Title: Party Planner
Started: 28 December 2009
Completed: 10 January 2010
Summary: All good plans are never quite as intended.
Notes: The prequel to Melody's on Church, the working title for nano2005, set about five years from the end of this story. This short story was written for the radlist author challenge "Surprise Party". Thanks to Debra and Cam for comments; and to Rad for the opportunity to contribute to this community.

*****

"I'm really sorry about this."

"It's not a problem, Ms Endo. If you would bear with me one second, I'll see if we have another slot in our reservation book."

Melody Endo took a seat at the bar but could not stop her fingers from tapping on the counter. It was hard to keep her composure while a dozen panicky thoughts and urgent to-do items swirled inside her head. She knew that the restaurant was well within its rights to say no. At least she gave more than the required 24 hours' notice; otherwise her deposit would have gone down the drain, along with all her plans. The only saving grace was that this particular manager, Samantha as her name tag indicated, was not as rude as the other manager Melody talked to earlier.

She watched as Samantha clicked, peered closely at the computer screen then clicked some more. Of course the reservation book wasn't an actual book. No one but the mahogany-and-red-velvet brigade used those heavy leather-bound tomes anymore. Sensai Absolutement was to stuffy, traditional steakhouses as day was to night. The first time Melody visited, she did not know what to make of the French-Japanese-Southern fusion cuisine. It was as if the proprietors were trying to make up their minds about which population group to target, not an easy task in the diverse Franklin neighborhood, and ended up creating a menu that was too diverse. The food was good though, if she stuck with items she recognized.

It was all moot anyway. Melody had almost run out of choices. She had not counted on the scheduling conflicts, dietary requests, and constant changes to the number of people attending. She had to cancel two restaurants already; neither was able to accommodate the multiple changes.

And now, judging from Samantha's frown, she might have to conjure up a miracle.

"Is there a problem?" she asked anxiously. "Well of course there's a problem. I come in, wanting this and that, during your busiest season. I'm surprised you don't throw me out the door. This is a nightmare," she continued to mutter under her breath, more annoyed with her own agitation than with Samantha.

Samantha looked up from her screen, made eye contact and instantly Melody felt a reassuring calmness wash over her like a burst of warm air. In all her life, only her mother was able to do that, stilling her hyperactivity and nervousness with just one glance. It was then that Melody noticed how cool and collected Samantha looked, as if dealing with a semi-hysterical customer was an hourly occurrence for her. Perhaps it was.

Samantha gave Melody a reserved smile. "Luckily for us, and yeah less lucky for you, it is our busiest season. We'd be out of business if we didn't have bookings for Christmas. But I think we can do it, if you don't mind squeezing a little. Let's see, Ms Endo, I didn't catch how many in your group are confirmed?"

"Thirteen," Melody answered.

"Ah, that's fine then. You're on here as a sixteen top but I only have a table for twelve for Saturday, I wonder why--" Samantha went back to clicking, a small grin spreading on her face as she seemed to achieve success in altering Melody's reservation.

"Oh, um, I had sixteen originally. Two families canceled, then my mom added others," Melody explained.

Samantha punched the 'return' key triumphantly. "Super. You're all set. Party of thirteen, next Saturday at 7pm."

Melody wanted to jump up and hug her. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can't thank you enough. I didn't know what I would have done if you didn't have a table for Saturday. I was seriously thinking of McDonald's." She shuddered, then broke out in nervous laughter.

Samantha joined in with a nod and a smile. "I've been to parties at McDonald's. They're fun if you're four and all you want is fries and balloons. I take it your party isn't for a four year old?"

"No, it's a surprise party for my dad. He's retiring after 37 years at Nissan," Melody started to relax, Samantha's smile was really catching. "Not that you'd have any difficulty in guessing which company if I told you he was retiring from the only company he's worked at all his life. Some stereotypes are true," she said.

Samantha mirrored Melody's pose as she propped herself up on an adjacent bar stool. "I hadn't given it any thought."

Melody realized that she had been oversensitive. Almost two-thirds of Nissan's US workforce was in Tennessee, with 1,000 staff in the Franklin headquarters alone. Many of the management staff were Japanese, and most people of Asian appearance in Franklin worked at, or were associated with, Nissan. The community kept to itself for the most part, although the younger generation were more Americanized and occasionally felt caught between the two different cultures. She put her skittishness down to stress about the party.

"Thanks for your help," she said, to change the subject. "I hope I don't need to change again. If I do, then you have permission to escort me into the nearest McDonald's."

Samantha laughed. "I'll remember that. We'll try to accommodate any change of plans. It's not unusual, although..."

"--not five changes in a week, I know," Melody interrupted. "Honestly, I hope this is it. My mom had better make sure my dad doesn't set up dinner with another group of people next Saturday." At Samantha's curious look, she felt compelled to explain. "This dinner is with our family and closest family friends. Everyone is all excited, then his golf buddies decided to hold a gathering for him. We couldn't exactly tell him that no, he can't go because we have a surprise planned."

"Not much of a surprise," Samantha agreed.

"Exactly," Melody nodded. She turned her head toward the sound of other restaurant workers coming in to start their shift. "I've taken up enough of your time. Thanks again."

Samantha reached into her jacket pocket and handed Melody a name card. "Ask for me if you need anything. You never know."

Melody glanced at the card. Samantha Crozier had certainly left an impression. Though Melody prayed that this was the last time she would be at the restaurant before Saturday, part of her hoped that if she needed help, Samantha would be there. She made a mental note to leave a large tip.

*****

All weekend Melody was a bundle of nerves. Just seeing her mom's number on caller display was enough to prompt an anxiety attack. She had to force herself to leave her house to run errands. Even inside the house she could not sit still for any length of time.

When an unfamiliar yet familiar voice called her name at the college cafeteria Monday at lunchtime, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her fork hit the floor with a loud clang as she jerked her hand in surprise.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Whoa, what did I do?" Samantha had a look of horror at Melody's outburst. She took a step back and was about to bolt.

"Wait! I'm sorry. Don't go," Melody pleaded. Fortunately the cafeteria was full of noisy students; she quickly looked around and was relieved that no one seemed to be paying attention to her making a spectacle of herself.

Samantha gave her a long look, Melody could see the emotions playing in her eyes - uncertainty, curiosity, and tenderness. Gray, with a hint of green, she absently noted. Presently Samantha took a seat and arranged her salad, brownie and soda neatly in front of her and regarded Melody expectantly. "So, let's do this again. Hello Ms Endo, fancy seeing you here."

Melody felt her nerves again and took a deep breath to still them. "Well, if we are to start over, you have to call me by my name."

"I'd love to; but I don't know it. The computer only has your initial. I've been racking my brain trying to find a name that matches. You don't look like a Margaret, or Moira, or even Melissa, which seems quite typical for a...you know," Samantha waved her hand awkwardly, silently begging Melody to understand.

Melody's nerves did a tiny flip. Why have you been thinking about my name, she itched to ask. But she did understand Samantha's unspoken question. The tiny flip turned into a pirouette. "It's Melody. And yes, fancy seeing you here. What are you doing here?"

"I'm taking a couple of courses here this semester. Eventually they'll all count toward my degree at the culinary institute," Samantha explained.

It was clearly Melody's turn. "I'm a TA in the Chemistry department. Eventually I'll get my masters or PhD, well, here."

They traded silly grins of people who just shared something personal, even though the topic was inconsequential. They talked more, and exchanged more details. Lunchtime went by faster than Melody expected when she sat down by herself at the top of the hour.

They ran into each other Tuesday at the library. Wednesday twice, at the cafeteria again and again at the end of the day in the parking lot. If the meetings weren't so random, they could have been intentional, even verging on sinister. Melody was too distracted to give it much thought. A part of her was purposefully not thinking in order to enjoy Samantha's company when she could. Samantha was easy-going and unflappable and seemed to have an uncanny ability to absorb Melody's excess nervous energy.

She was looking forward to dinner on Saturday. A lot.

*****

Melody had been pacing up and down the sidewalk for 20 minutes, not having the courage to take the final step. It was so simple; walk up to the door and push the vertical button at the side that said 'door open' in English and Japanese. The door would then whoosh open automatically. She had been there enough times to know how it worked.

She couldn't do it. She looked at the door, willing it to give her guidance on what to do, but it stood there firmly closed, unmoved by her plight.

She turned and paced up the street for the fiftieth time.

"Just come in for crying out loud, Melody. It's not the end of the world." She jumped at Samantha's voice yelling out at her just as a round of honking broke out in the traffic.

Melody stopped and turned around. She stood rooted to the ground, twenty paces from the front door of the restaurant. Just looking at Samantha, so fetching in her work attire of white shirt and dark trousers. She was never like this; so flustered, so petrified, so captivated.

"It's completely and utterly the end of the world," she shouted back.

"What is it? You need to change the reservation? Let's see what we have. If it means me talking to the chef or you making a deal with your mom, we'll make it happen." Samantha was clearly unfazed.

"It's not that," Melody started.

"Can you come inside and talk to me about it! I'm freezing here." Melody realized that Samantha was only in a thin shirt. Her eyes strayed unbidden to Samantha's breasts, and she averted her gaze immediately. The shock of finding herself gawking was enough to push her out of her immobile state.

The restaurant was empty, she had made sure of that, coming as the lunch shift departed and before the dinner crew arrived. Today was Samantha's day to deal with inventory and billing and rosters. She knew this because Samantha had explained her schedule when they spoke last; yesterday after bumping into each other at the parking lot, they had coffee at a nearby Starbucks.

Samantha immediately went to the computer to bring up the reservation list. Melody took her time, taking off her coat and scarf, folding them then placing them on a chair. Her movements were at half speed; she needed the deliberation to attempt to bring her errant heartbeat and thoughts to some semblance of order. When she could finally delay it no more, she turned toward Samantha, who was waiting with stoic anticipation.

Melody opened and closed her mouth a few times, not able to get the proper words out.

Samantha, she shouldn't have been surprised, came to her rescue. "So, change in date, number of people or menu?" The simple business-like question was delivered gently, with no judgment.

"Two more people. Actually just one for dinner. The other is a baby," Melody said in one breath.

Samantha raised one eyebrow. "We can fit them in easy, you didn't have to come all the way in person to tell us that. Though, appreciated," she paused, eyeing Melody's continuing discomfort. She moved out from behind the computer, taking a position just inches from Melody, resting her elbow against the bar counter. "That isn't the end of the world thing that's bothering you."

"No, it's a flimsy excuse to see you," Melody was surprised at how steady her voice was. She was shaking like a leaf inside, but she was strangely still on the outside, like a wound up spring about to uncoil.

Samantha turned so serious, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. She was so quiet that Melody's stomach sank. She had gotten it all wrong and now it would be awkward. Stupid, stupid.

Just as she was about to backtrack and make light of the intentions behind her remark, Samantha swiveled over and kissed her. Lightly at first, then deeper as their bodies sighed and clicked into place.

"I've been thinking about you all day. If you hadn't come here I was gonna sneak out and accidentally run into you in the Chemistry department," Samantha muttered against Melody's lips.

"You have no business in the Chemistry department, I would have been suspicious," Melody said. She was feeling a tingling sensation in all the places in contact with Samantha.

"Then I'd have to deploy plan B."

"What's plan B?"

"Something like this."

And Samantha kissed her again. Melody never wanted to stop; she was heady from the intoxicating taste and sensation of a new lover. She kissed Samantha back, hard. It was so easy, so intimate, so simple, to kiss. She would jump and shout for joy, but it meant moving away from this heaven.

"You're dangerous," she said once they reluctantly paused for a breather.

"Me? I think I'm the one in danger here. I still need to work tonight," Samantha replied.

Melody rested her head against Samantha's shoulder, at just the right position to nibble on her neck. She sighed contently. "What time do you finish?"

Samantha groaned. "Hmm, you feel good. I'll be very late. The restaurant closes around midnight, but then I have to prep the kitchen staff for the weekend and email our suppliers with our Christmas orders. Days like these, I'm lucky if I get home by 2am."

"I want to see you, but I'll be boneless at that hour," Melody grumbled.

"I don't have class tomorrow, I'll come by? Looks like I'll make it to the Chemistry department after all."

"I'll show you round, there are lots of private little nooks and crannies." Melody touched Samantha's lips against hers, to indicate why she wanted privacy.

"Spend tomorrow night with me?" Samantha asked softly, returning the light kiss.

They met less than a week ago, spent less than three hours in each other's company; they hadn't even gone on a date. But Melody knew inherently that the invitation was not a casual one. She didn't know if it was deep-seated sixth sense, pheromones or some mythical chokkan, but something told her that This.Was.It.

Saying yes was so easy. "My schedule's fairly light tomorrow," Melody's smile radiated from her heart as she ran through her assignment list, and realized she could swap with other people to free up most of her day. "I can spend all day and night with you. How much time do we have now?" she asked.

Samantha didn't even glance at her watch. "Enough."

The kissing continued unabated until the first of the restaurant staff arrived. Even then it took them several minutes to disentangle and longer to say goodbye.

Melody could not wait for tomorrow.

*****

Melody could barely get the words out, she was hoarse from talking and lack of sleep.

"Wait, say that again," Samantha's voice sounded so calm.

"My dad's in the hospital," Melody managed to croak out.

Samantha's gasp could be heard even over the static. "What happened? Where are you now?"

"He slipped on the ice and broke his leg last night. It's not life-threatening, but he's in a cast. Of course he's in a cast," Melody recounted. "I'm at the hospital. He complained of a headache so they're talking him up for a CAT scan."

"You've been at the hospital all night?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want me to come?"

Melody hesitated. She did want Samantha nearby, she felt her shoulders relax from the sensory memory of Samantha's arms around her, was it less than 24 hours ago? However, it was not a good time to be springing a girlfriend onto her parents. She had not discussed her sexuality with them, avoiding the issue by not bringing anyone home or talking about who she was dating. Her American friends could never understand; she tried to explain that no, it wasn't taboo, and her parents would never disown her. The subject itself simply...not talked about.

Ultimately she took the practical decision. "There's too much going on. Why don't I call you later? May be after we get him settled."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I have to talk to Mom about the dinner. Mrs. Daiichi and her sons came in from Boston especially for this, I hate to have to face her," Melody sighed. "I can't think about it right now."

"Don't worry about it. I happen to know the restaurant manager very well, I'm sure she'll work something out with a beautiful customer like you."

"That sounds distinctively like favoritism, Samantha Crozier."

"Uh huh. And?"

Melody laughed, the first time since she got the urgent call from her mother. "Thank you. For making me laugh. I don't want to hang up, but I have to. Mom is waving at me."

"Okay. But you know you can call me anytime. And if you need me, I'm only 20 minutes away from the hospital."

I can fall in love with you right here, right now.

*****

As it turned out, it was good news. Her father did not have concussion, and would be able to go home after an overnight stay.

Melody called Samantha for her address. Samantha must have been waiting for her; the front door sprang open as soon as she walked up. Soft hands pulled her inside and firm lips were upon hers before she could say hello. She didn't care; she was reacting to Samantha's proximity with the same ferociousness. It was as if they had been apart for weeks, not mere hours.

"God, I missed you," she was panting, the madness of the last twelve hours was quelled by Samantha's restrained seduction; and yet another form of euphoria was slowly building. An urge. A yearning.

"You're shivering. I need you to come inside now." Samantha broke their kiss gently, took her hand, and led her inside.

It took Melody a few moments to react. "If I had my wits with me, I'd tease you with a crack about double meanings." Witty repartees needed perfect timing, and she was sure hers fell so spectacularly flat that Samantha wouldn't get it.

They were now in the living room, and Samantha sat her down on the sofa. Melody didn't realize how tired she was, and sank into the welcoming cushions with a gratifying sigh.

"I meant exactly what you thought I said," Samantha took a seat next to Melody, close enough to convey intimacy, yet not quite full-bodied contact. She did not let go of their joined hands.

Melody was surprised and a little turned on that Samantha seemed to be able to read her mind. "So why are we in the living room?" She was tired, and the deep cushions were lulling her into a contented lethargy, but flirting required no effort.

Samantha's eyes sparkled with warmth and affection. "Because you've been up all night. And if I took you to bed, I know I'm not gonna let you leave."

"I'm not sure I'd want to leave either," Melody confessed. She draped Samantha's arm around her and burrowed her way to rest against Samantha's shoulder. "Mmm, if this is how it feels to sleep with you, I'm never leaving."

"Any other day, I think we can lose a bit of self-control. But I'm thinking today you'll want to go back to the hospital to check on your father," Samantha pointed out.

Melody straightened. She hadn't forgotten about her dad, it was just too good to be with Samantha that she had temporarily pushed it to the back of her mind. "My god, why hasn't anyone snapped you up already? No, don't answer that, you're out of the market from this moment on." She looked up to meet Samantha's tender gaze. "Alright?"

"Okay." Samantha's response was immediate and sure.

Their lips met, and they lingered for several very delectable moments.

"I don't have to go yet," Melody said as they took a break. "But I do want to talk to you about the dinner. I have to cancel it of course."

"No you don't, I have an idea."

"You do?"

Samantha told her. And Melody was more than happy to reward the brilliance with plenty of kisses.

*****

"I can't thank you enough," Melody's mom said as she gave Samantha a generous, warm embrace.

Melody wanted to engrave this moment permanently into her brain. Samantha was blushing so sweetly that she ached to kiss that blush. As it was, she knew that holding hands in front of her mother was probably as much as she dared at this time.

When Melody's father came home from the hospital, he was greeted by a big shout of "Surprise!" from his closest family and friends. Melody and her mom had spent the night decorating and preparing their guests for the change in venue and occasion. Food and drinks were brought in by Samantha from the restaurant.

Both Melody's parents were in joyful tears, Melody's father could not wipe the grin off his face. Even Mrs. Daiichi, enjoying a cup of tea surrounded by her sons, nodded her approval.

"Mom, when Dad is better, can we invite Samantha back for your tonkatsu?" Melody turned to Samantha, "Mom makes the best pork chop curry, I don't know what she puts in it. You might want to steal it for the restaurant."

"Melody, I only make katsu kare for special occasions." Her mom looked surprised at the request, but seemed amenable.

Melody gripped Samantha's hand tighter and pulled their bodies closer. "Samantha is special, she is going to become very special in my life."

Her mom looked back and forth between the two, and Melody held her breath until a small glimmer of understanding spread across her mother's features. "I see," her mother said slowly. Then she smiled, a little more broadly. "You need to speak to your father about this. Samantha," she turned to Samantha, "my house is your house. Please come to dinner often. I will make not only katsu kare, but bamboo rice and vegetable gyoza. Maybe you can help me with my fried chicken recipe? Seventeen years in the South, and I still don't get it right."

Melody and Samantha gulped at the same time. "Yes, of course," they replied in unison.

Mrs. Endo excused herself, and Melody dragged Samantha to her old bedroom.

"Did you just out yourself in front of your mother?" Samantha asked incredulously, between heated kisses. Melody pounced on her as soon as the door was closed.

"Eventually I would have told them. There just hadn't been the right girl, you know."

"Will it be a problem? I mean, with your dad?"

Melody laughed. "No. If Mom is fine, then Dad will go along. All that 'you have to speak with your father' is fluff, to make you squirm."

"Well, I did."

"And I'm gonna make you squirm even more tonight."

"Me. You too."

"I'm gonna fall in love with you now, alright?"

"Okay."

*****

The End

Started: 18 September 2008
Completed: 18 September 2008
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Contemporary and gay twist on Cinderella, evil stepsisters, fairy godmother, Princess Charming…the works
Notes: A response to the fractured fairy tales weekly potluck challenge on the Bella/Spinsters Ink Books Forum, to create a new fairy tale or fable, “fractured”, or in our case, “queered”

***

Dell adjusted her toolbelt and hammered at the furnace for one last time. She was covered in soot, dirt and unspeakable gunge that came out of the ancient furnace. She shuddered to think how many years it had been since it was cleaned. She hoped that her attempt at repairs would last until spring, especially now that her stepmother made it all too clear that there was no extra room upstairs and Dell would have to make the cold, dark basement her home.

“Cinderella!!” As if by some unspeakable dark magic coincidence, her stepmother’s voice screamed at her from upstairs. She cringed at the use of her full name, which she detested for its girlie-ness. “Get your lazy ass up here right this minute and help your sisters get ready for the Royal Ball!”

She quickly made her way upstairs, unbuckling her toolbelt as she took the steps two at a time. When she entered her stepsisters’ bedroom she was greeted by the sight of two mounds of almost naked, flabby, pale flesh in the midst of getting changed. She bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself from laughing outright at her stepsisters’ attempt to “dyke it up.” Lipstyck and Celesbyan, as her stepsisters were known, wore sleeveless t-shirts that were two sizes too small that showed off their glorious fat folds, one ear-ring in the wrong ear, and liquid leggings straight from the eighties. When they spotted her, they wasted no time in ordering her to help them into their outfits.

“Princess Charming has no chance tonight, she won’t be able to take her eyes off me,” Lipstyck remarked as she paraded in front of the Lying Mirror.

“You wish!” Celesbyan countered. “She’ll dance with me all night!”

“Now girls, don’t fight,” Dell’s stepmother admonished. “I’m sure Princess Charming will find both of you equally attractive and ask you both to move in with her after two dances.”

“I hear that every lesbian who is anyone will be there,” Lipstyck said.

Celesbyan clapped excitedly. “Yes! Ellen and Portia will be there, plus the entire professional softball league.”

“A jam session with Melissa, Amy, Joan and everyone…” “SamRo is DJing…” “Rachel Maddow is MC…”

Dell remembered that the Royal Ball was the event where the King’s daughter, Princess Charming, will choose a suitable girl to become her domestic partner, the notion of marriage having been overturned the year before due to a shortage of Elvis impersonators. Dell thought Princess Charming was the most beautiful creature in the whole universe, even though with her long blonde hair, full make-up and tendency to dress in pink she looked very straight and not very gay at all.

She sighed. And then realized she’d sighed out loud.

“What are you making faces for?” Lipstyck yelled at her.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“You’re not thinking of going to the Ball too?” Celesbyan snickered. “Look at you, you won’t even get through the front gate looking the way you do.”

And with that, her sisters and stepmother left abruptly leaving her standing forlornly in the middle of the room.

After cleaning up, she sat in the kitchen staring at the fire. At least the furnace is fixed so I’m not freezing to death, she thought. Her thoughts turned to Princess Charming again, and the vision of the beauty that she could not have made her cry. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the tears.

“Oh, quit feeling sorry for yourself, it’s pathetic,” a shrill voice rang out. Dell jumped out of fear. She was alone in the house; noises and voices were trouble. She looked up from behind her curtain of tears to see a fierce, short brunette scowling at her.

“Who are you?” she blurted out.

“You don’t know who I am?” the woman demanded incredulously.

Dell backtracked. “No, I know you are Rosie O’Donnell. What I meant was, what are you doing here?”

Rosie snorted. “I’m your fairy godmother, of course.”

“And they can’t send me Jodie Foster?” Dell mumbled. Turning to Rosie, she smiled. “Fairy godmother?”

“Well duh. This is a fairy tale, albeit a screwed up version of one. So, you gotta have a fairy godmother,” Rosie said. “Now, what’s the big deal that got you in such a state.”

Dell explained about the Royal Ball, her stepsisters’ bullying and her unrequited love for Princess Charming. Rosie listened intently and at the end of the sorry tale, pulled Dell to her feet. She led her outside to the driveway, waved her hands around like she was doing a spell and with a “ta-dah!” presented Dell with …

“A Volvo SUV?” Dell gasped.

“Hey, it’s the 2009 XC90,” Rosie pointed out. “Safe, spacious and perfect for taking the kids to school.”

“But I’m not—no, my bad. Thank you.” Her initial shock passed, and Dell was grateful for the favor.

Rosie shrugged, then her eyes traveled up and down Dell’s body. “You need clothes.” With that she waved her hands again and Dell suddenly found herself decked out in a form-fitting black silk t-shirt, leather pants and…

“Rainbow Crocs?”

“With a unique charm in every hole,” Rosie pointed out again. “Look, I know you want 14-eye Docs, but I have sponsorship deals, you know.”

Dell grinned. She was digging her fairy godmother. “It’s great, thank you again.”

“No sweat. Now, remember to be back before midnight. You know the deal.”

***

When she entered the Royal Ballroom, Princess Charming was dancing with a baby butch. Then she danced with a D-list movie star, then a famous lesfic author. Dell, hiding behind a pillar to avoid being spotted by her stepsisters, was exhausted watching the dancing. She snagged several glasses of champagne which she downed quickly. That got her in the mood and soon she was enjoying herself thoroughly. She closed her eyes and rocked gently with the beat of the dance music.

“Nice shoes,” an angelic voice whispered behind her. She turned and her knees almost gave out at the sight of Princess Charming leaning against her pillar, inches away from her. It seemed corny, but the air between them was electric, their eyes locked. And when Princess Charming took her hand, there were fireworks and massive tingling all over her skin.

Princess Charming danced only with Dell after that, ignoring every other person in the ballroom. Dell did feel like everything else around them were dimmed and all her attention was on Princess Charming. There were audible groans when, at the end of a slow waltz, their lips brushed together sweetly and briefly.

Soon it was approaching midnight and she knew she had to tear herself away. It was far easier said than done. She whispered in Princess Charming’s ear “I have to go” time after time, but each time found an excuse to stay. Then there was only one minute left. She gently pushed herself away from Princess Charming, minding the lack of body contact immediately, and with a lingering kiss broke away before she changed her mind. “I really have to go.”

“Wait!” Princess Charming implored. “What’s your name? Where do you live? I love you!”

There was no time. Dell ran like a 100m sprinter away from the castle with the platoon of guards shouting and chasing after her. In her haste, and because they easily came off her feet, she lost one of her rainbw Crocs on the steps of the castle. She hoped her fairy godmother didn’t want the Crocs back. They looked customized but Rosie didn’t mention anything about a deposit.

The Volvo was gone, so she had to walk home. She looked back at the castle and was relieved that all attention had been diverted to her left-behind Crocs. She was still careful and took the back way home.

She feigned sleep when her stepsisters returned, but was woken up to help them undress. They couldn’t stop talking about Princess Charming, and how her attention was monopolized by the handsome stranger all night. They were ungraciously jealous as usual and said many rude things about the stranger. There was no sign that they recognized Dell though.

By the morning, it was all over the news that Princess Charming had decided that the handsome stranger was The One. A picture of the rainbow Crocs was posted on flickr and quickly spread via digg, boing boing, twitter and facebook. In no time at all, the entire nation was obsessed with finding the true owner of the Crocs. Lines formed around the block from the castle as women (and men) brought all manner of decorated Crocs in the hope that theirs would be the perfect match.

Dell’s stepsisters joined the hunt and lined up with the crowds. Dell’s heart yearned to walk up to the castle and claim her princess but she knew it wasn’t her place. Pundits and bloggers speculated about the identity of the Princess’ true love non-stop that the personality became a rich caricature of perfection. Sales of Crocs and decorations went through the roof in an effort to replicate the missing pair. But the charms were so unique that neither Crocs nor Jibbitz were able to replicate the design.

Soon, the search intensified and the princess started methodically visiting every single house in the nation. It broke Dell’s heart to see her princess’ face grew longer and longer as the days passed by with no good news. She didn’t know what to do. In order to keep her out of the way her stepmother and stepsisters confined her to the basement where she spent her entire day moping and missing her princess. The one good thing that came out of her forced imprisonment was that she finally managed to clean and fix the furnace.

On the seventh day of the search, the Princess came to their district. And then she was at their house. Dell heard the commotion and even behind the locked basement door she could discern the sweet voice of her true love. She heard her stepsisters presenting Princess Charming with their version of the missing Crocs, and heard the resounding rejection of their efforts. She knew she had to find her way to her heart somehow.

The search party was making their way out, and she was desperate. Suddenly she had an idea. She found her trusted toolbelt and started pounding on the basement door with her hammer. The door was thick, but she didn’t stop. “I’m here! I’m here!” she yelled and sobbed.

On and on she pounded.

And then the door opened. There in front of her was her Princess.

“I thought you said there was no one else in the house,” the Princess said to her stepsisters.

“That’s only Cinderella, she’s nobody,” her stepmother tried to explain.

Princess Charming turned to Dell. “I’m looking for the other half of this shoe,” she said. Dell retreated down the stairs and brought out the rainbow Crocs that had not left her side since that night.

Words were not needed. Their eyes held, and Dell knew she could never deny her Princess anything.

They fell into a deep kiss.

And they never stopped kissing.

***

The End

I am leaning against a doorway, waiting for you. I am quietly listening to the soft whispers of the rain, waiting for you. I am reading the faces of the people swimming past me, waiting for you.

I turn up the collar of my coat as the crisp cool breeze sweep past me. I blow gently into my cupped hands, as you always did, my breath warming my numb fingers. Droplets of rain collect in the overhang above the doorway. Soon one adventurous drop will roll forward, hesitate at the edge before pushing over and falling gracefully into the growing pool at my feet. Tiny droplets form on impact, rise up momentarily and, satisfied with their brief look at the world, dive down below the surface again. Silently they call out to their brothers. Come. Come. And the pool grows. I shift my feet to drier grounds. I look at my watch, wondering whether I should allow myself to feel impatient and, deciding against it, became melancholy instead.

I conjure up your image in my mind's eye. Your soft hair shining brighter than the brilliant sunshine. Your eyes a perfect reflection of the cloudless sky. Your skin a striking contrast to the coarse grains of sand on the empty beach. You sit by the unending ocean, watching invisible wisps of cloud drift in the distant horizon. The tide comes up slowly and rippled around your ankles. After a while you pull yourself up and amble up the beach, the towel wrapped around your shoulders swinging with the rhythm of your walk. As you spot a shadow of someone approaching you allow yourself a brief contented smile.

I freeze the image. You used to smile at me like that.

The rain is heavier. Through the transparent sheet I glimpse your red cloak. I stretch out my hand in greeting. They turn but it is not you. I retreat back into the safety of the doorway.

Now it is winter. You are running running making fresh imprints on the pure untouched snow. Your robe flows smoothly behind you, a pair of velvet wings in full stretch. You are wrapped up against the biting wind and I can only see your face. Your cheeks a healthy pink your smile a real smile, even your eyes laugh. You are free, free as a bird, free as a deer on the open plain. At night you sit very close to the fire. The dim firelight cast a pale shadow over your face and highlights your perfect features. You curl up tightly in a small cocoon, your robe draped over your shoulders a protective cloak against the crudity of the world. You stare intensely into the depths of the fire, thinking hard, your mind very far away. I ask you what is on your mind. Your outer shell, your external mask, comes back to me. You smile disarmingly and say, offhandedly, nothing. But your mind and your heart and your soul are not with me. They are at another place.

They are gone from me forever.

I despair of never seeing you again, your enchanting smile. Of never feeling again your soft pale skin against mine. Of never hearing your whispers in the depths of my mind. Of never feeling again the warmth which spreads through my heart each time I see you. Of never holding you again. I despair.

Through the window of my mind I silently call out your name but I get no answers. I need to know why you so cruelly took that fragile happiness away, leaving nothing but a broken and directionless soul. And why I am wandering in a trance through the eternal maze you have drawn in my heart. A place from which there is no escape.

As the rain continues I am still leaning faithfully against the familiar doorway, waiting for you.

Midnight. We walked hand in hand along the shore, though the wind was strong we felt nothing at all. Couldn't take my eyes off you, knew the same was happening to you.

Morning. We swam alone in the blueist part of the sea, just the seagulls, the breeze, you and me. Couldn't get enough of each other, wished we could stay here forever.

Noon. We rowed out to the opposite side of the lake, the soft sun overhead keeping us barely awake. We swept gently downstream, sharing in each others' dreams.

Dusk. We watched the sun set the rainbows free, so many glorious colours reflected from the sea. Held each other very close. The world slowed, time froze, just for us.

September. Leaves turned grey we returned to the world, the passions of summer ebbed away in a swirl. Watched the driftwood along the shore, knew we won't be together anymore.

Autumn. The beach was deserted, the winds grew stronger, rain fell more often, darkness stayed longer. We held on to what little we had, treasured every word that was said.

Storm. We retreated into the safety of our shells while outside the sky was dark and temper swelled. Still looking for something we cannot find, love is a word we cannot mime.

Winter. Sometimes I walk quietly along the edge of the lake, wondering why we had to part, trying to contain the heartache. Silently I may shed a tear and wish that you were near.

Alone. I feel so empty now inside listening to the growing silence outside. But I know that even as we are apart there is a corner deep within our hearts stil waiting for the summer to return once again.

I put myself in a self-imposed exile. I spoke to no one, avoided contact with people. I withdrew into my tightly knitted cocoon, carefully weaved so it excluded feelings and thoughts. I divorced myself from my normal impulsive self and kept away. Away from what? Nothing in particular. Just away.

I wanted to cleanse myself and to sort out the complexities that had crept into my life lately. There had been a lot of changes and readjustments. Often I could not distinguish between a bad dream and a hazy reality. I needed to know where I stood.

I tried to search for a quietness that would give me complete stillness and peace. I tried to listen to myself but heard only a heart wrenching loneliness. I felt restless. I began to ask the inevitable question of who I was and who I wanted to be. I realised how small I was.

A droplet buried in an endless sea of people.

A seed buried in an exploding field of people.

A cloud hidden amongst an ever-changing pattern of seasons.

A star hidden amongst the boundless empty space between people.

I returned to my old haunts but the familiar sights and smells could not bring back feelings of belonging. I felt out of place. I could no longer look at my surroundings as if I were still a child. The wonder and freshness had been replaced by sadness and despair. I saw crowds of people around me but I could not feel their presence.

When I emerged from my exile I found no one had noticed I was gone. The world had moved on and it was I who had been left behind. I was with friends but listening to their laughter made me feel even lonelier. As for the others, they only said they cared, they did not mean it deep down. And I knew from then on that no one would need me again ...

... And so quietly, unnoticed, I slipped away.

Trust me, I wasn't on anything when I wrote this, just young and idealistic.

Funny about people. Never satisfied with what they have. Always wanting more. More money. More power. More knowledge. The fundamental question, from birth to death, is "what more can I have?". We are continuously asking what we might possess or enjoy - what material goods, fortune, luck, power, might be had; whether we will achieve success in love, career, prestige, family, health, home, friends or on another level, culture and knowledge. It is always "what can I gain, preserve, improve?" which embodies the totality of our motivations.

The role models that inspire us - successful politicians, business tycoons, glamorous film stars, celebrated artists, brilliant scientists, sports champions, fictional heroes - are idols of all kinds that incarnate the triumph and glory of to have. They say, "I have the most power, the most money, the most fame, the most awards, the most abilities." Esteem is won from what one has. To be ambitious is to want the most from life, or so we are led to believe.

I'm tired of always wanting. Tired of feeling guilty when I'm just being myself. Tired of playing unfamiliar games by unfamiliar rules. Tired of looking away. Of expecting too much from people. Of being hurt so easily. Of talking. Of listening. Of feeling. Of looking for a part of myself that may not even exist.

Perhaps it's not a question of "what can I have?" but "what can I be?". Is it not enough merely to aspire to wisdom, or to sound really clichéd, inner peace? To reach that state of high self-realisation — the supreme reality — then we may truly declare our wealth. The question "who am I" seems simple and banal at first sight. Yet it is the question that lies at the heart of all the questions before it. It's not enough just to have material possessions, or a quality of character, it is the process of searching for the means of attaining a subtle progression towards our true selves which is the ultimate goal.

I keep looking but I believe I may never find it. The best I can do is the look at the world and its occupants as if I need not participate — this is not the self-realisation I seek. Christopher Isherwood wrote of a "down there" level of self-realisation and the difficulty of reaching there. We seem to embark (those of us who want to) on this journey in the hope of finding the goal, but how many of us will reach our destination?

On the one hand there is the profound search for our true selves. On the other there are the all too human temptations. Young people's lives which revolves around parties, sex, drugs, MTV and worse. Somehow they seem to have everything they want but in reality all they have is just an empty existence. All the excesses and indulgence are just an escape route. And if they are not careful, a fast lane to hell. Drugs blow your mind, someone said. You enter an entirely new dimension. Perhaps it's just a misguided way of searching for true self-realisation.

If only we can find utopia. To leave our mundane routines behind for others to take up. Why live at all? Why bother at etching out our existence? Each one of us is too small, too insignificant, too fleeting to matter. Will we really be missed when we are gone? Pavese wrote, "There comes a time when all the secret fears become real ... I won't write anymore" just before he swallowed 16 packets of sleeping powder. May be he has a point. When all the fears become real then why should we stick around? We may as well leave.

May be it's the fear of finding out the truth about myself that keeps me from searching too deep. I know what my innermost fear is - I'm afraid that when and if I do find myself I will only find an ordinary person there; only average, not special, not different, the same as everyone else. And I'm afraid that if all I am is just ordinary, it's not enough for me to carry on.

But reality must be faced. No one can lead a life which is purely passive. For most of us the luxury of searching, of finding self-realisation, of ending our existence, is just not available. We have to soldier on nonetheless. However much we hate the idea of life we have no choice but to tolerate it. And since we have to live with it we may as well try to make the best of it.