The Way Forward

(A Labyrinth short story)

By Lady Sparrow

"So, young woman, the way forward is sometimes the way back."

I knew it hadn't been a dream. No. There was far too much evidence to the contrary for me to believe that. But I did, all those nights ago while laying in bed after the triumph and the party that followed, expect to forget. Wasn't that the way these things were done? You'd wake up at home the morning after and not remember a single thing that had transpired save for, of course, the lesson you learned along the way. At least that's the way it was done in the books I'd read. Alice forgot Wonderland and Wendy forgot Peter.

But I would never forgot the Labyrinth.

I had woken up the next morning with all the memories I'd collected during my thirteen hours in that place still vividly painted in my mind. And every now and then, in the time that followed, I was reminded of the untold dangers and unnumbered hardships that I'd managed to withstand. I'd wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes, drenched in a cold sweat and completely convinced that I really had been left in the Oubliette. Or sometimes I'd catch the scent of something foul, like sewer, and find my back pressed to the nearest wall in order to keep myself from plunging into the Bog of Eternal Stench... that I knew full well wasn't really there.

Once, a few weeks after I had arrived back home, I even batted a peach right out of Karen's hand. It had flown across the kitchen and slammed into the far wall in an amazing spray of fruit. And as Karen went running from the room in a fit of tears my father had shouted something like, 'For God's sake Sarah! I know you don't get along with your Stepmother but that was completely unnecessary!' before he ran out after his wife.

These moments of terror, when I truly believed myself to be back in the Labyrinth, always passed quickly, however. And I always returned to myself again rather quickly. I did apologize for the incident with the peach. Not that it mattered much. I'd never been able to see eye to eye with that woman.

By far the most troubling new development in my life was the sudden overprotective nature I developed towards my half-brother. Anytime he so much as sniffled I found myself at his side to ensure his well being. And Heaven forbid Toby ever stumble on the side walk or trip on the rug. While he was learning to walk was a particularly stressful time for me. I took it upon myself to redouble the baby-proofing efforts that I had previously found so troublesome and irritating. Where Toby was concerned, there was no such thing as being too safe.

It was a beautiful autumn day. The sky was clear and there was just enough of a chill in the air to justify the off-gold cardigan I was wearing over my white button-up top. Toby, true to his almost-seven-year-old nature, was tearing up and down the wooden play structure in some kind of chase-and-tag game with the other children. The rules were ambiguous at best and mostly seemed to consist of teams that took turns trying to catch one another.

"He's fine, Sarah."

When my father called me out, I forced myself to look away from the game. I hadn't really realized I'd been watching my brother like a hawk. But really, who could blame me? I knew from experience that the old and worn down playground was far from being safe. Bad splinters were a real possibility not to mention the potential for falling off the higher parts of the structure.

'What is wrong with all of these parents?' I thought to myself as I looked around at the other adults stationed in small groups around the park, 'Not a one of them is actually watching their kids.'

All the adults I could see were either chatting loudly with one another or else flipping through glossy magazines or grocery store novels. I simply couldn't believe it. But I wasn't really that surprised. It was like this every Friday afternoon.

"He's fine, Sarah." My father said again as we stood together on the edge of the playground.

I took a breath and shook my head, "I know, I know. I just worry about him."

"That's precisely what I wanted to talk to you about." He replied, "I'm concerned that you're spending too much time fretting over your brother. Don't you have other things that need your attention? Like school for example. You're already taking more courses than you should be as it is. How can you expect yourself to focus on school, balance your social life and worry after Toby all at once? You're going to make yourself sick."

"School's fine. I can handle my classes." I smiled at him, trying my very best to look convincing, "Really, I can."

Just then there was the unmistakable sound of a child landing hard in the gravel of the playground. I whipped around. Toby was slowly pushing himself back up from where he'd fallen off the monkey bars, examining the bloody cut on his dusty elbow with mild interest. In an instant I found myself flying towards him.

I dropped to my knees in the gravel beside him and gently took his arm in my hands to examine the scrape. A month after I had returned from the Labyrinth I took a first aid course at the Recreational Center across town. And I had made a point of keeping my certification up to date ever since. You never could tell when something like that would come in handy.

"Are you alright?" I questioned, my voice more fearful than I'd hoped it would be, "I didn't see the fall. You didn't hit your head did you? Are you dizzy? Do you feel sick?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Toby insisted, "It's nothing. Just a little scrape."

"Just because it isn't bad doesn't mean it's nothing." I lectured as I pulled a band-aid out of my tan backpack, "And it could always be worse. This should take care of it for now. But you have to disinfect it as soon as you get home. This gravel is probably full of germs and goodness only knows what else."

"You always fuss too much." Toby pulled a face as he watched me secure the band-aid over his cut.

"Yeah, well, I fuss because I care." I ruffled his curly blonde hair and shoved the band-aid wrapper back in my pack.

Toby stuck out his tongue at me playfully before joining the other kids again. I smiled to myself as I dusted off my jeans. He could be such a brat sometimes. But he really was a good kid when it came down to it. As I crossed back to where my father was standing he crossed his arms over his chest. There was an almost weary look on his face.

"What?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"That," He pointed to where Toby was making a second attempt at the monkey bars, "is exactly what I'm talking about Sarah. You can't keep rushing to his side for every little thing. I love that you care about him this much. I really do. But he needs to learn that the odd bruise or scrape isn't the end of the world. And you always babying him isn't going to help him learn that lesson any easier."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger.

"I just wish you could relax." He went on, "Toby turns seven next week and Karen and I have decided to get him a bicycle."

I opened my mouth to protest as a thrill of panic fluttered through my stomach. But whatever argument I might have made was stopped short by the hand my father was holding out in front of him. I made myself listen instead.

"He's been asking to learn for months and we think he's ready. It's something that we've discussed at length. I need you to promise me that you'll let him do this."

"But –" I started.

My father put his hands on my shoulders, "You need to let him do this, Sarah. You need to ease up and let Karen and I be the parents for once. You don't always have to be worrying about your little brother. You're twenty-two years old, for goodness sake. Have fun, spend time with your friends, go on a date. And let me take care of Toby, okay?"

Even if I could see his point, I wasn't happy about it. Bikes were dangerous on their own but having access to one meant that Toby would be free to wander the neighborhood unsupervised and alone. But there was something in my father's eyes that kept me from saying so.

I nodded slowly, "Okay."

"Promise?" He cracked a warm smile.

"Promise." I agreed, trying my best to return the expression.

"And here I thought you moving out would help you to ease up." He continued, putting an arm around my shoulders in a tight side-hug, "I suppose some things are harder to change than others."

"I guess so." I watched as Toby scampered back and forth across one of the wooden bridges.

"You know, I'm always amazed by how drastic your change in attitude towards Toby was. You used to never want anything to do with him. And then," He snapped his fingers for emphasis in the way he sometimes did, "just like that, you were inseparable. It's like it happened overnight."

'Believe me… it really wasn't that simple.' I thought.

I had never actually told my father or stepmother what had happened that night seven years ago. And even if I had, they never would have believed me. I remembered that, in the weeks and months that immediately followed, I had tried to suss out what their reaction might be to such a thing. I asked them a few innocent questions. Did they believe in Faeries? Did they think hidden worlds were possible? Had they ever seen anything like magic before? Could Goblins exist? The answer was always a firm 'No' followed by a short lecture on the wonders of modern science and how, if anything like that did exist, someone would have already found it by now. I slowly came to understand and realize that I would never be able to tell my father or stepmother what had happened the night I wished Toby away.

Later, after the park had been exhausted, I found myself in the living room of my childhood home listening to yet another of Karen's 'what are you going to make of your life' speeches. I was sitting on the sofa, watching as she paced back and forth across the floor. Every now and again she would brandish her hands or fling them out to her sides for emphasis. And she had the nerve to call me dramatic. Delightful.

"Honestly, Sarah!" She popped her hands onto her hips, "All that time mulling about trying to decide what you'd do, a year off here or a year working there. Not to mention wasting last year drifting through open studies. And this is what you choose? How can you expect to get by as a Drama Major? Do you think that some director will just hand you a leading role on a silver platter the instant you walk out of college? And even then, it would be a miracle for you to get anywhere in that dead-end business!"

"I'm minoring in English Literature." I pointed out, trying to stay calm.

"As if that's any better! You can't put food on the table selling books. Even those who manage to write a bestseller struggle to make ends meet. Why not give psychiatry a chance at least? It's worked out wonderfully for your Father and he thinks you'd be a natural. You need to stop chasing fantasies and focus on something real for once in your life! How do you expect to ever find a husband if all you do is mope around with a head full of nonsense? And, believe me, no man wants to settle down and try to build a life with some flaky actress. I mean, just look at your Mother!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, sitting forward on the sofa.

She had crossed a line and I simply couldn't take it.

"Sarah," Karen huffed at me, "I only meant that- "

"No, I know exactly what you meant." I stood up, "Leave my Mother out of this! You know nothing about her or her life. Just like you know damn-all about mine! You can't change my mind about school. What I do with my life is up to me. And as for all that 'finding a husband' nonsense, well, you'd be the last person I'd talk to about it! Why can't you just stay out of my life and leave me alone?!"

Just then my father came down the stairs carrying a medium sized cardboard box, "Here we go, Sarah. I think this is the last of your things. I -"

He stopped short when he saw Karen and I squared off in the middle of the living room, understanding what was happening. I shot my stepmother one last glare, then swept across the space with as much grace as I could manage. I was determined to make a dignified exit.

"Thanks." I said, taking the box from him, "I'm going to go."

Karen sighed loudly from behind me.

"At least let me drive you." My father protested, "I don't like the idea of you catching a train alone at this time of night."

I could see his point. It had gotten dark during my visit and the subway at night could be an unruly place. On a better day I might have risked it. But with my emotions running so high, making the journey by myself was probably an unwise decision. There was no sense in me running off and risking my personal safety just to slight my stepmother.

"Alright." I agreed.