Maggie Boo

One night I found myself flying across the Green Swamp on one of those sage grass brooms that I remembered from my childhood at the old Malpass place.  My great-grandmother, Miss Ellen, and great-aunt Esther would use these brooms that were made of the tall yellow grass that grew wild outdoors, tied with a string.  I don’t recall their brooms having a handle, just bundled grass, and since the grass was tall, so was the broom, taller than me, standing up in the corner of the shadowy hallway of the old Malpass place.

I used to try to make my own grass brooms but there was more to it than I understood, so mine were never any good, making a floor more messy than when I started sweeping.

That night, I was flying on one of those brooms over the land of my childhood, over tall yellow grass and marshland, with a dark river winding under me, edged with trees that grew in the water.  It was a glorious night. 

I wasn’t exactly me, but that wasn’t strange because I often dream through the perspective of other people.  I’ve dreamed myself into different time periods and different parts of the world.  I’ve dreamed myself as men and women, old and young, different races.  Some of the dreams are so vivid that I cannot forget them, such as the dream where I was a brown man in a desert landscape, riding a large shaggy animal which I have tentatively identified as a wooly mammoth.  I remember the animal’s hair was ropey, somewhat dreadlocked, and that I was as dirty as the animal I rode, kneeling on a dirty rug across its broad back. Memories like that stick with you, even if they are only dream memories.

Sometimes I recognize where I am, but at other times I seem to be in civilizations that have been lost to time, such as the wooly mammoth rider’s time.  The dream of flying over the Green Swamp was that sort of dream, one I would not forget, although this time I recognized the time and place.

My destination was one of those weathered old houses they used to have in the Green Swamp, the kind that sit on stumps and never see a paintbrush.  It was about the size of the Malpass house but the roof was different and it had an attic room with a window.  A little blonde girl was waiting for me at the window, and I felt a deep love for her and a knowledge that this feeling was returned.  I knew that she was the only person in the household who was expecting me, and I wondered why. 

Other things were afoot in the dream.  There was about to be a wedding.  There was a threat to happiness.  The little girl was worried, and I had come to save the day.   The dream slipped forward as dreams do, and I saw myself lifting up from the front porch and flying over a wedding party arranged in the yard for an outside wedding.  Whatever was happening was about to happen now and it had to do with the bride and the groom.  But something happened and instead of saving the day I veered off course and crashed into a weeping willow tree.

I woke up with all this clear in my mind, but with so much missing information.  Whose wedding was it?  What was the threat to happiness?  What had I tried to prevent from happening and why?  Why did no one seem to welcome me except the little girl?

And just as important…

What happened next?

How could I find out?

There was only one way.

Write the story.

So I began at the beginning, well, no, I began before the beginning, at the point where the little girl defies her elders and invites me to the wedding.  Of course they didn’t want me there.  I was an embarrassment to the family, flying around on a broom and causing attention to myself. 

And who was I?

I was…

Maggie Boo.

And who was the little girl?

Annie Doodle, Maggie Boo's niece.

Who was getting married?  The little girl’s older sister, Minnie Carol.

And what was the problem?

No clue.

So I kept writing.  Maggie Boo arrives, flying over the Green Swamp, and suddenly other characters started showing up the narrative.  Granny June with her red beaded purse, and Crazy Jim with his tarantula that he wore on his head.  And then another character entered.  And she was trouble.

If you want to find out what happened on Minnie Carol’s wedding day, you’ll have an easier time finding out than I did.  I had to dream it and then write it.  All you have to do is click on a LINK and order a copy!