By Misti Velvet Rainwater
Date: 2 December 1999

The Real Yellow Brick Road

I am scared. I pick my own flowers and blow on dandelions
and make a wish- one wish, all the time. I wish I would
someday marry a man I truly love and lust who truly loves
and lusts me and live in my Spanish dream home by the
sea. A wish that rhymes.
   I read Larry McMurtry novels and usually feel empathy
for the heroines- they are such survivors. I especially
like Patsy Carpenter in *Moving On*, One I just started
reading last night. I barely made it to work today 
because I got so into the novel I couldn't put it down
and was exhausted this morning. I empathize with these
emotional, gutsy women who attract jerks and wimps
into their lives. They have balls. People say I'm
ballsy. I say I'm ballsy. Either that or I'm just a
die-hard masochist. Because I keep going straight
for that one door that could be locked forever and I
don't have the key. I'm like Dorothy in "The Wizard 
of Oz"- lost, wanting desperately to get back home
but all these strange creatures keep fucking with me
and getting in the way. The thing is- I don't have
the power to get back home, so I'm forced to rely on
the very creatures that persist in messing me up and
getting in the way. Who to trust- I don't know anymore.
   Here's a scenario- forget the original "Wizard of Oz,"
forget the ending. I'm feeling inventive. Okay, I'm
Dorothy and I'm lost in the woods- the Tin Man and the
Scarecrow and Toto are nowhere in sight. I just killed
the lion 'cause he jumped out at me and scared me. So
I did this really brave, violent, possibly illegal thing
(I'm not sure whether or not lions are an endangered species
in Oz- but this one talked so there must've been some kind
of law against killing him and if so, I can really kiss
Kansas good-bye) and now I'm alone in the woods. What
to do?
    I take off my ruby slippers because they're killing
my feet and I plop down on the yellow brick road and rub
my feet. Now what. I've just killed a lion, I have no
friends, and my feet are protesting my every step. It's
dark and the yellow brick road is not of the glow-in-the-
dark variety and nevermind that sappy yet endearing MGM
musical that would have you believe that the yellow brick
road is wide. The yellow brick road is narrow and it
twists and dips as relentlessly as a roller coaster.
Now I'm supposed to travel it in the dark.
   So this is what I do, ballsy Midwestern gal that I am-
I leave the ruby slippers behind and crawl on hands and
knees down the interminable yellow brick road. Yeah, so
the Good Witch warned me never to remove the ruby slippers-
what's done is done and besides- she had frizzy hair and a
tacky pink dress, what the hell does SHE know?!!
   I crawl. And I crawl. I cry because it's raining on me
and I can't stop thinking about that witch and her nightmarish
cackle. My hands are sore. My feet are sore. My uterus is sore
(that time of the month- these laws can't be denied, even in
Oz). My heart is sore. Are Munchkins and animals the only
males Oz has to offer? Don't forget the Tin Man- yeah, THAT
would work! Maybe the Wizard can give me more than a one-way
ticket to Kansas. Maybe the Wizard has something to offer
by means of sex appeal.
   But I digress. I'm a mess, in my gingham dress- lost in 
this funky bluesy wilderness. I crawl in my sleep. I collapse.
When I open my eyes centuries later, I'm right back where I
started from. And THAT is how it really goes. Solution? 
Enjoy the scenery and detour.