I promise I won't do that again.

Well...

It's a lot easier, I can say that much. Can I say that much?

So, something else, then.

“It's much too much of a headache,” barked the giraffe.

“Nonsense,” said the porcelain Winnebago. “Here—hold my coffee.”

“Oh, and with what hands, exactly?” countered the giraffe.

“Yours, hers, anyone's but mine,” said the porcelain Winnebago. “Just long enough to see some light.”

“Again labor falls into my lap,” grumbled the giraffe.

“Now, don't get cute,” said the porcelain Winnebago. “Just use 'said.'”

“Seems too plain,” whined the giraffe.

“That's the point,” said the porcelain Winnebago. “It's supposed to just disappear.”

“Yeah, no,” stated the giraffe. “I'm not about that life.” It put on some sunglasses and off an air of disillusionment, and catered to the nobility while cruising down Main Street in half a cooler and a flash mob. This was going to be something really special. Without androgyny, there wasn't a lot to look forward to, unless you knew more than a little about capacitors, and who's got the saline solution for that long? Today was the first day after yesterday, and now there was no end in sight, and there was a good deal left to work on, but it was over before you knew it. And the giraffe—the photographers were already here, already in a circle. That's how people g—

Nope, nope, almost did it again.

I told you. Promises are all stillborn.

One more time.

Cattelorb knelt down in the snow. “It's here,” he said. Nearby, Ullian was smoking—not a cigarette or a pipe, for Ullian was part fire—on his dad's side—so he had to stand downwind. Cattelorb was relieved. They'd finally found one—but so far away! Well, now it was precious, so they took their special jar, and dug up the flower, and all its dirt, and put it in the jar, and packed it away all safe and sound. They looked at one another, but couldn't see one another, because of the hats. This was expected, but still unsettling.

“Well?” said Ullian.

“I guess we can go back now,” said Cattelorb.

Ullian nodded. “Many steps to retrace.”

“Then, let's start,” said Cattelorb.

Now, there were trees in the field, but they did little to shield them from the falling snow, and it was already deep all around them, and their footsteps—those they were soon to retrace—were already being filled in again, as if they'd never been there, and the world was trying to forget about them even as they lived. A little past the trees was a stove where Dovetail the Swindler lived, and Dovetail popped his head out of the broiler as Cattelorb and Ullian passed by. They had passed the stove on the way in, but Dovetail hadn't been able to think of anything to say, yet now that they were coming by again, he had had time to think.

“Hey,” said Dovetail. “What's up?”

“Fair weather,” said Cattelorb without pausing in his stride.

When Ullian passed by, being part fire, and the stove being of the gas variety—and what's more, with a major leak... Well, suffice to say that there were sparks between Ullian and the stove, and according to the Big Book of Metaphors that could either be romantic in nature, or some kind of fight brewing—I have no idea, my stove's electric, what would I know about sparks?

An electrician showed up, as if summoned, and took one look at Ullian and the stove, then turned in his card and retired to become a horse race announcer. “I can do all the voices,” said the electri—I mean, said the horse race announcer. He said, “Hey, I'm Secretariat!” in his best Secretariat impression. Then he said, “Hey, I'm Seabiscuit!” in his best Seabiscuit impression. And then he said, “Hey, I'm War Admiral!” in his best War Admiral impression. This continued for another nine hours.

Nine. Hours.

Cattelorb had hobbies and interests outside of the flower, of course, being a fully fleshed-out character and all. There was going to be a new show on TV someday, and he wanted to buy a TV and see what the fuss was all about. He was a bit behind the times, though. He had his eye on a big projection TV, the ones that were eight feet tall and cost thousands of doll—

I know that look. What? I didn't do it this time. Not yet, anyway.

Well, anyway, Roby was curled up in the backseat, drowsy and exhausted, staring out the window up at the sky, as Old Missus Lopkit and Old Mister Lopkit chatted up front about this and that, or maybe they sat in silence, who could tell? Memory is an untrustable thi—

What now?

Can't I have anything?

You're making this really difficult.

Fine. Roby fell out of the car and landed in—landed in the desert. It was bright and hot and there was some kind of mud-brick village away over there, and weird looking trees. Roby had no strong opinions about weird looking trees. She knew them as just a part of nature. They weren't actively doing anything, really. They were just trees. They were just there. It was to be hoped that so they would remain.

“Hello, trees that I see,” said Roby.

“Hello, Roby that we know,” said the trees.

“I have met trees of great rudeness and violence,” said Roby. “Is this the sort which is of you, or do you prefer silence?”

“Nay,” said the trees, “we are patient and calm, for behold, our home is this desert of sand and fire and the endless cold of night! There is not the desire to add the sweat of tumult to this long-standing mixture.”

Roby was told that this was satisfactory, and so sat down near one of the trees and had a snack. Her snack was an entire pottery barn. No, not the store.

“Miss,” said the trees, “why not share of thy snack?”

“The snack is eated awhole!” said Roby. “I have sorrow, for it is no more. When the future yields a new snack, it shall be shared—that is a promise I cannot take back, so do not be scared.”

But the trees were upset—genuinely upset at being left out of this snack, and they didn't even know why they were so agitated. They didn't even like barns. Why so touchy? It wasn't “that time of the month,” since there was no moon inside the hollow Earth so they couldn't form the concept of months in the first place, so why would Roby even think of that? Perhaps Roby was the final example of the same thing they'd seen time and time again. No, no—they weren't being fair to the kid. Look at her. She probably needed a friend.

“Think not of it,” said the trees. And—

And there—

And there was—

Yes, yes, sorry, I'll fix it. The apology, I mean.

I don't have to, honestly. You're the only one that saw it. The only one that was there.

Yeah, I was curt, and I know it was wrong. Now. I thought I was being honest—

I said I know that.

I know. And it doesn't matter.

Do you want to be a part of this or not?

Roby was there with Traycup, at a little snack shack on the beach, and Traycup had something behind his back. Roby asked the shack's owner for an egg cream.

“One egg cream, if I may,” is what Roby said.

The shack owner went to fetch the drink and was never seen again. In decades to follow, his disappearance would become a minor entry in a documentary series about missing persons, but, really, his case wasn't very interesting, and there wasn't much information to go with, anyway. There'd be cases about pretty girls with video footage, mysterious clues, enigmatic suspects—all the trappings that make for an exciting case that the whole nation can obsess over. But this? Some guy? Who cares? Things happen, c'est la vie.

There was sun, everlasting, everpresent, and the sound of the waves, and the call of gulls on the air, and a breeze that made the heat bearable. They weren't themselves. They couldn't be—they wouldn't last here for an instant, and the kids played with a watermelon, unstrong enough to split it. If they could get their hands on the right equipment, they could set to castle-building, but that's for the onset of evening, which was forever too far off. And no one knew how to swim.

Roby felt like she had to keep a big secret, looked at Traycup, and then a wave crashed, and a hundred surfers fell off, and they quit surfing and decided to try being serfs. It was spelled similar, so they probably had a lot in common, right? Well, it didn't go too well, and they didn't like it and so tried to quit, however they were now owned by the landlord, who was a gopher, and was about to head home for the day. Roby followed the landlord down its hole, where it was dark and dirty and she was afraid she'd get stuck. “Just stand up!” laughed the landlord. Roby stood up and saw the landlord with his friends, playing darts—

Yeah, I know. But, too bad.

Roby saw the landlord and his friends playing darts, and she wanted to play, but she knew she couldn't ask. She had to keep all her secrets. That's what secrets are for. That's what secrets are. Roby glanced at me and said, “Is everything still okay?” She went outside, back to the beach. Someone had a big mirror. They wrote words on the mirror and tilted it and reflected the sunlight back into the sky, and wrote words on the sky. Now the gears were turning—they made a lot of mirrors, for all the letters and words, and built a big typewriter with them so they could write on the sky all the time. It turned out to be really easy. It usually does.

Mr. Juniper rushed over to them and said, “I'll buy this patent! A million dollars! A billion dollars!” Then the stock market went up and Mr. Juniper offered more money, enough money to live forever, and they signed it right away, and then Mr. Juniper ran away laughing, and they were really afraid that they had screwed up and gotten a bad deal. They tried to read it but they couldn't. They asked whether it was a good contract or whether they'd just signed away all their rights.

“We don't want rights, we want money!” they said. They went to city hall but it was closed, so they went inside anyway, and it was all dark and quiet, but down the hall someone was bouncing a basketball, and it was the loudest sound they ever heard. It sounded like it was right next to them on every side, but they saw the shadow far away, bouncing the ball in the distance, and they knew the sound was lying.

“I never lie,” said Somper. “Never ever ever ever ever—” They started to, uh—well, they suddenly felt very afraid, and they wanted to run away, but they couldn't move. They felt so weak. Did they break their legs? You can't move your legs if they're broken, right? Try to move your legs. Move your feet. Just your toes. Can you move your toes? If you can move your toes then everything is fine. If you can't move your toes—

Roby went to open this one door, but she didn't open it right away. She looked at it very closely, putting her face right up to it, to its corners, its handle, its hinges. Inspecting the quality of its every aspect. It was splendid in every way. This was a goddamned high quality door! That's me saying it, Roby would never swear. It was heavy, and swung smoothly, and closed firmly. She unlatched it—or turned the knob—turned the handle—whatever. It was silent. She opened it, so slowly. Inside—

No, it was.

My way would've been better. Sure would've been a lot easier.

Y'know, every time I turn the corner, it happens. Why can't I just go for it? What's the great harm in that? What's with this pure virginity you expect me to preserve? And now, look. My tea is cold. It's the only thing that is.

No, you listen—I could've done so much more.

I don't know. I mean, it's real, for one thing. Or, it was. Not that it matters—but it's easier.

No, I guess not.

Says who?

Well, who are you?