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Poems of Antiquity
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* -- denotes soonish.
When Pickle woke up the next morning, the first thing she noticed was the temperature. Everything was much cooler. She was lying on a large cushion, and Onion was snoring away on another cushion close by.
The rest of the past night had passed in a blur. After they had collected themselves outside the boat, Onion had suggested that they return, to confront the Salesman again. Onion figured that there was probably a lot more magiglass on the ship, and he wanted to destroy all of it. But Grappa spoke up, saying, "He not worth it. He do nothing. We to blame." That had put that weird far-off look on Onion's face, Pickled had noticed. She had gone over to him and hugged him for a long time then, telling him that he wasn't to blame for what happened earlier.
Soon after, a black flag with a mermaid had risen on the boat, and it set sail, the Salesman and his servile, sniveling, snurkling Squeeb. "Good riddance to bad apples," Pickle had said, covering her mouth immediately afterwards. It was a total momism. Onion eked out a chuckle after hearing that, and Pickle issued such a loud yawn that even I got tired. Grappa said he had plenty of room in his hut for everyone, even extra cushions and pillows. Onion wanted to make sure that all the glass had been destroyed, but Mr Peckins assured him that he would take care of it all.
"I know this is a tropical tree," Pickle said to Onion as they started to head back to the village, "but it somehow reminds me of Elmer. Do you think he has any relatives on Grmph Island?"
"I don't know. I guess we'll have to ask him," Onion said, winking. It was his wink that brought him back. She didn't know where he had gone, but when he winked at her, all Pickle could see was the boy down the street. The boy with crazy unkempt white hair, a crooked grin, and a way of looking at you like he actually cared what you said. Her Onion. The Best Onion.
Then he had yawned, and said, "I'm sleepy," and Pickle beamed at him and said back, "Oh, Onion, you're the best!" He kept walking beside her, looking at her with his sparkling green eyes, not saying anything. Pickle smiled at him all the way back to Grappa's hut. Then as she pulled the blanket over her eyes and felt the drape of sleep falling over her, she heard Onion say, "Goodnight Pickle."
"Goodnight Onion," she said. "It's good to have you back."
Then Sleep yanked so hard on her eyelids, that she didn't wake up for 12 hours.
* * *
Now it was morning, and it appeared that a great thaw had taken place on the island. That is, everything was much, much cooler. Much more like it should be, Grappa told them. That was what Onion had expected, and what he had told the Grmphs the night before, so Pickle's heart soared when she heard the news. Last night's chaos hadn't all been for naught.
Mr. Peckins arrived with Grrr soon after Pickle wiped away all the last shreds of sleep. Onion was up, too, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arm, which still bothered him a little. Now that all the craziness was over, Pickle didn't know what to think. What should they do next? Just enjoy themselves? Take a day at the beach.
That's when Onion said, "Pickle, can I talk to you for a minute, alone?" And his face temporarily disappeared behind that weird serious Onion mask -- almost adult-like in its lack of passion. Pickle shook her head, and she figured she knew what was coming next. The others walked outside, talking about how fine the weather was, while Onion sat crossing and uncrossing his hands. He had a funny way of doing that when he was nervous.
"Onion, don't be nervous, it's just me, Pickle, your best friend. Besides, I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that we should go home. That our parents will be terribly worried. That they'll have thought the worst. And you know what--
"It's more than that, though, Pickle, it's everything!" Onion blurted out, interrupting her. "It's everything that's happened. The Island of Odur and the princess who finally realized how good her dad was, and the Ugh kids getting to see their parents after weeks and months , and now we're here, and everyone is so happy, but they're all with their families ... it's just too much!"
"I know, you're right, I agree with you Onion," Pickle said.
"And your mom might have been out of line, but I think if we go back, and we tell them what happened, that it was an innocent mistake, that I never meant anything by it--"
"What?" Pickle said, and her voice was so sharp that Onion stopped talking.
"Oh, no, it's not that Pickle. That's not what I meant. It's just that, it was so unexpected, and all, and I, I..."
"I would have done it again. Again and again, Onion. I realize now we were just kissing, but kissing you was like something I had never felt before. I guess you didn't feel the same way..."
"Just cut that out," Onion said, his voice deep and serious. "I would do the same thing, Pickle, and I mean it. I wouldn't lose that moment for anything. I think the world of you, Pickle. Heck, I think the Worlds of you! Please don't think that I don't. Because I do. I was just saying that at the time, it was purely innocent. It wasn't meant to be anything bad or secretive or anything. And I think our parents will understand. If they ever let us out of the house again."
"Yeah, that's true. We're gonna be grounded for forever. But, we still have to go home. I miss my mother yelling at me to clean my room, and father reading his newspapers full of war and famine and horror. I miss my room and my bed, and not running around having nasty old Squeebs chasing me."
"Then we agree?" Onion asked. "We should figure out how to get home?"
Pickle was touched. She realized that if she said she wasn't going home, that Onion would have stayed with her, wherever she went. Yes, Onion truly was the greatest. Everyone deserves to have an Onion of their own. (I have mine. I hope you have yours? If not, feel free to borrow this one now and again. Just be sure to give him back to Pickle. You wouldn't want to make her sad, would you? Good.)
So that's how Pickle and Onion decided to go home. Of course, there was a gentleman on the island very experienced in the art of World traveling. And here he is, walking into Grappa's hut, talking about rumleafs.
"The trick to a good rumleaf is the smell," he was saying. "You don't pluck it off the rumtree until it smells just right. You can tell, because it won't be green smelling, and it won't be brown smelling. It will be more of an orange-almond smell. Then you know that it's ready."
"Mr Peckins, sorry to interrupt, sir, but we have a favor to ask of you," Pickle said.
"Yes, what is it, my dear? You have something of mine, and I have something of yours?"
"You mean your sunglasses?" she asked. She began rummaging through her backpack. It was a miracle she still had the thing. It was certainly a lot dirtier now. She ruffled through it, finding the nightgown she made Onion wear, and a very old orange, and, hey, what's this?
"Oh, Mr Peckins, I do have something of yours besides your sunglasses. I have this!" And she held out a piece of paper to him, with fancy stenciling, which read, "To Mr Peckins," on the outside.
"Aha, my invitation!" he shouted. "Hoo hoo! Good girl! This is just great! And my sunglasses. Thank you very much, yes."
"Thank you for letting me use the glasses, they came in very handy. They led me to Grrr."
"Oh, silly girl, the glasses you can keep. Hee hee!" Mr Peckins said, very tickled about something.
"But they're, they're magical, aren't they?" Pickle asked.
"These old things, not hardly, ha ha," Mr Peckins said. "They led you in the right direction, but that's because they were on your head, and that's where the directions come from. Yes, you keep them. You might want them if it's sunny."
"But, but, but," Pickle began.
"No buts, not now, we're going to be late if we want to get back on time!" Mr Peckins shouted. "I do hope you come along. There's been this terrible freeze, you see. It's caused me such a sneeze. Everything has stopped. Kerplopped. And now, because of the thaw, it will start again. Oh, by the moon, it will be soon!"
"But where are you going?" Onion asked.
"Why, the very place where you began. It seems like so many weeks and days and words, but it's really not so many. Not so many at all. Because of the freeze. But now with the thaw, and the Big Sneeze, everything is ready to fall. Into place, that is. Come along, we must go before it's over. The snow."
"What? Who? What snow? Mr Peckins, you're not making sense." Pickle said.
"As usual," Onion chimed in.
"It's okay, sense isn't my strong point," Mr Peckins said. "Here, I will explain more casually. For all to see. Now close your eyes."
Pickle and Onion sighed concurrently.
But they did as he bid.
And he explained, in words too mysterious to write down correctly. Too correct to write up wrongly.
"There is a place in your heart of hearts, and only you can see it.
There is a space, and another space, and only you can be it.
There is a time, and a freeze, and a thaw.
There is a crime, and a sneeze, and hurrah.
There is a secret learned, and a bridge burned.
There is a way to do it, and a way to true it.
There is, and there is not.
There is all, and there is naught.
There is one way to see.
There is another, equally.
There lies the choice you make, to begin again.
For where to begin, but at the end?"
As Mr Peckins talked, the ground began to vibrate underneath them, and both Pickle and Onion recognized the feeling. Pickle recalled feeling the same way when she was on the Number 4, floating on a train. Onion felt it when he saw the ground moving beneath his feet, right before the ocean swallowed him. This time, however, they both felt more in control. And when it was over, it didn't take much of a toll.
"It's freezing here!" Pickle exclaimed.
"Yes, it's true, I couldn't be late. So I made everyone wait. I feel poorly for the trees. But you two have the same ability. Just don't use it without reason. I loathe jumping from season to season. Ta ta!"
"Mr Peckins, wait!" Pickle shouted, but he was a whirlwind of activity, and he stirred up so much snow, that he was gone before she could say anymore.
"Where did he go? What does it mean?" Pickle asked.
Onion just looked around at the scene.
It was their neighborhood, more or less. Well, less, actually. Everything in the neighborhood was covered in a thin film of snow and ice. It still should have been summertime, but there was no denying that it was as frozen as a tundra. And there was something else. A quietness. There was such a calmness, an eerieness, that both of them began to feel slightly alarmed.
"What do you hear?" Onion asked.
Pickle listened. "Nothing," she said.
"Me neither. Something is wrong. But I think it is becoming right."
As he said that, the sun burst out from behind the clouds, and both were relieved to see that it was just one sun, and not two. And then the snow and ice began melting, rapidly. The sun beat down as it would on a hot summer day, and soon everything was turning to slush, and then to water, and then to mud or else draining away.
"Something happened here, Pickle. Be careful what you say when you see your parents." Onion gestured down the street to her house. "We better both get home. But I have this feeling," and he rubbed the back of his head, "that we won't need a lot of explaining to do."
Pickle sensed that he was right, though she couldn't say why. Probably something Mr Peckins had said. But he had said so many things, and most of them were inscrutable. As it was, the snow had completely vanished. And Pickle knew she should be heading home.
"Even if we're in trouble, I think Mr Peckins showed us how we can still see each other while we're grounded. But I'll tell you about it later. Let's go before anyone wakes up."
"Wakes up?" Pickle said. "But it's the middle of the day. You're starting to sound like Mr P--"
But Onion had reached out, taken her head behind his head, and pulled her mouth forward, to his. Then he kissed her, firmly on the lips, and then he let go of her head with his hand and pulled back shyly.
"Just in case I don't see you soon," he said, and it was probably the sun, but Onion's face looked very red all of the sudden. Pickle's face, well, it was probably beetlike.
"Onion, at least call me soon to explain, okay?"
He nodded, and turned and began jogging down the street to his house. Pickle whirled, stepped in a big puddle, ruining her shoes once and for all, and began her own journey home.
* * *
It will come as no surprise to you, my faithful and patient readers, that Pickle and Onion didn't have much explaining to do. Their parents were none the wiser, because of the great freeze, which had shut everything down, including the big stopwatch in the sky. Pickle had figured it out, and when Onion called her later, he explained her suspicions. He said that somehow, and he wasn't sure how, they were able to stop everything. Either could do it without freezing the other, somehow. Onion suggested it was because they were best friends. Pickle thought it might be something more. She recalled reading one of her mother's romance books, and how it talked about time coming to a standstill when the two lovers were together. Pickle thought it might be more like that. But, whatever and however and whoever it happened. Onion thought they could do it again. And that they would, so that they could still see each other during the next months, while they were both grounded.
The next morning, after the "thaw," Pickle is outside in her front yard, doing yardwork as part of her punishment. That is when she hears the familiar sound of quick wheels stopping suddenly.
Scrreeeeeech.
Rabbit scoots up on his shiny red scooter, a slick grin on his pointy face. Pickle just looks at him and smiles.
"What are you so happy about?" he sneers at her.
"Nothing," Pickle says. Then adds, "Everything."
"Between me and you, I think you're coo-coo," Rabbit sputters.
"Between me and you, some day I hope you can see it too," Pickle says. "See what?" Rabbit quips..
"Nothing," Pickle says. Then puts her arms out like she's hugging the sky. "Everything."
Rabbit speeds away on his red scooter, shaking his head. Pickle suddenly gets a chill. Everything becomes quiet. No birds chirping. No red scooter scooting. She stands still, and she can see her breath in the air. Then she hears a sound.
Squeak. Squeak squeak squeak.
Squeak. Squeak squeak squeak.
It's coming from down the street. It's Onion on his old rusty bike.
Squeak squeak squeak.
She stands, waiting for him, her hands tucked together.
She is smiling.
"That was awful soon to--" But Onion shakes his head.
"That's not it. We've got to go back. Something bad has happened or is going to happen. I don't know which."
"What is it? How do you know?"
"I don't know how I know, but I know. We have to go."
Onion was gone, and in his place was that Other-Onion, the serious-faced, calm, cool, scary Onion.
"Do I have time to get some supplies?" Pickle asks.
"I already have some," Onion says, pointing to his satchel. "Ready?"
"Ready."
And they went.
And what happened? That, my good friends, I will save for another day.
The End.
* Author's note: It is not recommended that you attempt to stop time yourself. Stopping time by freezing, know as Frimeing, (or Teezing) is dangerous and can land you in a load of danger. So only stop time if it is absolutely necessary. I am only warning you, my smart and savvy readers, because I have let you in on the secret, and I am hoping that you will oblige me by doing the right thing. Which is to only stop time in Emergence-Seas. Okay? Are we agreed? Good. Then I wish you all a goodnight. And sweet dreams. And don't worry about Pickle and Onion, their next adventure is going to be even more fun than this one! I can't wait to see what happens! *