The Land of Dreams

2: Saved

I was eight when James and I first met. I was having a nap on a bench in a nearby park when my whole body started convulsing, shaking and quaking uncontrollably. I woke up to see a boy about a year older than me gazing down at me, his grey eyes panicked and his dirty brown hair hanging in my face. He smelt like old bread and body odor. "Get up, get up, quickly!" he said urgently, and being only eight years old at the time, I listened to this random boy I just met, not bothering to question his motivations.

I had just managed to stand up – it was summer and the hot sun had made me sweat in my sleep, so I was a bit woozy – when the boy grabbed my wrist and tugged my along, his large feet slapping against the pathway surrounding the pond, which was filled with people feeding the ducks that floated aimlessly around in the murky green water. (That was how I got my food during summertime - I would sit next to old women feeding ducks and ask if I could join. They'd say yes, and I'd split the bread between me and the duck, some going out to the water, the rest into my pockets.)

I was small for my age, just barely 4'7", so when he started flat out sprinting with his very large, long legs – he was already 5'0" at nine years old – I started to cry because my tiny little legs couldn't keep up with him. He had stopped, looked down at me, my face wet with tears, frowned, and then bent down, his back to me.

"Get on." He said and it took me a moment to process that he meant 'get on', as in 'get on my back so I can give you a piggy-back ride.' My eight year old heart jumped for joy.

I did and then he ran towards a bridge a few meters away. Once hidden, he explained that there was a police officer circling the pond and that he didn't want me to get caught. That was the first time James had saved me from danger, and definitely not the last.

**

The crowd has parted, revealing James, with his long legs striding towards me, his brown hair flopping over his forehead. He's wearing an identical outfit to mine; except his black trousers actually fit him and his brown boots aren't scuffed and muddy, like my black ones are.

"Adam!" I cry, using a fake name to protect his identity – an idea we came up with after he was almost sent downtown- and wrench free from Mr. Dumpty's grasp, who is currently frowning with confusion. I run down to James, and jump into his arms. He wraps them around me tight. I don't say anything when he sets me down, my feet crunching in the snow. I don't want to ruin whatever plan he is currently carrying out.

He grabs my hand and we walk towards Mr. Dumpty, who looks utterly bewildered. "Sorry about that, sir. Vivienne has a tendency to wander off and she's just so small for an eleven year old, it's difficult to keep track of her." James tells Mr. Dumpty, his voice loud as the lies roll off his tongue like butter.

If I weren't wearing males clothing right now, saying I'm eleven would be a stretch – I have the body of a teenage girl. But the oversized jacket swamped me just enough to make his lie seem reliable. So I go with it and cling to James like a scared eleven year old might do.

"Yes, well, she was caught stealing these tomatoes here. I'm afraid she's going to have to come to the station with me." Mr. Dumpty says, his voice all rough and macho sounding. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his sudden professionalism, which was none existent just mere seconds ago when he was breathing his rotten stank straight into my face.

James frowns dramatically, the corners of his mouth turned down a tad too far and his dark eyebrows furrowing deeply over his grey eyes, which are glinting with mischief. He glances down at me. "Is that so, Viv?" He says, and for a fifteen year old boy, his voice sounds relatively mature.

I simply look up at him, pleading innocence with my eyes. My goodness, are we putting on a show! The crowd must love it. Perhaps instead of stealing gems to sell, we can work at the bars and cafés as actors.

James looks back up at Mr. Dumpty, his voice somber when he says, "Well, I'm afraid I can't let you do that. You see, our father is currently in the war and our mother is due for another baby any day now. I have been working late shifts at bars all over London and Vivienne here is simply too frail to do much else than knit and sew."

I almost kick him in the shoe for that – I've beat him in sparring more times than we can count, but it's obvious Mr. Dumpty thinks girls to be frail and weak, so I just keep my mouth shut tightly. But I do curse James out mentally. That always works, too.

Mr. Dumpty looks positively done with my and James's antics – his puffy black eyes are dull and his shoulders are slouched. The crowd still watches on though, their faces rapt with curiosity and fascination regarding our little display.

I shift my feet, which are cold and wet from the snow. I forgot about the hole in my toe. I'll have to patch that up when I get the chance.

Mr. Dumpty sighs. "Very well," he says and waves us off. "Wish your mother luck with her birth and may your father be safe." Mr. Dumpty says and we both smile up at him. "Thank you, sir. I'm sorry for causing so much trouble." I muster in the weakest, frailest voice I can muster. He nods his acknowledgement and we walk away, straight through the crowd that has started to dispersed, clearly disappointed by the anticlimactic ending that just took place.

When we're safely hidden in an alley far from the Plaza, James pulls my tightly against him. "Oh my God, Cara!" he breathes as I hug him back. After spending so long living together, it's always a relief when we're reunited. "I thought you'd been taken to jail or something when you didn't show up at the rendezvous!" he exclaims, releasing me.

I look up at him and see in his eyes that I really did scare him. I feel a flash of guilt and then smile up at him. He's around 6'2", and I'm 5'4", so I have to tilt my head back to look up at him.

"Well, it was worth it, anyway." I tell him and he frowns. "How so?" I reach into my jacket pocket and show him my latest prize: a thick black wallet with the initials J. Dumpty sewn on its outside cover in gold thread.

He gasps and I grin even wider. "Care for a feast, my dear friend?" I ask him and he smiles, showing off his naturally straight teeth. He takes my arm in his, like the gentleman he is."Lead the way, darling."

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