The Dreaming: Old Shalon (Book 4)

1.2. Woken Up & Tumbled Up

I went into the kitchen and watched as he blew on the fire, getting the water to a boil, and suddenly my heart was overwhelmed by a feeling of great love for him. Maybe it had always been there, but I hadn't let myself feel it. He was such a good kid, considering he'd had no parents, no education, no... love, really, except from the gang of kids he lived with, who had no more capability of loving him, as he had of loving them. I was probably the only person in his life who could actually love him, but I had closed myself off to him.

I had met Michael on the day of my greatest find—a first edition Alice in Wonderland. He became my goodluck boy! I'd been scouting in the rotting dump of an apartment building in South Granville, what used to be a fairly upscale end of town. I don't know when he began following me—my hearing isn't what it used to be—but at a certain point I realized I had a shadow of sorts. He'd followed me around from room to room, apartment to apartment, probably because he was curious about the things I was looking at. Things he didn't know the purpose of, like books and telephones and old pieces of technology.

I'd tried to scare him off, but I was too old to chase him and he didn't respond to my threats, except to keep a slightly greater distance. And then I'd hit the jackpot—behind the dusty glass of an intact display case, I had found her—my Alice—in all her glory. In my excitement I had begun talking to myself and I guess Michael had just assumed I was talking to him. He came close to inspect what I had in my hands. His big brown eyes overcame my own entrenched xenophobia—maybe because he seemed more like a pet dog in that moment, excited by my excitement, but completely unable to comprehend what I was excited about. In some ways, Michael was like my pet. He lived with a pack of wild children somewhere near the Edge, orphans of the city.

Over the years, Michael had become my only contact to the world outside—something that I was rarely thankful for. It was because of him that I still had food and wood, and he always fixed things around my apartment, or scrounged for replacements for the things he couldn't fix. He had installed the reservoir on the roof to collect rainwater, after hauling the parts for it from god knows where. And when I had hurt myself scavenging in an apartment building over on Oak Street, he'd begun to bring me books, which had brought with it the end for my need to go outside. After that, even though I'd healed, he kept bringing me books, and I hadn't left my apartment since.

I walked up behind him and put my hand on his back. He turned and looked at me, startled by this unfamiliar gesture. I smiled. He looked uncertain, but smiled a bit, his brow furrowing as well, turning his smile into a confused grimace. I could see the cogs whirring, and had to laugh a bit.

I fixed him some tea and he sat there, looking thoughtfully into his cup. I could tell he had something important to say. I leaned back in my chair and picked up the spoon beside my tea cup, put in a very small amount of honey from a jar, and stirred it into my tea, stirring and waiting. Metal spoon clinked softly against glass; one of a very few sounds that survived from before. A sound I'd been hearing since my Great Grandma Alice waited for me to find my words at her table when I was Michael's age.

He looked at my tea, then licked his lips and looked up at me.

Here it comes, I thought.

But nothing came. He was too chicken-shit, he just looked back down into his tea.

"Well, spill the beans, kid. What is it you need to say?" I took my spoon and threw it into the sink.

He muttered something into his cup.

"What was that? I can't hear you when you mutter like that." He knew I needed to read his lips and see his facial expression to really catch on, my ears had begun to fail me.