The three of us, my father, mother and I, sat in the waiting room. A few weeks ago, my father found a couple of lumps under his left arm. Our family doctor then sent him to see a specialist, so here we were in an east end hospital waiting room. Mom flipped through an old magazine, Dad worked through a Bingo scratch ticket, and I scribbled Christmas songs in the margins of the newspaper in my lap.

A year ago, I, along with Pageen’s boyfriend, Tony; Mike Chaplin and three other friends, got together and started a band – conveniently named after the street I lived on: Munro Park. We were never expecting to actually go anywhere, but somehow, someone heard us and now we were often called to play bars and benefit concerts. Next month, we were playing a Christmas concert for the Daily Bread Food Bank. All that was asked of Torontonians who attended was a non-perishable food item or a small monetary donation. Tomorrow, like most Saturdays, my basement would be turned into a concert hall, and Pageen would go out with her girlfriends to escape.

“Clyde Aizik.” A nurse with brown curls, dark eyes and an overgrown smile stood at the door. “Doctor Londan will see you now.”

I looked to my parents. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

“You can if you want,” Mom replied.

In truth, I didn’t, but I felt as though I should. So, I folded the newspaper and tucked it under my arm, then followed my parents into the examination room.

Doctor Londan did a couple of tests on Dad, and now we were just waiting for the results. It took all of my resolve to keep from pacing like a bored, insane idiot. When I said I absolutely hate being in a hospital, I meant it. When one put a person’s name and hospital in the same sentence, it sent shivers up and down my spine.

I hated waiting. It was second or third on the list of my most non-favourite things to do. I wasn’t a particularly patient person and I was notorious for annoying the hell out of my friends and family because of it.

Doctor Londan returned – finally – with the test results in his hand. I looked at him, narrowing my eyes. It wasn’t the sheets of paper that drew my attention; it was the grim, apologetic expression on his face. Uh oh. I did not like what I was seeing. That couldn’t be good…

Doctor Londan cleared his throat softly. “I just got the results back, and…” He paused, his eyes settling on Dad. “You have cancer.”

My stomach sank. I watched my parents’ eyes glaze over in the same shock I felt. How? Why? Dad was the healthiest he’d been in a long time. How could he have cancer? This wasn’t real…

“What kind?” I was barely able to stutter those words out. I turned to the doctor. “Is it curable?”

The doctor’s hazel eyes slowly drifted to mine. He swallowed. “It’s Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and right now, it’s treatable.”

“Treatable?” I was not taking this very well. “That’s it?”

“Lyse,” Dad spoke up, his voice soft and as soothing as he could make it. “It’s okay. I’m going to be fine.”

I turned to my father, unable to control my words. “No, Dad, it’s not okay.” I looked at him, noting the fear in his eyes.

“We won’t know the full extent of the cancer until he goes for a gallium scan,” Doctor Londan said. He sighed. “Look, I wish I wasn’t the one to tell you this, and I’m sorry.”

I believed that. Doctor Dave Londan and my family had been friends ever since we moved up here in 1993. We were neighbours for ten years until my parents moved into the house they now live in.

“We know, Dave,” Mom replied.

Dave set Dad up with a gallium scan in three weeks – which I felt was too long a wait – and we left a short time later.

The drive home from my parents’ house to mine was a blur of racing thoughts. Cancer, cancer, cancer… I couldn’t get that word out of my head. This was now the third time that disease had tormented me. It started with my uncle in ’94, then my cousin in 2000, both of whom had been claimed by it.

“It’s Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and right now, it’s treatable,” Dr. Londan had said. My cousin had been told the same thing in ’96 and she lost her life to it four years later. This wasn’t fair. What had Dad done to deserve this? I didn’t want to believe any of what Dr. Londan had said. Dad was only forty-six. How could he be dying? I mean, that’s what it boiled down to, right? Dad had cancer and we were told it was “treatable”. That’s what they told you when they knew the outcome wasn’t good. This was not fair!

I wiped a renegade tear from my cheek. I felt my shoulders beginning to shake. Dammit. Could my breakdown hold off for just two minutes more? My street was only a block away…

I pulled into the driveway behind Pageen’s Rabbit. I furrowed my brow, looking down at the clock above the car radio. What was Pageen doing home at 4:30? Since she’d started that job at the head office of The Bank of Montreal, she was never home before 6:30. She wasn’t sick, was she? I hoped not.

I shut the engine off and got out of the car. The lake was dark blue against the fading red sunlight. Had I not felt so awful, I would’ve allowed myself a moment to wallow in the tranquility. But, I had a brother to phone and a roommate to possibly take care of.

I turned, ascended the stairs and unlocked the door. I was met by the usual three four-legged furry welcoming party, all of whom I bent down to greet.

“Pageen?” I called, pulling my feet out of my shoes.

“In the family room.” Her voice came from the back right hand corner of the house. She didn’t sound like herself. Her usually chipper voice was quiet and sad…

Slowly, her eyes met mine. She wasn’t smiling. In fact, it looked like she’d been crying. Uh oh. I didn’t like this.

“What’s wrong? What are you doing home so early? You’re not sick, are you?”

She smiled softly – probably at my enthusiasm – and shook her head. “No, no; I’m fine.” She picked up the tub of ice cream. “I just,” she dug her spoon into it, “don’t have a job anymore.” She put the ice cream heaped spoon in her mouth.

I blinked. “Less than two months before Christmas? Is that even right?”

“Welcome to Corporate Canada,” she replied cynically.

I rubbed my temple. A dull headache was moving in. “But you were one of their best employees. You always got everything done and the customers loved you.”

“I know,” Pageen sighed. “They hired the snotty little rich girl on the street behind us.”

I immediately felt sick. I knew who she was referring to, and boy, she was upset. Sure, she hated the girl almost as much as I did, but she usually held her tongue when it came to calling her names. That was my job. “Kathleen Hart? You lost your job to that Grade-A bitch?”

Another heaping spoon of chocolaty goodness entered her mouth. She only nodded.

“What is this world coming to? That tramp can’t even hold a boyfriend let alone a job.” Was I overreacting? Maybe just a little. But hey, my best friend had just lost her job to the same bitch who had overly humiliated me at a beach party my grade nine year. Since then, she’d continued to torment me with snide remarks and a few horrible pranks. She was worse than the stereotypical mean girl. And with everything going on with my father, I had a right to overreact a little. Not to mention, Pageen and I both knew Kathleen more than likely used her Barbie-doll beauty and a mini-skirt to get the position.

“I know,” Pageen sighed.

“But you watch, Pay; Kathleen will screw up royally not even halfway through her first week there, and your boss will be on his knees begging you to come back.”

Pageen shrugged her eyebrows. “Maybe. But, until then, I’ve got resumes to distribute come Sunday.” She shook her head and spun in the chair so she was facing me completely. “But, enough about me. What happened with your Dad’s appointment?”

Now I wanted dibs on that half pound tub of chocolate ice cream. I swallowed and after taking in a wavering breath, I told her everything Dr. Londan had said.

“Oh gosh, Lyse,” came her response. After a moment, she got up and moved towards me.

I backed away, raising my hands. “No hugs, Pageen,” I said softly. “Not right now.”

“Lyse…” Pageen started to protest.

I needed an escape. “I, uh… I’ve got to phone Keith and let him know. I’ll use my cell, so you can phone for pizza.”

Pageen sighed. “Okay. I’m going to cancel my date with Tony tonight.”

“No, don’t do that,” I replied. “I’ll be fine here alone.”

“Lyse…” She was protesting again. “I know how you get when you’re really upset. Maybe I should stay home or invite Tony over here.”

“Pageen, I won’t raid the liquor cabinet,” I said, “I promise. I just need some time alone to think about things.” I hoped I could keep that promise. “I’ll be fine.” “Are you sure?”

I loved Pageen with all my heart, but she could sometimes be too concerned about things. She’d be a great mother though, whenever Tony decided to hurry up and pop the question. She and Tony Brandt had been friends for only God knows how long and had been dating steadily since February. Pageen loved him, I loved him, and I knew he was the one for her. I mean, I didn’t believe in predestination or fate, but they just seemed right for each other.

“I’m sure,” I answered. “I’ll be fine.”

Pageen still didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded anyway. “Alright, if you’re sure.” She headed for the kitchen. “Go call your brother.”

Less than halfway through the conversation with Keith, I had started crying. Keith was trying to calm me down over the phone, but it wasn’t working all too well.

“Lyse.” His voice was soothing. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“How do you know, Keith? I told you what the doctor said. When the outcome isn’t good, they say it’s treatable. They said it with Uncle George and they said it with Karen. Look at what happened to them.” I had already lost an uncle and a cousin; I did not want to lose my father too. He’d been such a crucial part of Munro Park when we first started playing concerts. For every show, he’d rent a U-haul truck for our instruments and would personally chauffeur us in the van to and from the venues. He was virtually a part of the band. What would we do without him? What would I do without him? Or Keith, Miriam… or Mom? She and Dad had been married for 28 years.

“You never know, Lyse. Dad could beat this,” Keith replied. “No, actually, he will beat this. He’s an Aizik, and all us Aiziks are fighters. If anyone can beat this, it’s Dad.”

I sniffed hard, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I hope so.”

“Me too. But look, Andrea and I are catching the next flight home.”

“But what about your promotion?” I asked.

“Screw the promotion; I don’t care,” Keith answered. “I’m needed there with you guys. Lyse, I know how you get when things like this happen and I’m not going to let you deal with it alone. Not this time.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me,” he said. “I’m your big brother and I am not going to let you face this alone. And you, me, Miriam and Mom will be behind Dad all the way. We’re going to face this together as a family.”

“I know, Keith,” I answered, “I know.”

“Good. Now look, I got to go, but I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you then. Bye.”

“Bye,” he replied. “And Lyse?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?”

I smiled, and a tear ran down my cheek. “Of course I know that. And I love you too.” I paused a moment to wipe the tear away, then took a breath. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

I shut my phone and sat on my bed, looking at the picture on my bedside table of my father and I at last year’s Aizik Family Reunion. I picked it up and held it, smiling. Dad stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders. Our eyes were focused on something to the right of the frame. I remembered now, in the moments before the picture had been taken, Keith had made a joke about something, causing Dad and I to laugh, so our smiles were pretty big. The two of us looked nothing alike, but somehow there was no denying that we were father and daughter. Gosh… the thought that I could lose him… I mean, I knew that losing him was inevitable, but not before his fiftieth birthday. I’d always thought that when God called him home, Dad would be well into his eighties and ready to back out gracefully of old age having lived a long, full life. Dying of cancer was not my idea of a graceful entrance into Heaven. There had to be some kind of reason for this, right? Punishment? But for what? What had Dad done? Was this some kind of test, or a lesson? I just wanted to know why… Dammit, why?!

A quiet whine brought my attention to the floor. Pepper was sitting at my feet, giving me her famous ‘I know something’s wrong’ look. I picked her up, and set her beside me. She put her front paws on my thigh and leaned in, licking my cheek.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around her small body. I sighed and kissed the top of her head. She was my baby, – my little furry canine baby – and my best friend. Our friendship didn’t come overnight, however. Last July, while on my way to the Aizik Family Reunion, I saw her on the side of the highway. It was pouring down rain and the fallen-over box she was in was soaked and ready to fall apart. I pulled over and tried to get her so I could put her in my car, but she kept shying away. It was obvious her previous owner had been less than kind. Luring her with cold cuts of meat, I finally managed to get her close enough to wrap a blanket around her and get her in the backseat of the car. She was only three months and downright terrified. I wasn’t just going to drive by and leave her on the side of the highway like everyone else was. It was a couple of weeks before I began to gain her trust, and another two weeks before she completely latched onto me, and got used to Pageen’s two dogs. Pepper was my baby and I loved her.

“Lyse,” Pageen called from downstairs, “Pizza’s here.”

I gave Pepper’s head a pat and stood up. I turned to her. “I guess you’re hungry too, eh?”

Pepper yipped and wagged her tail as if to say ‘yes’.

I smiled. “’K, c’mon.” With Pepper at my heels, I headed downstairs. After feeding Pepper, Lincoln and Keifer, I perched myself at the breakfast table beside the opened 2-4-1 box. Pageen had the pizza cutter and was working through one of the two pizzas.

“Two veggie slices pour vu,” Pageen said, setting the plate in front of me.

“Merci buckets,” I replied, smiling.

Pageen rolled her eyes.

I took a bite out of my pizza, then headed for the fridge and retrieved the milk jug. As I reached for a tall glass, I felt Pageen’s gaze on me. Slowly, I turned, to be met by my friend’s narrowed eyes.

I furrowed my brow. “Am I doing something uncharacteristic?”

“A little.”

I leaned against the counter. “What?”

Pageen sat down at her spot at the breakfast table, two slices of her pepperoni pizza on a plate in front of her. “Not an hour ago, you were on edge about Kathleen, you looked like you were going to cry when you were telling me about your Dad, and I know you were crying while you were talking to Keith – I can see it in your eyes. But now, you’re acting as if nothing’s wrong. What’s going on, Lyse?”

I lowered my eyes, staring at a tiny crack in the linoleum tile. “I was trying not to think about it,” I mumbled. The back of my eyes stung slightly.

“Trying not to think about it and hoping it’ll go away? That’s not going to work; not this time. This is not you feeling one of your brother’s migraines where ignoring it is going to help you not feel it. This isn’t going to do away overnight–”

“You think I don’t know that?” I snapped. Tears escaped my eyes. “My father is dying, Pageen, and I know this is not going to go away overnight. But, my father wouldn’t want me dwelling on it 24/7, and me not thinking about it was keeping the liquor cabinet full.” I could see Pageen shrinking slightly in her chair, but I couldn’t stop. “But no, you had to bring it up. So, when you come from your date with Tony and you find Captain Morgan in the kitchen or in the living room or on my bedroom floor, don’t be surprised, but you can expect me to thank you.” My voice had grown to a partial yell, and guilt had spread itself over Pageen’s face. I took a breath, let it out. “I’m going to bed.” I headed for the stairs.

“What about your supper?” Pageen asked quietly.

“I’m not hungry anymore.” I looked to her briefly. “Have fun with Tony. Goodnight.” I ran up the stairs.

I heard her call after me, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to talk to her. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to be alone.

I got changed for bed and clambered underneath the covers. I felt the mattress dip, signaling I had company. I rubbed Pepper’s back and she curled up at my stomach. I closed my eyes, and found sleep waiting for me just around the corner.

Saturday morning had me running around in a frenzy trying to get the basement ready for the afternoon’s band practice. I had to admit that I really wasn’t in the mood for a band practice, but with a concert in a month, we couldn’t afford to cancel. These concerts were important to us, and if we wanted them to be as perfect as possible, we had to practice as much as we could in the time we had.

I was running the broom over the hardwood floor of the basement when Tony came downstairs. Due to an overnight thunderstorm, he had spent the night on Pageen’s insistence. I’d overheard them at about 11:30 last night – Pageen’s insisting, and Tony’s eventual give in.

“Lyse, the basement is fine,” he smiled.

I looked around the floor. “You call dust bunnies crowding in the corners fine?” I continued sweeping.

I heard Tony clear his throat softly, then sigh, and I inwardly braced myself for what I knew was coming out of his mouth.

“Pageen told me about your Dad.”

I froze, my back tensing. Dammit. “Did she?” I continued on sweeping.

“Yes, she did,” he answered. “Lyse, we don’t have to have a practice today.”

I stopped sweeping and turned to face my roommate’s boyfriend. “Excuse me? We have a concert in five weeks. We can’t afford to miss a practice.”

He tilted his head, his green eyes narrowing in mock confusion. “Oh, we can’t afford to miss a practice five weeks before a concert, yet, three weeks ago, we could afford to cut our bass guitarist?”

“Are you mocking me?” I spat. When he didn’t answer, I took a breath. “Look, Kaitlynne never showed up for practices except the Saturday before and the day of a concert. You heard all the mistakes she made at our concerts. It was embarrassing.”

“Yeah, well, we lost a really good bassist,” Tony retorted. “And it’s not like you’ve never made a mistake while performing.”

I was ready to throw a temper-tantrum. Had I have been ten instead of twenty-three, I would have. “I’m not denying that she’s a good bassist, - she taught me all I know about playing bass – neither am I denying that I’ve ever made a mistake during a concert. That’s not the point.” I sighed, leaning on the broom handle. “This band is about commitment; Kaitlynne didn’t have it.” I sighed again. “I’m not canceling this practice, Tony; I can’t.”

“You’re doing it again, Lyse,” Tony spoke. “And I know why.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying too hard,” Tony replied. “All because you don’t want to think about what’s happening with your father. It’s not going–”

“Not you too,” I whined.

“Pardon me?”

“Your girlfriend gave me that same lecture last night.”

“Because she’s worried about you, Lyse.” Tony was trying desperately to get his point to me, and getting annoyed in the process. Not that I blamed him; I could be as stubborn as a mule and very hard-headed at times. Especially when upset or when I really wanted things my way.

Tony sighed and approached me. He took the broom from me. “I’m going to phone everyone and cancel the practice.”

“Tony–”

He cut me off. “It’s okay. They’ll understand. We still have four more Saturdays before the concert. You need this.”

“What?”

“A day for you,” Tony answered. “If you want, Pageen and I can take you out for lunch, or splurge and take you to the CN Tower. I know you haven’t been there in a while. Or, I can take Pageen out and you can play your Nintendo Wii or your Game Cube or play The Sims all day. Or, watch movies; go for a walk along the Boardwalk. I don’t care what you do, just make this a Lyse day – a day for you.”

I had to admit, a day all to myself did sound like a marvelous idea. I sighed, giving in. “Alright. Phone and cancel today’s practice.”

Tony smiled. “Good girl.”

Just as Tony said he would do, he cancelled the practice, and then took Pageen out for the rest of the day, leaving me with the house to myself. I stood at the side door, watching people walking their dogs, more dogs playing in the water by the shore, couples young and old, joggers, all go by the fence separating my backyard from the beach. I sighed, and headed back to the basement. I zeroed in on my Gibson Les Paul electric guitar. The sunburst colour was the warmest thing in that basement. I picked it up, tuned it, plugged it into the amplifier and sat down on the couch. I adjusted it on my thigh, then started playing the opening riff to AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck”. It just felt like the right song. In a way, I felt like I’d been thunderstruck. My father had cancer and there was nothing I could do about it. The only help thus far, was an appointment with a cancer doctor three weeks from now. A lot could happen in three weeks.

“I was caught in the middle of the railroad track… I looked ‘round and I knew there was no turning back…” I sang. Yep, that song just about summed up the way I felt. I felt like I was standing on that metaphorical railroad track with a metaphorical huge black steam engine racing towards me. And of course, the track just had to be on a bridge a hundred feet above a rocky crevice. My choices were: jump or be hit by the train. I wasn’t sure what was more frightening; jumping or the impact. Both would be equally as painful…

Or, maybe me being chased by a huge angry Grizzly would be a better comparison. Keep on running or fight – my two choices. I was running, trying to get away, but that bear was catching up. How long could I keep this up before that Grizzly caught me? How long could I go on trying not to think about my father’s cancer before it would catch up and bite me in the ass? Dammit, wait! What was I doing? The Aiziks had never been ones to run away from their problems. Maybe I was trying to save my butt, but I was leaving my family behind. The family I’d saved and been saved by more than once.

“Thunderstruck” gave way to AC/DC’s “It’s A Long Way To The Top” before I put the sunny guitar back on its stand and went upstairs.

I heated up the two slices of pizza I didn’t eat the night before, and set it on the coffee table in front of the plush leather couch in the living room. I then stood in front of my DVD shelving unit, skimming through the movie binder for a movie to watch. I had so many DVDs, I had to keep a list in order to find them all.

A Streetcar Named Desire? A good movie, excellent play, but too old. Romeo and Juliet… too tragic. Save The Last Dance?… I never knew why, but movies about dancing always helped me feel better. Maybe it was all the music or the choreographed dance sequences… Whichever it was, I loved them. So, with that, I pulled out Save The Last Dance from its spot on the second shelf three rows in. I threw the binder on the couch, then slipped the DVD into the player. I sat down on the couch, and started watching the movie.

Save The Last Dance ended two and a half hours later, and after taking a break to walk the dogs and have supper, I took to flipping through the TV channels. The Superstation, also known as, TBS was showing Edward Scissorhands for what had to be the seventh time this week. Granted, it was a movie I loved, and I felt Johnny Depp did an amazing job with the character, but TBS did not need to air it seven times in seven days. CTV had Finding Neverland, while CBC and ABC aired Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl. What was this, a Johnny Depp tribute night? Neverland and Pirates I loved, but I had the movies and wasn’t in the mood to watch them. I continued on through the channels until I found a movie I would watch anytime on TV, despite the fact I owned it. The Wizard of Oz was only thirty minutes in, and it being one of my favourite movies of all time, I threw the TV remote onto the couch beside me, and watched the rest of it. The book by L. Frank Baum was one of the most valued books I had, and I equally, if not more, loved the 1939 classic movie.

The Wizard of Oz finished, and on my way to put my used plate and glass in the sink, I retrieved the Captain Morgan bottle from the liquor cabinet. A couple of shots wouldn’t hurt, right? I grabbed a shot glass from the cupboard, and poured the warm, dark liquid into it. I don’t know what it was about it, but it always seemed to calm my nerves. I had been hoping to avoid taking a couple shots, but I was still thinking about my father’s cancer.

I lifted the shot from the cupboard, and downed it. The rum burned slightly on the way down and I savoured the sweetness. I poured myself another, and quickly downed it. The warmth the alcohol offered was comforting, and I allowed myself three more shot before I put the lid back on the bottle and headed for the stairs. I could feel the slight buzz as I made my way up the stairs. I could feel myself wanting more, but my annoying inner-voice said no. And as inner-voices are always right, I continued into my room.

I got changed and flopped down on my bed. I cursed. I didn’t consider myself a true alcoholic; I only grabbed a couple shots when nothing else would calm me down, but I knew it hurt Pageen and I knew it worried the hell out of Keith. Could that have been a major factor in Keith’s coming home and missing out on the promotion?

Dammit. I needed a boyfriend, someone I could call, someone to take me out, just someone to talk to; someone to help me feel better other than Captain Morgan.

I looked up at the slowly spinning ceiling fan, while the rest of the room spun along with it. I loved Captain Morgan, but he always made my world spin. I sighed and closed my eyes, and found sleep almost immediately.

I was sitting on the floor of a large room. I was leaning against a stone chair. A large black crystal ball sat in front of the chair to my left. I could feel a warm breeze coming through a large glass-less window behind me. The stone walls felt ominous, and I was scared. I felt as though my life had been threatened. On a table to my right, a large hourglass sat, the blood-red dust within it equal in both compartments. I was trapped and I had a feeling my life was in the contents of that hourglass.

A loud shriek came from outside. I turned to face the window, and had to do a double-take. A small group of winged monkeys flew by the window. I blinked. What the hell? Monkey’s can’t fly. What was going on?…

Now was when realization struck me with a 2x4. It was that moment when one would become acutely aware of the fact that they are dreaming, and one has no choice but to ride the dream out because their body and mind won’t let them out. Normally, I could care less, simply because most of my dreams are silly cloud-nine fantasies… This, however, I was annoyed with. I was trapped in the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West in the Land of Oz. Damn my over-active imagination.

Tears ran down my cheeks; an action I couldn’t stop. I wanted to get out and I wanted my dog back.

“Dorothy.”* A voice came from the crystal ball. A woman about the age of seventy was in the ball, concern and worry written over her wrinkled face.

Dorothy? Right… Dorothy… Lyse… close enough.

“Dorothy,”* the woman repeated. “Where are you?”*

I rose to my knees and approached the ball. I set my hands on the glass as more tears ran down my cheeks.

“I’m right here,” I sobbed. “Fuck, I’m right here.”

I hated this. I wanted to go home, back to the woman in the crystal and away from this Witch’s castle.

“It’s me, it’s Auntie Em.”*

Auntie Em? I didn’t have an Aunt Em. My Grandma Morgan’s name was Emily and my Aunt Estella called her Em, but no Aunt… Damn, this was weird.

“We’re trying to find you. Where are you?”*

“I’m here in Oz, Auntie Em,”* I replied, knowing it was useless. “I’m locked up in the Witch’s castle and I’m trying to get home to you, Auntie Em.”* The image in the ball flickered and began to fade. Fear filled me. “Oh, Auntie, don’t go away! I’m frightened! Come back! Come back!”*

The image changed from the gentle old woman to the hideous green face of the Witch. I recoiled from the ball, my back hitting the hard arm of the stone chair.

“Auntie Em, Auntie Em, come back,”* the Witch mimicked. Damn I wanted to kill her. “I’ll give you Auntie Em, my pretty!”* She laughed, and the image faded with the appalling screeching laughter lingering even after the face had disappeared.

My breath hitched and my throat tightened in a failed attempt to keep from crying.

I wasn’t this much of a sap was I? I mean, sure I cried during The Fox and the Hound and at the end of Romeo and Juliet and Return of the King, but I didn’t think I cried quite this much. Although, I guess I would be that scared too if I was trapped in a dark castle and my life rested in the hands of that hideous Witch and in the confines that hourglass.

I stopped crying after a while, and just watched the hourglass’s red dust empty into the second compartment, hoping that somehow, my life would be spared.

After what felt like an eternity, I heard a faint commotion from the other side of the door.

“Dorothy?”* the muffled voice of the Scarecrow came through the thick wooden door. “Are you in there? It’s us.”*

Immediately, I ran for the door. “Yes, it’s me. She’s locked me in.”* That bitch.

“C’mon,”* the Lion called to the other two I knew were out there. “We’ve got to get her out. Open the door.”*

“Hurry, please, hurry,” I pleaded. “The hourglass is almost empty.”*

The Scarecrow summoned the Tin Man, then told me to stand back. I did, then heard the sound of the axe being swung against the door. I picked up my basket from the table with the hourglass, and waited. A few axe-chops later, the door swung open, and I ran out, picking up Toto. The dog nudged my neck, then barked loudly in my ear…

The dream began to fade, but the barking was no less in volume. An angry snarl followed, which sounded as though it was right beside me.

“Shit that was weird,” I mumbled. I opened my eyes and sat up. And promptly froze, my eyes widening, fear seeping into my body.

Standing at the bottom of my bed, was a young man, tall, medium-build, dark-haired, and handsome from what I could see in the dim moonlight reflecting off of the lake. Pepper stood on the bed, between myself and the intruder, snarling, barking, her ears laid back against her head. For a small dog, she had quite the voice and protective instincts.

“Who are you?” I asked sharply, my eyes scanning the room for my phone. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

Dammit, where was my phone? Shit… not good.

*: dialogue marked with an asterisk are lines taken from the movie script.


I want more!
Whoa, whoa, back up!
Home James!