follow the yellow brick road
The wicked witch is barely down and out for the count when Dorothy grabs the shiny Manolos from her feet and the Munchkins start singing for joy. It’s too easy; and Dorothy knows this. Just like she knows that her own army of flying monkeys isn’t part of the story.
She’s not entirely innocent; not when it was her house that crushed the wicked witch and whether she admits it or not, the ‘wrong place at the wrong time’ excuse isn’t applicable in this situation. She knows this and it’s a secret she’s not prepared to share.
But Kansas is all she’s ever known and Oz is so different and exciting and just how she imagined life should be.
So she follows the yellow brick road. She’s always been good at that.
---
She has the reins, but no idea how to drive the horse. As her ‘loyal’ (to a point) followers wait for their next order and she sits on the higher stair, she freezes in the headlights. She’s societies ‘wunderkind’, she rose too quickly and after only one party, sleepover, masked ball and debutant, she realises she knows nothing about ruling a kingdom.
Her coffee’s too hot and her heels too high and every morning she burns her tongue and breaks her neck as she takes her place at the top.
(It’s beautiful on the outside, hollow on the inside and the foundations are cracking under her feet.)
Slowly and gradually she gets used to the coffee and adjusts to her heels and on good days the top is closer than she thinks.
However it’s not so simple; she knows this and she waits for her tower to come tumbling down.
(Naturally.)
---
The Wicked Witch is back (she never really left) with enough battle plans and tricks up her sleeve to last a hundred years. Dorothy, in all her naivety, doesn’t have it in her. She gets caught in the whirlwind and ultimately, landing in Oz was just a series of fortunate events. Or so she thought.
Oz can be cruel. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows and flowers. (That rogue Munchkin didn’t hang itself for no reason.)
Dorothy wants to go home. She grasps onto the yellow brick road like it contains all the answers and puts all her faith into the good witch Glinda.
But the Wicked Witch isn’t all that wicked (she was like Dorothy once, a long, long time ago) and all she ever wanted was what was hers to begin with. The Wicked Witch allied herself with the good witch a long time ago - back when Glinda wasn’t that good.
But Dorothy only sees what she wants to see. She wants to have her cake and eat it too.
(Naturally.)
---
The steps of the Met are cold and the girls she now calls ‘friends’ are colder. She layers herself in as much designer apparel as she can muster and begs, pleads, steals (kills) for more, in hopes of a little extra warmth.
She doesn’t want to fall ill.
But the cold eats her from the outside in, and every other day it’s a rogue virus, bug or flu that prevents her from her school (social) work. She’s queen by name only; her title’s only a decorative one. Hazel and Penelope write the doctrines and stamp Jenny’s signature and the little ruler is none the wiser.
Everyone else is.
Jenny elevates through the ranks without even trying. But it’s too easy, and without a copy of ‘Ruling for Dummies’, she takes what help she’s offered. Even if it is misguided.
She doesn’t know the difference. (It’s happening a lot these days.)
Sometimes it’s not what she thought it would be cracked up to be-
Bite your tongue. Do you know how many girls would kill to be where you are?
Tongue held tight, she glances towards the fallen (but smiling) Queen and it seems like she’s destined to be envious for the rest of her life.
(She’s not quite the fighter Blair is. It’s not in her genes.)
---
The scarecrow has no brain. The farmer’s been controlling him from day one; telling him where to stand, who to associate with. The Wicked Witch, too.
But he breaks away from it all and decides enough is enough. He needs to make his own choice, follow his own path. He needs to do things for himself, not for others.
He just doesn’t know what it is.
---
Nate Archibald is everything a boyfriend should be. It’s no surprise, Jenny muses, that Blair sunk her claws in him for as long as she did, just like it’s no surprise that she fought like hell to keep him for herself.
(It’s no surprise Serena slept with him.)
But he still loves Blair (like he’s been trained to) and he can’t help but love Serena (she casts a spell on anything she touches) and Jenny tries to make him love her but she hasn’t got anything he hasn’t seen before.
(From the blonde hair to social control; it’s nothing new.)
He thinks he should love her. She’s a perfect combination of the two. He thinks she could make him happy, thinks she could keep him sane.
(Nate thinks a lot of things, but he doesn’t truly want them. He doesn’t know what he wants.)
Jenny doesn’t know if she could be a combination. Truth be told, Jenny’s having a hard time being Jenny.
---
The tinman doesn’t have a heart. His maker created him, then abandoned him, left to be dealt with by people forced to care. He’s never known what it’s like to be loved or to love in return. He’s rusty on the inside from years of emotional neglect.
He did have a heart, long ago, as it turns out. But the Wicked Witch stole it and refuses to give it back. He doesn’t know if Glinda can help him, but it’s worth a shot.
He’s just sick of feeling nothing.
(The dents in his tin don’t hurt, they just feel empty.)
---
They’ve been down this familiar road and Chuck Bass is not one to demand a rematch. He’s sick of society princesses and she’s sick society schmucks and he passes her a drink (she never knows what she’s drinking) and they drink in silence.
“You’re not having a good time.”
“Neither are you.”
He gestures to the other occupants; people she doesn’t really know (or want to know) and Hazel and Co, looking wasted and trashy. His best friend’s (ex) is noticeable absent and Blair and Serena aren’t on a lot of guest lists these days.
She’s heard stories of the four of them. Beautiful, wealthy, unstoppable. Individually, they were powerful, together; a force to be reckoned with.
Chuck looks sad, and for a split second she feels sorry for him. (But last August still lingers in her mind and she hates him all over again.)
“Do you have the time?”
He glances at his Rolex.
“11.45pm.”
“Shit, I have to be home by midnight.”
Eyebrow raised, smirk playing on lips.
“What? You turn into a pumpkin?”
“Funny. I have a curfew.”
She places her drink on a side tables and hurries to the guest room, retrieving her purse and jacket. He stands in the doorway, still smirking.
“I’ll give you a lift."
“No, it’s okay.”
“Honestly, Little J. I was just about to blow this joint anyway.”
Her turn to raise an eyebrow and smirk.
“It’s no trouble. It’s on my way."
“Brooklyn’s on your way?”
“I like to take the scenic route.”
The limo ride passes in silence and they sit on opposite ends of the seat, staring out opposite windows.
She makes it home by 11.58.
"Um, thanks for the lift, Chuck.”
“You’re welcome, Jennifer.”
She doesn’t bother to correct him as she makes her way to the door.
“Little J!”
She turns quickly.
“Be careful out there. I hear a storm’s brewing.”
He’s glancing in the directing of the U.E.S and she involuntarily shivers. He catches this and with a wave and a smirk, he’s gone.
(Jenny takes heed his warning. She ties down the lawn furniture and nails up her windows. Sitting in the bathtub, hands over head, she prays for the best.)
---
The lion has no courage. He’s without his pack; with his stitched up paw and sad eyes and floppy mane. His story is a sad one and Dorothy genuinely wants to help him.
(She has too much courage, it seems. It’s her downfall.)
With an absent father, he was never taught how to be a lion, and his mother was busy hunting and providing to take much notice. When he wandered away from the pack (accidentally on purpose) it was no surprise they didn’t come looking.
They lost him a long ago.
---
He’s the realist person she knows. With his stitched up arm and stitched up heart, his flaws match hers.
He knows her secrets and she knows his and on days when she should be studying or hanging out with Hazel and co, they sit in his room and listen to indie-pop on vinyl as she draws and he reads. It’s a routine she looks forward to and she hopes he does too.
She watches as his mother ignores him and his sister tries to fix Blair and on days is seems that his ‘incident’ is barely a blip on the van der Woodsen radar.
“I’ve heard Blair and Serena talking.”
She glances at him, surprised at his traitorous comment. He tugs nervously on his sleeve.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“I want to. You’re my best friend.”
She smiles softly and grabs his hand. He intertwines his fingers with hers and she forgets why she wasted her time with Nate.
“Do I want to know?”
“Social annihilation.”
She nods and he embraces her, awkwardly. But she fits perfectly in his arms, like the song states and she forgets what’s waiting for her once she leaves him.
“Should I be worried?”
“I’m not going to lie to you.”
“Okay.”
“…”
“You haven’t answered my question, Eric.”
“I don’t want to lie to you.”
“Is it just me?”
“It’s everyone.”
She swallows the lump in her throat.
“So be it.”
It’s not surprising or even the slightest bit unexpected. She knew it was coming from day one. She’d resigned herself to her fate.
(She wishes she were wiser. Maybe a little foresight would’ve gone a long way in this situation. Maybe she should have listened to others since the beginning.)
---
The road is long and dangerous; the wicked witch hell bent on their destruction. The flying monkey hinder, not help like Dorothy assumed they would and their intentions are less than noble.
It’s confusing and doesn’t follow the designated plot line and Dorothy begins to wonder whether she’s in a dream within a dream or something surreal like that. Glinda watches silently from the sidelines, interference kept to a minimum, for Dorothy’s benefit, not hers.
The Scarecrow is blown down with a gust of wind (he’s an easy victim) and, not surprisingly, it’s the Tinman who absorbs most the impact; heavy blows leaving little dents and non existent pain.
The lion roars as loud as he can, but it’s not enough.
She pushes forward, cautiously. The wizard will save her. The wizard will lead her home.
(She hopes.)
---
Blair’s fury is swift and fierce and Jenny watches as the people around her fall like dominos in a row, knowing it’s just a matter of time before she gets knocked down too.
It’s simple, really. A few photos of her getting into Chuck’s limo (she doesn’t know if he was in on it - she suspects she never will) and her parent’s broken marriage that Blair herself was witness too and her castle comes tumbling to the ground.
Dan’s sympathetic, sure. But his ‘told you so’ eyes tell a different story of satisfaction and relief.
“You’ve got so much more to offer,” he tells her as she cries into her pillow, bitterness and hindsight all too obvious from the outside.
“It’s all I had.”
“No, it’s not.”
Dan leaves her to her moping (thoughts) and Jenny wishes she had a pair of shoes to make it all better.
(She doesn’t. Instead she has a couple of pairs of designer shoes that she all but sold her soul for and has only worn once and she knows in her heart that no bandaid or quick fix can dig her out of the hole she’s made for herself. After all, if a tree falls in the forest, does it actually make a sound?)
---
The Wizard, as it turns out, isn’t a man behind a curtain but a rich teenage girl with too much time on her hands and a computer.
Jenny realises this and like many others scorned by the gossip ghost, plots an elaborate take down and a million ways to unmask the gossip fiend.
But this isn’t a Scooby Doo plotline and Jenny no longer has the ways and means. And catching Gossip Girl is like catching a ghost in the wind.
Impossible.
Instead she clicks her heels three times and wishes to go back to a time, a place, a feeling that resembles home.
---
Summer is looming and the events of last spring only hurt when she thinks about them and life’s a little bit better.
Standing with Eric in the joint courtyard between Constance and St. Judes, no one whispers and no ones stares. Blair reigns from her spot on the steps, a familiar scarf around her neck and notices the ex-queen and raises her coffee towards her.
(Game recognises game, no matter the outcome.)
Looking back, the road doesn’t seem to sparkle with the same brightness and the flowers seem fake. She never realised it before, but the Munchkins scare her.
(Jenny’s journey was one of self exploration. Adventures that seemed like a good idea at the time leave her with the bitter taste of could’ve, should’ve, would’ve and she can’t help but wonder if things might’ve turned out differently if she’d just… . Regret tastes funny and is more uncomfortable than a Valentino dress and never in all her days of dreaming would she have thought that she’d carry the weight of the world on her shoulders at fifteen. Hindsight works in mysterious ways.)
Eric squeezes her hand and catches a glimpse of Dan smiling approvingly and Serena waving cheerfully and a wave of nostalgia hits her and she sighs.
“What are you thinking about?”
(Blushing crimson and glancing at her red, hand-me-down Manolos, she searches for the right phrasing for the right moment and has the sudden urge to draw this because it’s, like, kind of perfect…)
“It’s just nice to be home.”
Finis