his lips curled, and his nose rose in a wrinkle.

“It’s…bitter.” His face then loosened. “And sweet. Sweet, but bitter.” His face then folded on itself once more. “Bitter. More bitter.”

“Would you…” the old man leaned closely. “Finish it?”

Joe took a step back. “Must I?”

“Only if you wish.”

Joe shook his head. “Sorry, but I have too much to do today. I’d rather not upset my stomach.”

“What if I told you that it gets sweeter with each bite? That by the time you finish, it’d be the most delicious fruit you’ve ever eaten?”

Joe handed the fruit back to the old man. “Sorry.”

The old man appeared saddened but not very surprised. “Alright,” he said with a forlorn smile. “Off you go then!" He rose his staff high into the air, and a whirlwind materialized where Joe was standing, and just like that, Joe was returned to his life.

Joseph did not realize his mouth had dropped and that he was grinning like a fool, but all of this was too wondrous for him to understand.

The old man next turned to the teenager. “Alright, Joey. You’re next.”

The teenager gasped. “How did you know my name?” Then he chuckled. “That’s the least surprising thing today. You want me to eat the fruit too? Then you’ll send me back?”

The old man nodded and grinned, not uneagerly.

Joey took a bite of the fruit and nodded. “You know, I don’t know what Joe was talking about. It’s not bitter in the slightest.” The old man opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted. “Ah, but you know, it’s a little heavy. I feel it would make me sleepy and distract me from finishing my work.” Joey gazed at the fruit as one who has eaten too much craves for just one more bite of apple pie, before surrendering the fruit to the old man. “It’s tempting, but no thanks. Maybe if it was for dessert and I had nothing else to do. Thank you for the treat!”

The old man at this point seemed disheartened as he forced the shadow of a smile on his lips. “Alright, Joey. I’ll let you go. Good luck.” He lifted his staff half-heartedly, and Joey was gone in the same way Joe had left.

With a groan, the old man hobbled to Joseph and plopped down onto the ground beside him. His movements were attenuated as he lifted the apple to Joseph.

“That was amazing!” Joseph cried. “How do you do that? Let me see that fruit!” Joseph snatched the fruit from the old man’s hand and devoured it passionately. Oh how sweet it was! Every bite was as if honey was bursting within his mouth, the juices dribbled down his chin and fingers, and Joseph could only take one more bite, one more bite in delight.

Before long, the fruit was gone in its entirety—only the stem and seeds were left. Joseph stared wonderingly at his hands, disbelieving that the fruit was already gone. He looked at the old man sheepishly. “You wouldn’t have anymore, would you?”

The old man sat silent, then roared in laughter. Joseph did not know why, but he joined the man in chorus, and they sat there, laughing joyously. The old man drew forth another apple and gave it to Joseph.

Joseph chewed slowly, savoring the taste this time around. “How could those others say that this is bitter, or heavy? It’s so fresh, like candy, or pie, or cider, but better!”

The old man sighed. “As we grow older, Joseph, we lose a part of ourselves. We become locked in ennui, in the mundane, in repetition and habit. We get bored, yet we cannot escape it, because we have too much to lose, and many times we do not even know we are bored. It takes courage to take that first step, because in doing so we reveal ourselves to the world, feeling as if we’ve shed our feathers like a naked chicken.” The old man smiled. “But the first step is halfway there, Joseph.”

The old man stood slowly. “I suppose you want me to send you back as well.”

Joseph shook his head. “I love it here. It’s like being in the skies, like flying. Can’t I just stay here a little longer?”

The old man’s eyes twinkled, or shined, or maybe he was crying. “You can come here whenever you like, Joseph. Just remember it from time to time, even as you grow older.”

Joseph stood reluctantly. The old man brought forth another fruit from his pocket and placed it in Joseph’s hands.

“Here Joseph, to remember me by.” He rose his staff, and a soft wind tugged at Joseph’s hair and clothing, growing in strength and increasing in speed with each second. Joseph struggled to keep his eyes open, and he held the precious apple tightly to his chest.

Joseph gasped. “I never got your name!”

Through the gusty blur, Joseph thought he could make out a smile, not forced or sad, but expectant and hopeful.

“Remember courage, and stay curious, Joseph!”