Down over the hill from the barn there was a huge pond where Grandpa said there were big old trout. Last summer, when Kristen and her parents visited in mid-July, he actually caught a few of them and Grandma made a big fish dinner for family and friends. It was fun to meet with their neighbors and hear them make a big fuss over the cooking skills of Pat Reeves. (And who would’ve thought Kristen’s dad would be the one to win the watermelon seed-spitting contest that day?) Looking out on that pond this night, Kristen thought about just how the meadow would look if it snowed tomorrow. In her mind she could see herself gliding down over the hill on a sled or toboggan, fluffy snow flying everywhere in the icy-blue winds.
Kristen drifted off to sleep, snuggled in her mother’s old bed. She dreamed about fun things at first, and how happy she was, having a loving family to take good care of her (even though she had wanted to be back with her school friends the day after Christmas). When she had these dreams, it became almost as if she was Andrea Reeves – her mother – now, running and playing out in those same fields she saw before going to sleep. Kristen could see it all from her mother’s young eyes.
And then she heard it, off in a fog…that screechy whiney voice…softly beckoning at first:
“Andrea…Andrea? You’re back after all these years. Well, it’s about time, young lady. Where in the world have you been?”
“No…I’m not who you think,” Kristen began to whisper back to that awful voice somewhere inside her dream.
In this dream she could see now – just barely - up ahead in the hazy mist. The voice was that of a small person, or a creature of some kind. (Oh dear! Was he green?) She could not quite tell yet, so she stepped a bit closer. The ground beneath her was soft and squishy, like cotton puffs. It felt very weird between her toes.
“But you must be Andrea, dear child. This is her space, you know.” And then as she drew near, Kristen heard it:
“You’re back, you’re back,
Sleepin’ in the sack.
I thought I’d see you sooner,
But we kinda lost track.”
Kristen was now as close to the little man as she wanted to be. Or, was he a little elf? A little green elf, right down to the tattered vest and shorts.
“Who are you? Is that you near the fence?” In this foggy mush of a dream, it was difficult to be certain.
“Of course, Andrea.”
“Don’t call me that!” she cried out. “Andrea is my mother, so you must be in the wrong dream.”
In the haze she could see him pull out an appointment book (green, of course) and he flipped it open to this morning’s date.
“Let’s see. December twenty-four…actually, it’s the twenty-fifth now…nope, this has got to be the right dream.” Then he looked to Kristen. “Your dream is on my schedule.” He looked at her more closely. “Hmm…brown hair to your shoulders, rosy cheeks, clear creamy skin, but for a freckle here and there. Even these old eyes can tell you are Andrea Reeves, smoky morning or not.”
This little man is really making me angry, but don’t let him know it.
“Please believe me. You are making a big mistake. My name is Kristen Marsh and Andrea is my mother.”
The little man moved in closer, staring in silence as he circled around her.
“I know,” she continued. “Everybody says I look just like my mother when she was ten. And from the pictures…”
“Suit yourself then,” he cut her off and sniffed and shuffled, which made his little green slippers jingle, a tinkling sound like somebody’s silly cell phone. After a pause:
“Headstrong little girl,
Headstrong as can be,
Call yourself Kristen,
But you’re Andrea to me.”
“And why do you rhyme like that? Don’t you know it’s annoying?”
“Of course I know that, little darling. It’s my destiny…to rhyme, and annoy.”
“But why?” she cried. The little man disturbed her peaceful night’s sleep, along with her beautiful dream of life at her grandparents’ farm. “Who are you, anyway?”
“A fair question. Call me Rappabee, Kristen…or whoever you call yourself.” He took a majestic bow as he said his name. He certainly is full of himself! “Therefore, with a name such as that I am destined to speak in rhyme. You can’t stop me, my friend.”
With a twinkle in his eye he continued, “Oh, and don’t forget my little hip movement. I do this with a bit of attitude in my step. You probably can’t see that in the dream mist, though… but it’s there. That’s the ‘Rap’ move in ‘Rappabee’.”
Kristen shook her head. “Oh please, somebody get me out of this dream. I don’t want any more of this.”
“Hey! You think this is easy being me? I go all over this world teaching little gremlins like you what it is you should know. So just give me a bit of respect for what I…” Rappabee took a closer look at the girl. “Good gracious, little lady! Who dressed you for bed tonight? An army of clowns?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Your pajamas…all those wretched stripes and circles…I’m feeling most ill just looking at you.”
“It’s what I like, Rappabee. Even Mom says it’s okay to wear what I choose, and to do as I choose, so long as it doesn’t hurt others.”
“Well, the sight of you is certainly hurting me. I must have a talk with your mother…and very soon, too. We have left some things get totally out of hand since I last met up with her.”
“You really do know Mom, don’t you?”
“It is a long story. We’ll talk of that another night.”
“Then I will see you again?”
“That, young lady, depends on you. It is all in the touch, quite honestly.” He took a step back. “But I have said too much already. You ready for another rhyme?”
“Not if I can stop it.”
“Very well, Miss Kristen – go…get out of my sight if you will have no more of me and my lovely rhymes.”
“Thank you,” she said with a sigh of relief. Then she thought about it a moment. “But it’s possible that…”
“You are not paying attention, girl. It’s always in the touch.” He reached out and grasped her hand in his. It was cold and damp, but not repulsive…a comfort, actually that calmed her fears. After all, foggy new places – dreams and all that - are not always most pleasant, and this one began to cloud over even more as it was apparent her little annoying friend was about to make his little annoying exit.
“You will know.”
“When they don’t understand,
People call for me,
They know I’ll lend a hand
When they ask for Rappabee.”
The little man dissolved into the smoky nothingness, and the dream became a passing fancy, something Kristen would barely remember by morning.
But why is this happening? Was it because I am sleeping in the same bed as my mother when she was my age?
No