My wife, Alane, gave me the girl’s name. The named girl then gave me several days of writings, combined with images.
. – . – .
Alison Wonder’s Land – part 1
Alison Wonder was not born, or if born, not to us. One bright spring afternoon, I went out to see if we had received mail. Finding nothing in the mailbox, I turned to find similar nothing in the front yard, at least for the first few steps.
Somewhere in the space between steps three and four, or maybe four or five (who’s counting) I noticed a girl standing by the hedges of the side yard.
“Who are you and where did you come from?”
“Mail doesn’t even walk, unless it’s not a holiday, in which case it runs normally between all destinations.”
“I’ll ask again, little girl, who are you and where did you come from?”
“Do you always end sentences with prepositions,” she said.
“I stand corrected, but my question also stands, even if uncorrected.”
“It stands, as do you, sir, but your question leans heavily to one side.”
I scanned the yard for others like her. There were none to be found or unfound. “Very well,” I said. “I’ll re-ask. Are you ready to answer me this time?”
“Ready to answer you what this time?”
“Are you ready to answer a re-wording of my question?”
“Ask and I will tell you whether I’m ready to answer or not,” she said, nearly enjoying herself.
“Who are you and from where did you come,” I re-asked.
“My time here is short,” she said. “I have the time to answer one question. Which question is more important to you?”
“You could have answered both of them by now.”
“Yet you waste time stating your opinion,” she said.
“Identity is more important than origin, so answer the ‘who are you’ question.”
“That is a statement, not a question,” she said.
“Little girl, just tell me who you are. I must know.”
“Well, if you must know, then why not just ask? I’m Alison. Alison Wonder. Wonder who you are.”
“It is almost good to meet you, Alison Wonder. Who am I? I live here,” I said.
“Good to know, but I didn’t ask where you lived or even who you were. I simply told you to wonder who you are.”
“So you don’t wonder about who I am,” I asked.
“I wonder about everything,” she said. “Wondering is more important than answering,” Alison said. “It may or may not be important to know who you are, but it is of exceptional importance to wonder about who you may be.”
“Wondering is wonderful I guess,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. Wondering is wonderful. Now please wonder who you are for me. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
As she asked, I wondered for a brief period who I was with no definitive conclusion, especially after meeting her.
“Now, I wonder, Alison Wonder, I’m begging you to wonder where are you from, or from where you are, either one will work, then tell me.”
“I do wonder,” Alison said. “From where did I come? I think I came from —”
Alison’s words were cut off, because she disappeared from where she was speaking. The hedges trembled as if attacked.
“— over there next to the hedges, by that lovely tree,” she said, instantly appearing in the back of the back yard, still in mid-sentence.
“Yes, that’s from where I came, next to the hedges, and next to you.” She waved. “Since you are standing next to me, you should know that without asking.”
Alison sat on the swing set, not swinging but wanting to.
– . – . –