The Perils of Whimsy
“Did you ever notice,” she said, “that this street has two names?”
“That so?” I glanced toward her.
She stopped halfway up the street and pointed to the street sign at the bottom of the hill. “It says ‘Scottfield’ there.”
I looked up at the sign, and down at her. “And?”
She dragged me up the last half of the hill and pointed to the sign at the top. “Read it.”
I did. ”’Scotfield.’”
“They’re different!” She paused, thoughtful. “I wonder why?”
I opened my mouth to reply. She cut me off.
“Maybe there’s some sort of weird dimensional gap right here, and the extra ‘t’ is lost when it makes the jump from here to there. Or there to here. Maybe we all cross the gap, and we’ve been living in two dimensions all this time, and we’re the only ones who know the truth!” She turned to me, eyes shining.
The disbelief must have shown on my face.
“Or, maybe, the sign guy couldn’t spell,” she sighed up at me. “Gosh, would it hurt to add a little whimsy to your life?”
She stepped away, and I lost sight of her.