Chapter 11, Jet Black

This is the eleventh chapter of "Wilde Horses Couldn't Stop Me"

XXII

It was Kida and Milo’s turn to teach again.  As promised, Milo taught the children about democracy, dictatorship, oligarchy, anarchy, anarchism and other forms of government.  As the linguist had expected, several children were curious as to why they didn’t use democracy, which seemed fairer than a monarchy.  Milo timidly explained that these were new systems for the Atlanteans and they had never been used in Atlantis.  He suggested that Atlantis might become a democracy soon and Kida agreed.  She seemed unusually excited and nervous today.  Maybe it was their anniversary that was making her act this way.

Ten minutes before the end of class, Kida opened a ratty old brown box.  She produced a thick and dusty book box labelled “Anthology of Fairy Tales,” out of which she pulled a deep blue book with gold-lined pages.

“Story time, children!” Kida bellowed, “After all your hard work you deserve a treat.”

The children fizzled with excitement as they paid much closer attention to this part of the lesson.

“I mailed Milo’s friend Whitmore a letter asking him for some surface fairy tales and the package arrived today... finally,” Kida said.

Milo was surprised, “What?  But you never told me...”

“I wanted to surprise you,” she interrupted, smiling, “So today I will read the story of Jet Black, the only Atlantean in the history of Atlantis who possessed black hair instead of white.”

“This story is from the surface?” Milo was skeptical.

“Well, I...” Kida smiled nervously, “There were a few changes.  Anyway, let us begin.  Milo, this time I will read if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine with me,” Milo said, breathing a sigh of relief.

As Kida told the children her unique version of Snow White, in her dramatic, playful storytelling persona, Milo pretended to pay attention, nodding occasionally.  Out of the corner of his eye, he looked longingly out the window, wondering if he might see Beatrice.  He hadn’t slept last night, eyes pried open as he thought of Beatrice leaving forever in a submarine pod, tears threatening to escape the prison of his eyes.  The strong, white light of the moon cast itself onto his blankets and his skinny, stick-like fingers.  Milo didn’t have the energy to be there, teaching a lesson, or doing any of his royal duties for that matter.

When the story had nearly finished, Kida paused to cough.

“Actually, Milo, I think my throat is getting sore,” Kida cleared her throat, “Could you take over?”

Milo was staring at the wall at the back of the classroom, his eyes cold and empty.

“Milo?”

He shook off his lonely thoughts and answered her, “Yes?”

“Could you continue the story for me?  I’m getting a sore throat.”

Every bone in his body demanded that he throw the book all the way up to Iceland, so Milo of course replied, “Absolutely, darling.”

“The Prince knocked at the door of the dwarves’ house and...”  he paused.

Milo realized where the story was going.  The witch poisons Snow White or Jet Black or whoever she is and she falls unconscious.  She is then saved by her true love with a kiss, just like in Sleeping Beauty.  Was this some kind of obligatory aspect of fairytales, like magic or talking animal sidekicks?

“The Dwarves answered the door, telling the Prince that Snow White, sorry, I mean Jet Black, was poisoned and now she is dead.  The Prince knew what he had to do to save her.  He leaned toward Jet Black... and he...” Milo paused, feeling the stares of everyone around him, “The Prince leaned toward Jet Black and he... he... he leaned toward Jet Black and... he...”

With a reverberating thump, the book fell to the ground and Milo walked out of the room.   He turned back and quietly closed the door.  And then he ran down the hall, out of the school. 

“Milo?”

Kida opened the door, ran out of the classroom and yelled after Milo, “Wait!  What’s wrong, Milo?”

But he was already down the hallway and almost out the front door.  Kida knew she wasn’t allowed to leave the children alone, so she went back to the classroom and finished the story without Milo.

XXIII

Kida’s day was jammed full of commitments, as it was every day.  The next time she would see Milo that day was in the evening, at their public anniversary celebration.  That is, if he even decided to attend.  Imagine if he didn’t, leaving her standing alone in front of everyone in the kingdom.  It would be humiliating.  His leaving in the middle of her story was embarrassing enough.  The children would surely tell their parents.  As embarrassing as that was, more than anything she was worried about Milo.  

“What did I say to upset him?  Why did he leave?” she thought to herself as she walked to a meeting with her advisors, “Oh Milo.  Please be okay.”

Kida wished she could wrench herself away from all her responsibilities and just find Milo so that they could talk.

XXIV

As soon as Milo was out of the school, he had no idea where to go next.  But he couldn’t stop.  He had to keep running.  So he just ran to his royal suite.  They wouldn’t bother him if he said he was sick.  He almost sprinted to his bedchambers and when he arrived he slammed the door behind him and locked it.

Milo sat on the bed and caught his breath.  Then he spread himself out on it like a blanket, staring up at the ceiling.  The class was probably over by now.  He rolled over  and looked at the sundial beside his bed.  If he left right now he would get to his meeting five minutes late.  He was not going to the meeting.  They were probably depending on him, but he was not going to go.  It made him feel tense, not going to a meeting, but it was so nice to just lie there mid-day and to think of nothing and to do absolutely nothing.  And, most importantly, to talk to no one.  Thinking of nothing was a calming but difficult thing for Milo to do at the moment.  Phrases floated in his mind, ruining the pure white of nothingness.

“True love’s first kiss...”

“Happily ever after...”

“Once upon a time...”

“The prince saved the princess...”

“True love.”

“No!” Milo screamed.  He tried to block out all of the fairy tale expressions by plugging his ears, but that just made them louder.

“I am sick of fairy tales!” he yelled.

“I don’t want her to stay...”

“I’ll miss you too, Milo...”

Milo buried his head in his pillow and cried like a child.