little green slippers jingle, a tinkling sound like somebody’s silly cell phone. After a pause:
“Headstrong little girl,
Headstrong as can be,
Call yourself Kristen,
But you’re Andrea to me.”
“And why do you rhyme like that? Don’t you know it’s annoying?”
“Of course I know that, little darling. It’s my destiny…to rhyme, and annoy.”
“But why?” she cried. The little man disturbed her peaceful night’s sleep, along with her beautiful dream of life at her grandparents’ farm. “Who are you, anyway?”
“A fair question. Call me Rappabee, Kristen…or whoever you call yourself.” He took a majestic bow as he said his name. He certainly is full of himself! “Therefore, with a name such as that I am destined to speak in rhyme. You can’t stop me, my friend.”
With a twinkle in his eye he continued, “Oh, and don’t forget my little hip movement. I do this with a bit of attitude in my step. You probably can’t see that in the dream mist, though… but it’s there. That’s the ‘Rap’ move in ‘Rappabee’.”
Kristen shook her head. “Oh please, somebody get me out of this dream. I don’t want any more of this.”
“Hey! You think this is easy being me? I go all over this world teaching little gremlins like you what it is you should know. So just give me a bit of respect for what I…” Rappabee took a closer look at the girl. “Good gracious, little lady! Who dressed you for bed tonight? An army of clowns?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Your pajamas…all those wretched stripes and circles…I’m feeling most ill just looking at you.”
“It’s what I like, Rappabee. Even Mom says it’s okay to wear what I choose, and to do as I choose, so long as it doesn’t hurt others.”
“Well, the sight of you is certainly hurting me. I must have a talk with your mother…and very soon, too. We have left some things get totally out of hand since I last met up with her.”
“You really do know Mom, don’t you?”
“It is a long story. We’ll talk of that another night.”
“Then I will see you again?”
“That, young lady, depends on you. It is all in the touch, quite honestly.” He took a step back. “But I have said too much already. You ready for another rhyme?”
“Not if I can stop it.”
“Very well, Miss Kristen – go…get out of my sight if you will have no more of me and my lovely rhymes.”
“Thank you,” she said with a sigh of relief. Then she thought about it a moment. “But it’s possible that…”
“You are not paying attention, girl. It’s always in the touch.” He reached out and grasped her hand in his. It was cold and damp, but not repulsive…a comfort, actually that calmed her fears. After all, foggy new places – dreams and all that - are not always most pleasant, and this one began to cloud over even more as it was apparent her little annoying friend was about to make his little annoying exit.
“You will know.”
“When they don’t understand,
People call for me,
They know I’ll lend a hand
When they ask for Rappabee.”
The little man dissolved into the smoky nothingness, and the dream became a passing fancy, something Kristen would barely remember by morning.
But why is this happening? Was it because I am sleeping in the same bed as my mother when she was my age?
No doubt about it. There would be no more Christmas cider for her before bedtime!
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