On The Road to Ithaca

So, there we were; me, my cats, and the dragon, well, to be honest, she is my dragon. I created her from fear and a sense of helplessness, she became far more than a spirit-guide or guardian. She became a friend, and sweet comfort when I had no other comfort.

We were stopped at Destiny's Crossroads, and like an African Destiny it was fan-shaped. At the end of every path was a Destiny. Now, I coould only choose one, which one? I have no clue as to where any of them will lead, or if that is the path I should be on.

I seek any clue, even a slight hint as to where I should go. I laughed for a breath, scratched me head and did what any red-blooded over tired,over-worried, under reassured, pained of flesh, mind, heart, and spirit woman worth her Midol would do.

I sat on my fat arse and started to have a damn good cry.

I know, it won't solve anything, nothing will change by my tears, but I knew if I didn't 'blow off steam' I would lose it in a far worse way. I am the first to admit that I don't know everything; I am knowing myself better nowadays though.

I knew from that feeling of having innards made of a macrame of living snakes, and being too aware of feelings, yet being detached from even my body what could happen if I didn't release some of the pressure.

I was already avoiding knives and the kitchen, the bright edges of those cutting implements can hypnotise, and I would not follow their dictates; not today, nor for any of the tomorrows.

Yet, the pains that called this forth from the dark places of my spirit remain, and do not allow me peace or rest. So, I weep, on the dusty verge of the crossroads, with cats and dragon awaiting my choice.

"Hay-yooo-munn?" The sweet, accented voice was far too high and soft to be from a 'hay-yooo-munn' larynx. I looked up as I wiped my face with the heel of my one good hand.

A doll stood there, oh not just any doll. No Barbie, or Skipper, or betsy-Wetsy for me; she was a lving, breathing, moving 'Jane West' doll. The only doll I liked as a girl, she wore her Western Jeans and Shirt, she had on her tan chaps and cowboy hat with a spiderweb fine line of sweat-salt around the base of the little-bitty crown.

She had a living Breyer horse for her mount, I remembered him, I called mine "Chippewa Chieftain". The horse whuffled and bobbed his delicate head as if in recognition of the name.

"Hay-yoo-munn? 'ow long do you t'ink you be cryin' like dis? We need to trabell fast now, I hear dat Koschey's on de prowl. We don' want git caught by 'im. Nosirree!" One fingernail clipping-sized foot tapped impatiently, the dust it raised almost invisible.

"Uhhh..." I snifffled and wiped my eyes again. "Let me blow my nose and I'll be ready to go. Do I call you, ahhh... Jane?"

"Ho! No hay-yuu-munn!! Dat is not m'real name. Dat is what de oodder hay-yoo-munns calls me." Her wink was barely seen. "You know my real name, don' you? I'm alive peetuzz of yooo."

"You're Annelinna." My words weren't a question. I hated being the same as everyone else, even as a child, so I renamed my doll, and her herd of horses to suit me.

"Yezzz!! You do remember!!" Annelinna hopped onto my leg and clambered up to my shoulder. "Hyoo needs choozzzz w'ich way we go now."

"I know..."

"Jus' chooozzzz." The tiny whisper sparked me to choose, not by thought or even instinct. I chose by where my feer were pointing when I struggled to my feet. "We go now!!" Annelinna's chiming voice was truimphant as our strange entourage got under way.