Tooloo had mentioned that the movie was old, but Tinker still was surprised when it started in only sepia tones. Dorothy was a whiny, stupid, spoiled brat who was clueless on how to manage a rat-sized dog. When Tinker was Dorothy’s age, she was an orphan and running her own business. Esme identified with this girl? That didn’t bode well.
The Earth the movie showed was flat, dusty and featureless. Tinker was with Esme — why would anyone pine for that?
“Is that what Earth is like?” Pony asked.
“I don’t know — I’ve never been to Earth.” Tinker groaned at yet another stupid thing that the girl did. “I’m not sure I can take a full ninety minutes of this.”
“It — changes.” Stormsong said.
And change it did as a tornado sucked the house up into the air and plopped it down in glorious color. Dorothy’s dress turned out to be blue checked and she acquired glittering red high heels that they called “slippers,” the source of Esme’s overalls and red boots in Tinker’s dream.
It took Tinker several minutes for Tinker to realize how Glenda the Good Witch worked into her dream. “That’s Black. She had the wand and the crown. And she was crying.”
“I think I would cry if I was stuck in a dress like that,” Stormsong said.
Tinker had to agree with that assessment. Tiny little people in weird clothes surrounded Dorothy and talked in rhyming singsong voices.
“Oh this is so weird.” Tinker whispered.
“Does this make more sense in English?” Pony asked.
“No, not really,” she told him. “Do they ever stop singing?”
“Not much.” Stormsong said as the munchkins escorted Dorothy to the edge of town and waved cheerfully goodbye.
“Oh, of course they’re happy to see her go; she’s a cold-blooded killer,” Tinker groused as Dorothy discovered a talking scarecrow. “Oh gods, they’re singing again.”
Dorothy and scarecrow found the apple trees that threw fruit, and then the tin man, whose first word was “Oilcan.” Tinker huddled against Pony, growing disquieted.
“What is it, domi?” Pony asked.
“How did I know? I didn’t see this movie before, but so many things are just like my dream.”
“Maybe we did see it and forgot,” Oilcan said.
“Something this weird?” Tinker asked. “And we both forgot?”
Pony’s lion showed up next. Tinker scowled at the screen. It annoyed her that she didn’t understand how she had dreamed this movie — and that her dream self had cast Pony in such a cowardly character. “All these people are dysfunctional, delusional idiots.”
Finally the foursome plus dog found the Wizard who turned out to be a fraud.
“What was this dream trying to tell me?” Tinker asked.
“I am not sure,” Stormsong said. “Normally an untrained dreamer borrows symbols uncontrollably — and this movie is rife with them. Everything from the Abandoned Child archetype to Crossing the Return Threshold.”
“Huh?” The only threshold crossing Tinker knew about related to chaos theory.
“Dream mumbo-jumbo.” Stormsong waved a toward the television screen.
The wizard/fraud had produced a hot air balloon, and was saying goodbye.“…am about to embark upon a hazardous and technically unexplainable journey to the outer stratosphere.”
“Dorothy is taking a heroic journey,” Stormsong continued. “She crosses two thresholds, one out of the protected realm of her childhood, and the other completes her journey, by returning to Kansas. If you were familiar with this movie, I would say you were seeking to move past your old identity and claim one that reflects growth. The tornado could be a symbol of the awakening of sexuality, especially suppressed desire.”
Tinker resisted the sudden urge to shift out of Pony’s arms. “I didn’t dream about the tornado.”
“Yeah, well, the odd thing is that you’re not familiar with the movie. So the question is: where is the symbolism coming from?”
“Don’t look at me!” Tinker closed her eyes and rested her head on Pony’s shoulder. “So, what should I do next?”
“Tell me your last dream again.”
“I’m up high with Riki and he’s a flying monkey. He’s got the whole costume, and I’m the scarecrow. Riki talks about me melting the witch and setting him free. Then I’m on the ground, and Esme is there as Dorothy, Pony was the lion, and Oilcan was the tin man.”
The movie was obviously drawing to a close as Dorothy tried to convince people that her journey had been real.
“We wanted to go to the wizard,” Tinker said. “But the road ends with the black willows, but they’re also the trees in the movie that throw their apples. Esme keeps saying we need the fruit. I don’t know. Do black willows even have fruit?”
Thankfully the movie was over and the credits rolled.
“I am not sure,” Stormsong said slowly, “but I think, domi, finding out more about this Esme would be best.”
“I’m going to have to talk to Lain about a lot of things.” She went to her phone mumbling, “Fruit. Esme. Flying monkeys. Yellow brick roads. Munchkins.”
She got Lain’s simple unnamed AI. “It’s Tinker.”
“Tinker,” Lain’s recorded voice came on. “I’m going to be spending the next few days at Reinholds with the black willow. If you need me, you can find me there.”
Tinker hung up without leaving a message. Sighing, she considered her home network. She should take it out before someone broke in and stole it. Pushing back from her desk, she lazily spun in her chair, scanning her loft. “I should really — you know — move out.”
Oilcan glanced around, bobbing his head in agreement. “Yeah, unless you get divorced, I don’t see you living here again. Well, I’ve got to go. I still have those last drums on the flat bed. I need to go dump them with the rest.”
“See ya.” She continued to spin, thinking of what she needed for the move. A truck. Boxes. People. As she considered how many boxes and how many people, she realized what little she really needed to move. Her computer. Her books. Her underwear. Most of her clothes were ratty hand-me-downs of Oilcan’s, or too oil-stained to wear around the elves. Her battered furniture, her unmatched dishes, and all her other sundry things were just odds-and-ends she picked up over time and weren’t worth keeping. She could have a yard sale. She could make up a flyer and put an ad in the newspaper. They would need a way to tag all her stuff, a cash box with a starter kit of change, a tent case it rained. They could sell hot dogs and sauerkraut to raise more money — except she didn’t need money. Hell, a yard sale was a stupid idea.
She spun in her chair as plans came to mind and proved unneeded. And where would she move her stuff to? She supposed the computer could live in her bedroom at the enclave, but what about all her books? Her jury-rigged bookcases would clash horribly with the elegant hand-craved furniture. She could probably get bookcases. Snap her fingers. Make it so. But where would she put them?
Windwolf didn’t fit into her life, but did she fit into his either?
She bumped into something and stopped spinning.
Stormsong stood beside her, looking down at her. “You’re going to make yourself sick doing that.”
“Pshaw.” She stood up and toppled over.
Pony caught her and carefully put her back into the chair.
“I wish you guys wouldn’t hover.” Tinker snarled as they stood over her.
Pony crouched down so he was now eye level with her. “You are still upset.”
She sighed and leaned her forehead on his shoulder. “I don’t like being like this. This isn’t me. I feel like I’m living without my skin. Everything hurts.”
He put his arms around her and eased her into his lap. “Domi, I have been with you every day for some time now. I have seen you happy and relaxed. I have seen you bored. I have seen you snarling into the face of the enemy. And you were always yourself until two days ago. Something has changed.”