Leaving Wonderland

Leaving Wonderland
By Allen R. Alderman

It was with some trepidation and a very real sense of sadness that I went to see the White Rabbit. As a child I had spent time with him almost daily. It had been a while, though, since my last visit.

I was not looking forward to this one.

I had no trouble finding my way, as I had followed this path many times before in my childhood. Much had changed since then. The path, once clear and well-worn, was overgrown with weeds, and his hole, once a warm and inviting place, seemed much smaller, not as tidy as he had always kept it. The changes were sobering, almost painful to see.

Finally I reached the door to his hole. I had to force myself to raise my hand and knock. The sound fell cold and hollow on my ears. He greeted me warmly and invited me in to chat with him for a spell. After making sure that I was quite comfortable, he busied himself with making us a pot of hot tea. Once it was ready he poured us each a cup, and then he joined me in the sitting room.

As we drank, he reminisced about all of the adventures we had shared together once upon a time, the stories he used to tell me, the laughs and tears that we had shared. Years ago his stories had seemed so full of meaning, deep, rich and philosophical. Today, however, they seemed shallow and superficial, almost contrived. I marveled at the change.

After what seemed ages, his words droned to an end. For an uncomfortable eternity we sat in silence, each of us waiting for the other to come up with a reason to continue the conversation. We both came up empty handed.

He sighed loudly and sat staring deeply into his now-empty cup. His shoulders were hunched and he seemed so very old.

"This is goodbye, isn't it?" he said finally, hesitancy and dread in his voice, an unshed tear sparkling in his eye.

"Yes, old friend, I'm afraid it is," I said, trying to hide the slight tremble in my own voice.

"I knew it would come," he said. "It never lasts for long."

"But there will be others," I said, vainly trying to cheer him up. "As long as there are children who look up to the sky with wonder, to the forest with a sense of mystery, there will be others."

"I know," he said, "but that never eases the pain I feel with each goodbye."

For a moment I struggled to find words.

"I will miss you," I said, no longer trying to hide my quivering voice.

"And I you," he replied.

"Thank you," I whispered.

I think he heard me. I hope he did.

With those words I left his hole. I did not look back. If I had, however, I would have seen that with each and every step I took his hole became more hazy, indistinct and, in the end, was no longer there at all.

For a time all was silent.

Then, in another place, another time, a child opened the book, and in that wonderful, magical moment, the hole was called back into existence, more real and more vibrant than ever before.

And, once again, the story began anew....