I was sitting at the church building on Sunday resting in the backroom, having a quiet conversation with my wife, when there was a knock at the door. We were then joined by an energetic squirrel named Macey that happens to be a good friend. She approached me instantly to bring a breathless message about how she was the snow Queen and was hiding here from her younger sister because no one understood her Icey powers.
With raised eyebrows I excused myself from the conversation I had been having and calmly informed the smiling child that I didn’t blame people for not understanding her Icee powers because most people prefer Slurpees. But, I think my joke was lost due to her mere 3 years on earth, most of which were probably not spent in truck stops. But she nodded anyway and continued telling me all about how she had to flee from her kingdom because she is a danger to her family, etc, etc. You know, the typical Collins family saga. Occasionally during this monologue a hand would be flashed to her forehead and she would pretend to almost faint due to the dire circumstances of her story.
Then suddenly she hopped once and pranced to the far side of the room. Once there she paused facing a shelf piled with dusty song books. Her body contorted awkwardly with one hand flung into the air and the other out to one side. She stood there like a statue regretfully commissioned for some museum and then apologetically hidden away in a closet after vandals had re-positioned her arms in a way that could not be repaired. My wife and I stared at her, then at each other, then back at her. She did not move.
Finally, I said, “Macey, What are you doing? I thought we were having a conver-”
I was cut off with a sudden twirl that made me nearly flinch off of my chair. Her hands whipped around in all directions. She was like the scarecrow at his first night of “Beginner’s Karate”. She was an octopus being attacked by bees. It was a thing of uncommon beauty. And in the loudest, shrillest voice to ever pierce the walls of the church Cry Room she sang out “A Kingdom of Isolation! And it Looks Like I’m the Queen!”
We leaned forward against the blast of chill wind. Reaching. Reaching for a volume knob. An off Switch. Anything. “Macey. Macey! Macey, that’s a wonderful song. But it’s okay if you don’t sing right now.” She continued to spin and kick her legs in ways I felt were dangerous to both herself and others. “Macey!” Finally I got her attention. She smiled wide. “Macey, that was amazing. Thank you. No more for today.” She politely bowed and returned to her place in front of me where we resumed our conversation.
The remainder of our visit consisted of her telling me that she was going to visit Ponyland tomorrow. Although some people call it Ponyville. This was a conversation that made me feel much older than I expected.
It’s too bad that this little girl must live so far away. I know a few little girls that sleep in my house that would probably really enjoy witnessing her Kingdom of Isolation. Maybe I will have to share this story with them tonight, and do my best to reenact Macey’s fine choreography.