The Golden Lockets

She woke, this young girl. She opened her eyes. It was quiet.

It was still.

Everything so perfectly quiet.

Perfectly still.

And yet, where was she? This place?

She began to sit up. She was covered in leaves. And she thought, why am I?

She was in a forest, magical in its holding of her, but she did not know this yet, either. She looked to the trees, majestic in their reaching, the crowns of them, just within her sight, the sun there, breaking through to her, and she felt, somehow, as if she was standing beneath a canopy of hope; of new days coming.

She began to brush the leaves away. She stopped. There was a small heart-shaped golden locket with a thin gold chain wrapped around her left hand. She brought it to her more, touching it with her other hand. The smoothness of it. There was a latch, and she pressed it, but it wouldn’t open. She looked around her, and she wondered again, where was this place?

She looked at her own self; touching herself, to see if she was real. She continued to brush the leaves away, and she stood. She touched her hair, as if measuring the length of it. She looked again at the locket, untangling it from her hand. She held it in front of her, and it shone, twirling in the light, and she said, to the trees, to the light, to the ground holding below her, where’d it come from? And why do I have it?

She began to walk among the endless rows of towering trees, and she thought, I’m not frightened, walking in a forest all alone. And it was then, she realized, she did not know, who she was, her name, where she was, or why she was even there. And yet, it felt to her, as if that was okay, that she didn’t need to. As if everything would be all right, including her.

And yet, as she continued to walk, she thought, but still, it would be nice to know who I am, at least, just a little bit.

Not too far away, a boy, fully formed in his boyness, and not partially formed, woke. He, too, was covered in dry, colorful leaves. And like the girl, he did not know where he was. Who he was. And there, wrapped in his left hand, was the same golden locket. Next to him, stretched out on the ground, was a wolf-dog, its coat of fur, reflecting back the tree light. Sensing the boy stirring beneath the pile of leaves, it opened its eyes.

The girl walking, in the crisp clean air. She was happy. She was in peace. She stopped. Before her was a wall of mist, hanging just above the ground. She approached it, and she reached her finger to it, stopping just before it. Was it okay to touch? Would it burn her? Her finger falling off and dropping to the ground? She wondered, the quiet in the stillness of that place coming and settling upon her. She looked back at her finger stopped just before the mist. She closed her eyes, and she moved her finger forward. She opened her eyes, and her hand was gone, but she could feel herself wiggling her fingers on the other side of the mist. She brought her hand back, and she smiled, and she walked forward into the mist.

What’s your name? asked the boy.

But, of course, the wolf-dog did not answer. It looked around, and it looked back at the small boy, who almost spoke out loud, the word, ’yes’, when the thought appeared in his mind, that they should start walking.

And as they did, the boy’s hand came to the top of the wolf-dog’s head, scratching behind its ear, the good feel of its soft fur.

In the mist, she walked slower, careful of her footing.

What was that, she thought?

She looked around, and in the mist before her, were countless numbers of small young children, just like her, dressed in thin and ragged clothing. Appearing. Disappearing. Others too. Adults, of all kinds. Some holding in their arms, still and quiet babies. It saddened her, but she was not frightened, and she walked on.

Animals now, too, moving quickly, in and out of the mist.

Wolves, she thought.

More children.

More adults, with more babies, held in their arms, that did not make a sound.

She walked out from the mist and found herself standing in an endless valley meadow. The sun there, hard upon the tall grass.

She saw a tall old oak tree, in the middle of the field. She looked more, there was something there, in the shade of the tree. But it was too far, and she could not tell what it was.

She walked on, toward the tree, in the tall, warm grass, her hand coming to it.

Beneath the large tree, she came to a caravan-type trailer, the trim painted in bright colors, the grass up past the door, the wheels taken by the earth. On the side boards of the trailer, in faded painted letters, was the word: Circus.

Sitting on the hitch of the trailer was an old man with beautiful olive skin, a straw, sweat-stained trilby hat, purple pants, black pointy shoes, a white shirt, and a black vest. His legs were crossed, a cigarette burning down between his fingers.

Hello, Lizzy.

My name’s Lizzy?

It’s a nice enough name, don’t you think?

Yes, I do. I like it. She looked around. Where am I; this place?

Well, it’s here, of course, and he stood, looking around at the day, as if taking pride in it, somehow. It is a beautiful day, though, is it not?

Yes, said Lizzy, it is, and I don’t really ever remember a day quite like it.

No?

No, not really.

Well, said the old man, I think so too.

Lizzy smiled.

Well, I suppose, I should get going. I can’t be sitting around here talking and doing nothing all of this beautiful day, there’s work to be done yet.

There is? said Lizzy, and she felt a sense of loss, just for a moment, as if this only other person she’d met was special to her. Wanting him to stay with her longer.

I think, Lizzy, if I were you, I’d walk that way, and he pointed.

She looked to where he pointed, and she pointed too. That way?

Yes.

And in a small breeze picking up and pushing over her, Lizzy tilted her head back, and she heard a voice somewhere inside of it, say, yes, this way.

The old man tipped his hat, it’s been nice meeting you, Lizzy, and I hope we meet again, one day. I’m sure we will.

She looked again in the direction the man had pointed. She pointed again. That way?

Yes, he said. That’s the way.

She looked at the old man. It was nice meeting you, too, she said, and she thanked him.

You’re most welcome, Lizzy. And don’t you worry, you’ll be fine. Isidore will see to it.

Isidore?

Yes, he’s waiting for you.

He is?

Yes, of course. Well, good luck, Lizzy, and he opened the trailer door and walked inside.

She walked the large valley meadow, and after what seemed like a very long time, she came to another forest. The shade of the trees felt good, it was cool and it was quiet. And she wondered, which way now? She saw a big black bird sitting on the branch of a tree. Do you know? she asked the bird, and to her surprise, the bird said, do you not see the direction the tree is pointing? And sure enough, the entire tree was formed in the shape of the head of an arrow, pointing the way. It’s a moon tree, said the bird, and it flew away.

Thank you, bird, said Lizzy, and she started on her way again.

The young boy, having come to the same valley meadow as Lizzy, in a different part of it, had come across the same old man, the same old trailer. Had had the same conversation. And now, he, too, with the wolf-dog next to him, walked in the new forest. Although, he did not come upon a black talking bird, having the wolf-dog to show him the way.

The edge of the forest was before her, and there, in that place, she saw a light, of its own, or so it seemed to her. Standing in the intensity of the light, was a man, a very large man. His back to her. She walked from the forest, and as she did, she looked to her left, where she saw the young boy and the wolf-dog exiting the forest at the very same time as she did.

Walking their own paths, they met at the man, each of them standing on their side of him, who did not look down at either one, instead, continuing to look at that which was before him. The children looked too. At the black and scorched earth. The slow swirling grey ash of what once was.

He looked at Lizzy. You’re here.

Lizzy said, yes. Are you Isidore?

I am, he said, and he looked at the young boy. And you’re, Zander.

Yes, said the boy.

Good, said Isidore. Shall we go?

Go where? said the boy.

Well, home, of course, said the man, and together, they turned and walked away from the black, scorched earth, of that old dead world now.

Lizzy, feeling the golden locket against her chest, put her hand to it.

Next to her, so, too, did Zander. He stopped, and he looked at Lizzy. What do you think is inside?

Lizzy, stopping, looked at Zander. I don’t know.

Isidore and the wolf-dog, stopping, looked back.

Lizzy, smiling, said, maybe one day, we’ll find out.

Zander, looking back at Lizzy, realized, for the very first time, he was lost to the depth of purity in her beautiful eyes, and he said, yes, I think we will.

Good, she said, and she took his hand, and they all walked on together.

In the garden.

This new world, now. The golden lockets against their chests, shining in the new light of a new day.