Set As Wallpaper
It wasn’t really as much the wage garnishing that the court ordered that sent me over the edge as it was the jail time that they threatened me with when I refused the ruling. I tried to explain this to Benty, but he was intently concentrating on the rain-soaked LA freeway. I told him to turn the wipers up to high; at least he’d be able to see better.
"Does it matter?" he growled at me. "I don’t have my glasses any way." I smiled. For some reason, I like it when Benty snaps at me. I guess it lets me know that he’s sort-of paying attention.
Benty’s cute, to say the least. He has a tiny little puppy-dog face, big, brown eyes, and golden blonde fur. We met my sophomore year in college and he’s been taking care of me ever since then. It was his brilliant idea to move out to LA. I hate it here, and I tell him that every day. But he wants to be the next Benji. I don’t think he’ll make it, though, because their names are too similar: Benji—Benty? But I only said that to him once. Then he bit me. I promised to never bring it up again.
So far in his acting career Benty’s been an extra in one stupid, eventually cancelled, TV show. Consequently, I had to get an entry-level job as a researcher at a publishing company. So much for having my dog support me.
In reality, I’m a writer. Well, maybe more of a dreamer than a writer. As of right now, I have about seventeen and a half stories started, but none of them are on paper yet. They’re good ideas, though, and when I finally get around to writing them down, I might send them off to be published. They’re all fantasy stories. I’m into the Hardcore Fantasy world. No kidding. I’ve been hanging out with gnomes recently, but just on my days off. They’re part of the reason I never get anything written down. Of course, Benty doesn’t believe me. So I always come back with, "You’re a talking dog . . . who wears glasses . . . well, sometimes." Then he gets mad and leaves. I think he drives around for a while. I’ve never understood people who like to do that when they get mad.
I haven’t always known the gnomes, you know. I didn’t really even like gnomes before I started hanging out with them. They kind of smell funny. And they’re so small. Regardless, I’m glad they’re here, even though I didn’t ask them to come. It’s kind of silly how it just happened one day. It wasn’t really anything great—no fireworks or a deep, bellowing voice commanding me to care for the gnomes. No, it was simple. I was in the kitchen making dinner. Benty was due to be home from his audition at any time. He likes to have his dinner ready when he walks in the door, but I normally start dinner as he’s walking in. On the day that the gnomes appeared, I was making Benty’s favorite: spaghetti out of the box. Plus I had some uncooked meat in the fridge that needed to be used, so I was making meatballs to go with it. I sprinkled some oregano, marjoram, and a lot of thyme in the pan, and poured some canola oil over it. I stirred it all up, then POOF! They were there—three of them. I got a glass of red wine and sat down at the dinner table to watch them finish dinner. While waiting for the garlic bread to bake, one of the gnomes, Qensel, tried to explain to me why they appeared. Something like . . . they’ve always been there, but a certain amount of thyme makes them visible. Then I said: "So it was only a matter of thyme until I saw you! Ha ha!" We laughed about that for a long thyme. They’ve been my good friends since then. Except I think that they switched worlds on me.
Like I told you, I work as a researcher at a small publishing company in the northwest corner of the San Fernando Valley. I hate the 45 minute drive from Sherman Oaks to work. And of course no one will drive me. Benty always has auditions and, coincidentally, the gnomes disappear around 7:00 in the morning, right when I’m leaving for work. So I’m on my own.
I dread the drive. The people on the roads in LA are the worst drivers in the world. And on those rare occasions when it rains, like it did when Benty picked me up at the courthouse, the drivers are even worse. Most of the times, I make it to work everyday without being run off the road by some rich jerk in a BMW who’ll later sue me and have my wages garnished. But my job isn’t that bad. At least it hasn’t been since I met the gnomes. Benty thinks that I snapped. Perhaps I did. But, honestly, I don’t think that I’m in the real world anymore.
Here’s why: My desktop wallpaper on my computer at work used to be a drawing of this incredible, fantastic tree house in the middle of a place that looked something similar to the Grand Canyon at dusk. I used to pretend that I lived there. And that would help me through the day. The picture is beautiful. Two dusty-pink moons are barely visible behind the tree house. One’s close, looming just behind the tree. In my mind, I imagine that it probably orbits the planet that my dream tree house is on. The other moon, more brown than pink, is farther off in the distance. Perhaps it is another planet, home to my nearest neighbor. The pictured house has about 20 windows on the side that faces me in my little cubicle. It seems that there’s probably 30 or so rooms built into the structure of the tree. The house is about 6 stories or more high, but it is all spread out. The main part of the house sturdily rests upon the top of the trunk. It’s about three stories high. It has a greenish oak door that could easily keep out intruders, but readily welcome any friendly guest. The kitchen is attached to the main entry way and there are huge windows in the dining room so that the inhabitants of the house may admire the view. The living room is up a floor. It has the same huge windows, open to the incredible, rocky scenery surrounding the house. Two steps down from the living room, on the opposite side of the kitchen, is another living room. This room is made up entirely of windows.
Going back up the stairs into the first living room, there are several doors that lead out of the room. Two doors have bedrooms behind them and the other two doors have staircases that lead up to other sections of the gigantic tree house. One set of the stairs goes to a small bedroom. This is the guest bedroom. The thing I like the most about this room is that it has a balcony attached to it. The balcony allows you to go out and look at the beautiful canyon and the few other trees out there. This is also how you get to another part of the tree house. A walkway winds over to a separate guest house that is nestled in the dense leaves from the tree limbs above and below it. Obviously, only the most worthy of guests would stay in this part of the house. Up from the guest house, atop a thick, heavily leaved branch, rests an observatory. I oftentimes would sit at my desk at work and wonder if a telescope is on the other side, facing the moons suspended behind it. In the great observatory, a writer . . . a philosopher . . . an astronomer could spend hours—days—forever—just absorbing the heavens. Perhaps, if the house were mine, I’d call it the absorbatory.
Back in the main part of the tree house, just above the living rooms, there are other smaller bedrooms that are connected by a long hallway. Then there are two more small stairways going up on either ends of the hall. The nearest stairwell takes the curious wanderer up to the power generator for my tree house. It’s a windmill. It has four thick blades, each about a tree house story tall. The windmill seems archaic, but it is the most efficient source for energy.
The other staircase in the small hallway goes up to more bedrooms. If one were to live in a magnificent tree house like this, I’m sure that they would always be entertaining many guests. That’s why there are more bedrooms in this area. It is also the biggest part of the house. There is a huge branch that supports the bedrooms. And they are all nicely shaded by the lush green leaves from the tree. Sometimes, birds will come and rest in the smaller branches, sing a few songs, and then continue on to wherever they’re going. All of these things combined make this house more wonderful than anything that could ever exist in the ordinary world.
Perhaps I hoped that staring at this picture while trapped at my desk at work would help me. And who knows? Maybe it has.
The day after I met the gnomes, I called in sick to work. I stayed home with them, told them everything about me. They didn’t really seem to care. Qensel listened a little, but they were too busy trying to clean Benty’s and my apartment.
The day after that, I went back to work. The drive there was treacherous, as usual, and the people at work greeted me with the same, superficial, "How are you?" question, even though not one of them would have really cared if I told them. So I grumbled my hello’s and made my way to my desk. But, it wasn’t until I sat down in my stiff office chair, turned on my computer monitor and looked at the screen that I realized the gnomes had switched worlds on me. Instead of sitting at my desk in my dinky cubicle, I was sitting, cross-legged on the floor, in the center of the beautiful absorbatory.
And that’s where I’ve been for the last couple of weeks. The gnomes are here with me, but I think that they’ve been going to work for me because I haven’t been fired yet.
I have a computer in my tree house. I’ve been e-mailing Benty. He told me not to hurry home. When he’s rich and famous, he’s promised to move out to the tree house to be with me. The gnomes told us that the commute from the tree house to LA isn’t that bad.
Of course, I have one responsibility in my tree house. The gnomes have asked me to write on my stories using the computer. I’m enjoying all of the time that I have to write now. And I like where the computer is: it’s in the same room as the windmill generator that overlooks all of the tree house. I like to go up there just to look at the wallpaper on the computer screen. It makes me smile. Sometimes I even laugh--because it’s a picture of me, sitting in my tiny cubicle at work.
