Wonderland

She lazily browsed the shelves of the dusty antiques store and took a deep breath. It was warm and smelled homey and, for the first time since she had come to the city, quiet enough to hear herself think. She sighed, knowing she couldn’t possibly afford anything in here. She had only fifteen dollars left in her purse. Just enough for a ticket home. Back to everything she had so desperately wanted to leave behind. But it was no good, everything in the city was so expensive and no matter how hard she had tried she now had no choice but to go back. But not just yet. She couldn’t bear it. Just five minutes more in the peace of this little shop. She trailed her hand along a row of books until her sleeve caught the corner of a small black notebook and knocked it to the ground. She picked it up and turned it over, running a thumb over the flowing gold cursive stamped into the cover; Write Me. She laughed and muttered to herself, “Ok Alice, time to come back from Wonderland now.” She flipped through the pages, delicate ivory parchment, completely blank. It felt heavy in her hands, a comforting weight. Her heart ached at the thought of putting it back on the shelf, and instead she found herself taking it over to the counter, “excuse me, how much is this book?”

The old woman behind the counter blinked up at her over the top of her glasses as if she had had no idea there was anyone else in the shop, “fifteen dollars, dear.”

Her heart sunk and she clutched the book to her chest. The old woman pushed up stiffly from her armchair and set the enormous woollen blanket she had been making carefully to the side. “You look world weary m’dear. I’m about to make some tea so hows about you just sit at that old writing desk in the corner for a spell and I’ll bring you a cup, warm your wee self before you brave the cold out there.”

Without waiting for an answer she shuffled through the curtained door behind her and disappeared. Not sure what else to do she crossed the room without a word, dropped down heavily into the chair and set the book on the desk. A fat ginger tabby leapt down next to her from a nearby shelf and batted playfully at an ornate fountain pen that had otherwise been minding its own business before turning away with exaggerated disinterest to wash his whiskers.

A saucer clinked down in front of her and snapped her back to attention. She stared down at the open book and felt the pen drop from her hand, felt the blush rise in her cheeks and the bottom fall out of her stomach as she stammered an apology and fished in her purse for the last of her money, pushing the crumpled notes in to the old woman’s hand without lifting her eyes. The warm, leathery hand closed around hers and she felt another gently raise her chin. The old woman smiled down warmly, “there’s no shame in a daydream, sweet child. Now, drink your tea.”

She sipped her tea, felt its warmth spread through her, waited for her heart to stop racing, picked up the pen, and wrote. Page after page, as if the words weren’t hers but something being pulled from deep inside her, her very soul being poured out on the page. She couldn’t remember what had already been written and she had no idea what was coming next but her hand kept moving and the pages kept turning until at last the little book was full. She sat back in the chair, massaging her aching wrist, and blinked a few times before looking around the now dim shop, finding the old lady and the cat curled up in their chair behind the counter, snoring softly. Her tea was cold now but she finished it anyway. Flipping back through the now not so blank pages something slipped from the cover and landed on the desk. A folded envelope, stamped and self addressed to a publishing house, a cheque, simply made out to “the Author, for the sum of twenty thousand dollars”, and a letter, again addressed only to the Author, printed on rich, heavy stationary with an extravagant letterhead embossed across the top, detailing the conditions of the advance, and including instructions for banking the cheque.

Gathering everything up she slipped quietly out of the shop and stood in the pre dawn chill, blinking at the sudden intensity of the street lamp before her, and as her eyes adjusted she saw a postbox sitting quietly in its light. She stared. It couldn’t be real. She had fallen asleep in that silly little shop and dreamed of Wonderland. Except the cold seeping through her clothes told her otherwise. She had never seen the city so empty before, the noise and the people had always frightened her, threatening to swallow her up. But now in the cold and dark it felt like a friend, whispering its secrets for only her to hear. What did she have to lose? She knew now that she could never go home. She tucked the papers into her purse, slid the little book into the envelope and sealed it. She held her breath as she pushed it through the slot and gave a small jump as it landed inside with a hollow thud. Exhaling slowly she pulled her jacket closer around her against the breeze and walked away, not even daring to look back.