A Series of Short Stories

The Calling of Garson

Once upon some three years and a few months ago, a boy had been celebrating his birthday. You could take a guess and name this boy Arnold or Harold, for he was plain and simple enough for that. But his name was Garson. It had been that for fourteen years and will continue to be until he passes or legally changes it.
Garson was interested in a variety of things, most boring and mundane. Reading, poetry, memorizing the dictionary. But the most and only outlandish fascination he held were of fantasy-like creatures. Legends of leprechauns, myths of magic, stories of sylphs- all of them. They all intrigued Garson to a point at which his parents would have to take away his books!
He and his parents had a bond like no other family. It was not of love or hate or vengeance, but rather trust and security and faith. Yet as Garson neared his fourteenth birthday he lost his way to a labyrinth of questions and lies. His parents worshipped the being they considered more powerful than any other. Yet it was never named. Not its name, title, gender. Nothing.
During the celebration of his birthday, he felt brave enough to ask, "Mother, father."
And his parents would reply like any other set would, "Yes, Garson?"
Then he held his breath and spoke it, the question that had been haunting him for years. Perhaps since he was two! "Who is God?"
The mother and father froze. "Why would you ask such a question?" The mother replied, returning to her cake baking.
"It's just," Garson tried remembering a speech he had prepared for this very question and that very response. "You have always said to be cautious and kind. To love and honor our existence, for in an instant it could be erased. What did you mean by that?"
It seemed as if it were his father's turn to reply. His father held no emotion in his words nor his appearance. It was as if he too had prepared for the questions and answers on that very day. "God is God, nobody more and nobody less. We tell you to be cautious in your questions for it is not God we fear, but rather the being who made our God. The true creator of everything."
"Then who is this creator?" Asked Garson.
"Now that," his mother huffed, slamming the oven door shut, "is enough from you. Trust us, dear, the great creator is simply-"
And just like that, she was silenced. Time seemed to rewind, the cake flew from the oven back into her hands. And then, the strangest occurrence took place. As if by magic, somebody hit the play button once more.
"Dear," the mother said as she put the cake in the oven. "It is nothing someone of your age should worry about."
"People our age never worry about it," the father said.
Garson nodded, not out of agreement, but simply because he was compelled to do so as to not raise suspicion from his parents. Any further than he had already, that is.
Garson would, in a later conversation, find that his parents had not remembered his mother's brief outburst of uncontrolled anger, but rather her calm and collected response. In fact, if he had even asked the cat or window decorations, and if they were to respond, they would not remember such a strange reaction either. Garson would come to realize that he now had a secret, one that not many others can say they have.
He would want to tell someone who would listen, but giving away a secret no longer makes it his secret. And besides, who would believe the absurd tattling a of a fourteen year old boy? Nobody, that is who. So Garson smiled once more and said, "Sorry, I was curious. How about we continue the celebration?" And so it continued.
Garson went to bed after much festivities including a plastic rattlesnake, broken toy box, and a much-loved dictionary.
His dreaming included the usual things. A trail of leaves, perfectly in their prime, laid gently by fairies through a forest of golden wood and sunlight. He would take a step onto the path, and it would diverge into three.
The left would have a troll-like creature, broken sword in hand, beckoning him to come closer with promises of invincibility and glory. The center would feature a sylph, whispering knowledge unknown to any but her kind. Lastly, the right would show a pixie, it's hands juggling riches and gold. It, like the others, promised something that many desire; fortune and wealth.
They would expect Garson to choose a path, for which he was unsure if he could. Fame and immortality sounded wonderful, but to what cost would his mind and body suffer? Illumination and information was ideal, something he continued to strive for. But if he knew everything, which was impossible, what else would there be to know? Life would be listless and monotonous in his dreams as well as reality. Money was every man's dream, and it would seem as if it were his dream too, but what could you buy in a dream? If he wanted a juice, he would simply think of it. Money was worthless in his dreams. All of the options presented tended to be.
As he was about to will himself awake like he always would do- his dreams lasted far longer in reality than the scene would play out, a creature jumped in front of him.
"Don't!" It cried. Upon further inspection the being would be tall as, say, a child's hand. It would have silver skin and transparent wings, otherwise mirroring a human. This being in particular resembled the window-decorations his mother harbored, for whatever odd reason as she despised each and everything about them.
Garson looked curiously at the being before asking, "Why not? It has always worked before. I shouldn't expect it not to now."
"I want you to take me on an adventure," the creature said. "Um, please?"
"There is nowhere to go!" Garson said. "The paths are strictly guarded, and if we were to take one, they would give us whatever twisted promise they offered."
"Oh but please!" The creature cried. "I know how to get around them! Just take me on an adventure. Please, please, pretty please!"
"The physical appearance of a please does not sway me whatsoever." Garson said. "However, you say you can get around them?"
"Yes!" The creature cried excitedly. "All you must do is promise me an adventure."
"I suppose," Garson speculated. "That if, and only if, you are true to your word, then an adventure can be arranged."
"Oh glorious Creator, I thank thee!" The creature exclaimed. "And to you too, much and many thanks!"
Garson froze for a brief moment. "Who is this glorious Creator?" He asked.
The creature was mortified. "Nobody!" She shrieked. But then, if it were possible, looked even further terrified. "I mean, he is not nobody. He is somebody, and everybody too, wait no what I meant to say is... oh my apologies dear Creator! Help me, please."
Once more time chose to rewind itself. Perhaps this is a message of sorts, to which his brain was recounting the events of that afternoon. It had been on his mind quite a bit.
"Thank you, thank you!" The creature said, unaware of what had been a breakdown of hers. "I will get us across immediately." She then took care of the three guards and what Garson believed to be their twisted promises.
The first guard was an easy riddance as she whispered the false location of a mythological beast, ready to be slain. The troll followed the imaginary bells to his prey. The second would prove to be trickier, so the creature went and found a library. The sylph had never heard of such a library, and demanded to see it herself. She quickly went in search of potentially unknown information. The third creature was unswayed by anything but gold itself, so the creature sprinkled a trail of fairy dust which glimmered in the sunlight. As soon as the pixie stepped from his post, the paths merged once more into one.
"Is that enough payment for an adventure?" The creature asked Garson.
He would, of course, reply a breathless, "Yes." In taking the air he had held all that time.
"Oh joy!" She squealed. "It is time for an adventure!"
"Garson," he said.
"Hm?" Replied the pixie.
"My name is Garson."
"Oh!" She said with realization. "And I am..." Suddenly she stopped to hang her head in shame. "I am without a name."
"You were never given one?" Asked Garson.
"Perhaps when I was very little, but not one I can remember." The creature said. "I am not to live very long. Names are useless to my kind."
"Well I would like to have a proper way of addressing you," said Garson. "So we shall give you a name."
"I have always wanted one," the creature smiled.
"Perhaps we shall call you Serendipity," said Garson. "It's definition is good things to come."
"That sounds like a wonderful word," the newly named Serendipity smiled. "I love it!"
"Well then," said Garson. "Come along Serendipity. What is it you wish to see?"
"I wish to see everything!" Serendipity exclaimed. "It is my destiny to! Why, I am incomplete until I trek the pale mountains and swim the cerulean seas. Then, finally, I can lay upon a bed of grass and mildew, under the evergreen forest, and complete my calling."
"That is quite the inspiring yet melancholy quest," said Garson. "Are you sure you do not wish to make friends and, perhaps, find a love in the process? Live your home before it outlives you?"
"Oh no," Serendipity shook her head. "No, no, no." She flew circles around his head before landing again. "My destiny is strictly this- nothing more, nothing less. It would be mutiny to-"
Pause.
Rewind.
Play.
"Nothing more, nothing less. I could never go against the culture of my people!"
Garson blinked. "What was that about mutiny?"
"What was what about mutiny?" Serendipity asked.
"You just said that it would be mutiny to-" Garson paused just as she had. "And then you cut off and began to repeat yourself before taking a completely different approach to it."
"I have never done such a thing," Serendipity said indignantly. "It would be like you suggesting I went against-"
Pause.
Rewind.
Play.
"It would be like you suggesting I were insane or something."
"You just did it again!" Garson exclaimed.
"Now, I think I would remember that." Serendipity huffed.
"What are you so afraid of?" Garson asked. "Who are you so afraid of?"
"I fear many things," Serendipity said. "But you will have to be more specific than that it you wish to know whatever it is you want to know."
"This is inane," said Garson. "Why don't we see those pale mountains?"
Instantly Serendipity lit up- quite literally. Her silvery skin whitened and illuminated. Garson only noticed it this time, even though it would happen every time Serendipity was excited. Which was often.
"Yes! Yes! Let us, please!" Serendipity said.
"Where are these mountains?" Asked Garson.
"I was told to follow the river." Said Serendipity.
"Where is that?"
"Beneath the cobblestone bridge."
"And that?"
"Under the cluster of twine."
"Which is?"
"Two hops, a skip, and a jump southeast."
And so, two carefully measured hops, one perfectly preformed skip, and one lengthy jump southeast did they find the cluster of twine, which under would be the cobblestone bridge, casting a shadow upon the crystal clear waters of the river.
"Do we need a boat?" Asked Garson.
"No," Serendipity shook her head. "No boat, just walking. It should only take a day or two."
"Day or two!" Garson exclaimed. "Why, what if I wake up before we reach there?"
"You will not," said Serendipity. "I know you will not."
"How so?" Asked Garson.
"My destiny was given to me, and it was to have my heart and mind lead through this world by a pure being. You are as pure as they come!" Said Serendipity. "All destinies are meant to be completed. That's why they're called destinies. So if it truly is you who I am to be guided by, then your sleep shall outlast my journey. There is nothing greater than for someone of my kind to answer their calling by the side of a friend." She gave a smile, as if hiding some glorious secret that she did not want to hide at all.
"Ah, but we must not dally on such trivial matters," said Serendipity, changing the subject in such an abrupt way Garson could hardly keep up. "We should make haste nonetheless."
And so the two unlikely companions set upon the great trek by the river.
Of course, had the author meant for it to be a great odyssey, the author would have written it as just that. But it was a simple journey of walking, talking, and altogether pleasant company. Especially since Serendipity experienced no pause, rewind, and play effect.
A day and a half later they stumbled across rocky terrain.
"Are these the pale mountains?" Asked Garson.
"Yes," Serendipity smiled. "They are indeed the long awaited vision I have now the fortune to have seen!" Her stunningly white skin went unnoticed by Garson, who took favor in drawing the mountains.
Serendipity looked over his shoulder, "You are very talented," she commented.
"Thank you," he replied. He continued with his drawing. "I could draw you if you would like."
"Really?" Serendipity asked. "That would be wonderful! I would very much like that."
"Just a moment then," said Garson. With one last mark from his pencil, he turned the page and began anew. "Allow me to say this shall not be the most accurate drawing of you."
"Oh, I am not one for accuracy, but rather memory," said Serendipity. "Once I complete my calling, this will be all you have left."
"What about your body?" Asked Garson. "Will that not be left for me to lay flowers upon and mourn?"
Serendipity shook her head, "Why would you mourn me? I am as much as a stranger to you."
"You are my friend, Serendipity," said Garson. "It would be a terrible thing if I did not mourn you."
She once more gave him a smile, not of happiness nor sorrow, but of love and care. Tears nearly gathered in her eyes before she shook them away.
"That is very kind of you," she said.
Garson worked in silence, capturing every last piece of Serendipity. No matter how small her size or the detail upon her, he put it into his drawing. From her twinkling amethyst eyes to her soft brown locks we call hair. Every shimmer that appeared on her wings when the sun hit it right, each crease along her brow when she smiled, and all the strands of hair that fell across her face in wake of the wind was captured in his portrait of her.
"It's beautiful," she gasped when Garson showed it to her. This time Serendipity did cry, of happiness and joy and every positive feeling that welled up inside her.
Garson did not console the creature for there was no reason for consolation. Not yet at least.
"I am now unsure of what I want," said Serendipity that night as they camped by the mountains. Because they were still in his dream, they summoned tents and supplies as if it were second nature.
"What do you mean?" Asked Garson, who had long ago abandoned his meal in favor of reading a story about a group of fearsome angels and their apprentice.
"My whole life was me trying to fulfill my calling," said Serendipity. "But now that I have met you, not only am I unsure of what that calling truly is, I do not know if I ever want to complete it..." She blinked away tears of sorrow. She tended to cry quite a bit. "If I ever want to leave you."
Garson did not know how exactly he was suppose to reply. He did not want to dwell upon such depressing matters, yet to speak of happy things would be insensitive to her feelings.
So instead he placed his finger upon her shoulder and said, "You shall never leave me, for if this is your calling, I will be there too as you complete it on your bed of grass and mildew."
Serendipity smiled and thanked him for his kind words. They continued their journey, now to the cerulean seas.
As they crossed it with a boat they chose to make, rather than summon, Garson asked Serendipity about her people and it's culture.
"What do you do for fun?" He asked. It was perhaps the simplest yet most complicated of questions he would ask.
"Most of my kind, we are only here to fulfill our-" suddenly Serendipity paused. No, not as if she would rewind herself and play once more, but rather as if she were simply stopping herself. "You know what? Why don't I not talk about callings and such. If you were to do something interesting as one of my people, it is mostly entering dreams and solving its mysteries and puzzles. We love to do that!"
"You can enter dreams?" He asked.
"Yes," she nodded. "And we can make dreams a half-reality."
"Is that what I'm in now?"
"Yes."
"And would this half-reality be the doings of some unnamed force destined to wreck havoc upon the order that was my existence until I simply became to curious to condone with such ordinarily mundane lifestyles?"
"Er- perhaps?"
"And... Will I ever see my parents again?"
Serendipity looked sadly at Garson, "If you wake up, time will have passed. How long, I cannot say. You may have been asleep for a second, or it could have been decades. I do not know what position your life will be in when you awake, if you awake."
"What do you mean if?"
"It's your choice to stay asleep once I am gone or not. But whatever you choose will be permanent." Serendipity said. "You can wake up and stay with reality, or stay in this half-reality and help others like me."
"Will I get a choice after I help each being of your kind?"
"No, just me. I'm a sort of test-run, you know? When you don't quite know what to expect. It's not all that special because you mess up a lot. But it makes the other ones special, when you know how to drive it, when you're not afraid to push past the limits."
"You're more than a test run, Serendipity. You're something special, you know that?"
"..."
"..."
"Thanks." Serendipity looked at him, "Garson, I think that-"
Perhaps if it were not for the rewind, Serendipity and Garson would have fallen in a bout of young love and forgotten whatever calling she may have had before. But alas fate was against them, or rather it would seem like the doings of whatever Creator she, along with many others, feared.
"I think we should move on. I am almost completed."
Garson's feelings progressed, while Serendipity's remained strictly platonic. And so when they reached the evergreen forest, and she laid gently upon the bed of grass and mildew, he would weep gently by her fading body. And when that choice was given to him, he choose to return to reality, not wishing for another chance of heartbreak, and risking a whole new one altogether.
What happened when he woke up? I cannot say. That is a tale later formed, I am sure, and until then you will endure many other, seemingly unrelated tales. All loose ends will soon come to meet.