Train Spirits

Ribbon Farmers. Destiny exists. I believe that or else how would you explain the sudden explosion of two bus tires at the same time? Even when the entire bus crew combined their efforts, I still got to class late. As if that wasn’t enough, the old, grumpy math teacher was well hidden in the far corner of the bathroom just in time to hear me express my innermost concept of reality.

Although I tried to convince him that his ears were failing, he still dragged me to the headmaster’s office on three counts of offensive expletives, used beyond repair. As you would imagine, the confused director of education did not understand my wisdom. Albeit that I used the well-known parable clearly showing a motive for this abusive action against an innocent student. I was just another victim whom the fox was unable to reach and considered me sour. All that, and they still sentenced me to a full day off with five pages of investigation on the use of proper verbiage. Men.

Destiny is a wretch. She purposefully leads unsuspecting, helpless victims down her road of perils and disasters. Imagine, I was busy expressing my dissatisfaction with the recent injustice and cleaning the streets of unwanted debris. Kicking a bottle here, breaking off excess flower branches, and just raising a middle finger at unpleasant passersby. Suddenly, a broken skateboard with three wheels appeared out of nowhere and paused just where I was placing my feet.

Incredible sliding and grabbing for emergency support brought my tender hands in contact with a thistle laden with thorns. This gives me one more reason to destroy harmful beauty from my habitat. Charming elements like roses are heavily armed enemies of my peace and safety.

Ribbon Farmers – Into The Garden

Somewhere during the onslaught of destiny, I bumped my feet and fell headlong into a well-kept garden. I swear, I have never seen it before. I know it’s true, I walk this alley daily, yet this was almost perfect. The first thing I noticed was a large yellow ribbon that was neatly tied in a bow and somehow pegged to a weeping willow.

Admittedly, the bow was close to getting my best ratings except for a couple of wrinkles on the corners. Whoever made it must have taken hours, and I would have to outperform this nerd. I sprung to my feet and hopped my way closer to the tree. Slowly, then slower – rubbing my head, my hips, my elbow – there was not a single spot that that feline did not hit.

I promise you, she was not going to wedge anything between me and this bow. I touched it, caressed its curves and hanging tails then tried to straighten out the rough ends. However, as soon as I evened out one wrinkle, another appeared at the opposite end. I gave it a few tries and found out that the only way to make it better was by disarming it first.

Unfortunately, that was easier thought than done. As much as I tried, I could not get the bow close to its original state. At times the tails were uneven, or too many wrinkles, or one-sided. I pulled at my ponytail and started over. Same results.

Did you know that the willows weep? I relieved them of a few branches just to keep them quiet for a while. I untied, rearmed, and stood back to admire it again. Firing thunder! The tails were uneven again.

“Brenda, you have whipped my art clear and clean. Well done!”

Destiny is a cruel taskmaster. Of all the persons to appear, the grumpy mathematics teacher. Had I known that he would be coming here, I would have learned to fly. After ratting me out he now dares to call me by my first name. No more ‘Young Lady’, how fortunate.

“Did you make this bow, Sir?’

“It took me several years to even tie one similar to it. But no, it’s not mine. The maker has found his specialty and has moved on. He left me the bow tie as a parting gift. But I see you have done it in a matter of hours.’

“Can someone make a living selling bow ties?”

The old man coughed as they all do and I wondered why we all have to go through the youth erasing program.

“From a numbers viewpoint, yes it’s possible.  But specialties do not work like that. I wanted to be a singer like Frank Sinatra but could never get the notes right. One day, I landed here just like you, Brenda. I have never seen a prettier moon, have you?”

As I gazed up at the skies I was convinced that the creator needed painting lessons. Have you noticed that the sky is an accent blue, not too dark and just slightly bright? A few more drabs of the paintbrush would make it a memorable Earth sky. However, that moon with three crescents is a winner.

After gazing at it for a few seconds a fourth crescent seemed to appear before vanishing in a wisp of orange light.

“Did you make that moon, Mr. Maitland?”

“That is another specialty. The creator is a young university student, it is his second sky. I can’t wait to see it when he showcases it to the world…”

“Sorry, Sir, but where are we? This moon is certainly not in my town.”

“You came through the Thorn Portal. I landed here too the same way you did. I wanted a rose for my girlfriend then and I got spurred accidentally. I have always fainted at the sight of blood. Including my own. I woke up shortly afterward.

“How did you enter, I mean how did you touch the rose?”

I turned and faced him discovering that he was no longer wearing his eyeglasses. His daily slacks gave room to slavish tandem jeans, without seam or braces. Something about him caught my attention and though I could not nail it down at the time, I figured it out later.

Face it guys, it’s not every day that you meet your transformed math teacher in an enchanted garden. Not even in the movies have I seen this kind of effect, so blame it on the author of our fate. Even so, I could not help noting that he bore two things in his hands. There was an untied purple ribbon in his left hand and a beautiful red rose in his right.

“I slipped on a broken skateboard and pricked my hand on the thorns. I crash-landed here in front of this willow tree. How did you enter now, Mr. Maitland?”

“Sorry about the hard landing. It usually happens this way. Your next visit will be voluntary. You will just walk up to the rose and choose one.  Here, take a look at this flower. What do you see?”

Geeks, for an old grumpy, math teacher, he sure uses an irresistible cologne. Reminds me of that Mexican guitarist turned movie star.

“It’s missing two petals. Did you purposely…remove….them?’’

It struck me like a bolt of lightning. Just choose a rose and remove two petals. All this sliding, body-hitting, flesh piercing had an easier, painless path. Destiny will surely get to know the blunt side of my tongue as soon as we leave this garden. Did I really want to leave? What if we got stuck here, how would we get home?

“Yes. You are the last of the one hundred chosen specialists. This means you’ll only be removing one petal each time you choose to come back to your garden…..”

“Is this my garden, I thought it was yours?”

“No to both.  This is the welcome garden. You get to see a bit of what is being created at a glance. The bow maker is about to introduce Christmas Trees that produce bow ties, the moon maker is creating moons with multiple crescents, I am planting willows that literally weep, and so forth.

“You are the missing piece of the great tapestry. Your specialty will help achieve unparalleled greatness. Do you know what yours is, Brenda?”

That was it. I finally figured it out. This person knows me inside out. My weaknesses and my strengths.  He knew I would be here before I crashed in and appeared just in time. I knew with whom I was engaging.

“Does it include confrontation and anger at the injustice of math teachers? Or just my uncanny prowess of disliking the way people mess everything up?”

Mr. Maitland chuckled, raised a finger, and pulled a twig from my hair.

“Touche, young lady, touché. Actually, you were chosen because you can’t bear to see broken things. You like to see things the way they should be, the state in which they were formed – a four-leaf clover, a skateboard with its wheels oiled, polished, and running. You know when to prune trees even though you do not have a garden, and you hate to waste words. Always directly to the point. Brutal but concise.

“You want to repair everything that you believe is broken, you are a carpenter, Brenda. You will help our creators perfect their talents.  Here, take this ribbon, it will become your guide. It will lead you to your first garden.”

I took the ribbon and softly caressed its lining, absorbing its delicate fabric into my thoughts. It moved up and formed a bow tie on my wrist. It was absolutely perfect, with no wrinkles, even tails, and perfect bows.

“What will I plant in my garden? How will I choose where to start?”

“Honestly Brenda, I have no clue. But that’s why you are here, I am confident that between you and the ribbon, we’ll see perfect wonders.”

He turned to leave, lingering to look me over one more time.

“Say, why Mr. Maitland? I mean, why did you appear as him?”

“As brilliant as ever, Brenda. He is the one you have misjudged the most. He really cares about you and worries about your well-being. Sometimes he whispers little prayers hoping that you will not get lost. No one cares for you as much as he does.

“But, everything I have shown you about him is true. I must be going now. Awe, that question that’s bothering you. I have chosen one hundred from each continent. There are others who will help the world get better. I am looking forward to seeing what you do. Bye, Brenda.”

“Goodbye, Destiny. So glad to meet you.”

Destiny has style, oh my gosh! Like a whisp of summer pollen blown into the wilds, she transformed and faded away. When would I be able to do something like that? I guess it takes a bit of training and magic.

Something warm caressed my cheeks and even though I was surprised to see that I had them, I let them flow for a while. This would explain why Nancy loved to do this every time I screamed at her. Poor child, I had no idea I was doing her a favor.

After a lengthy tour of several gardens, I finally chose one filled with unkept flowers, hedges, and a broken cottage. I would start here, but first I had things to do in my world.

Sunday evening was family time but this week I opted to miss out. I decided to visit Nancy and invited her for a stroll. After tugging at her resistance for a moment just close to my free expression act, she accepted. Chatting and eventually laughing we headed over to the park.

She was still puzzled by my unusual behavior. And as you might guess not much has changed since. I still wore the old me under my new, creative personality. I made it clear that I was not onto her in any way as I do like boys even though I have not seen one who was not an idiot yet.

She seemed disappointed but when I told her that I wanted to be friends she flew up to another cloud. Hugging me and doing that water-eyed thing again. By the time I got home, I realized that she was not as boring as I thought. Could I keep my promise?

Only Destiny may know the answer.

On Monday morning I brought my investigation to Mr. Maitland. He looked it over and nodded just as grumpy as usual. Can you imagine his surprise when I hugged him and whispered in his ear: “Thank, you Mr. Maitland. I will be all right.”

I believe in Destiny, do you?