“I’m so glad to see you!” I practically yelled to the dirt-covered, bug-eyed, bushy haired three-foot-tall creature before me.

Farkus grabbed his ears. “Not so loud!” his voice resounded inside my head. “Did you bring gum?”

I fumbled around in my pocket: nothing. “I dropped some gum by the opening where I came in,” I said. He led me there immediately. To my surprise, I discovered that I was at least thirty steps from where I had started.

I felt around on the ground and found the single stick of gum. It was covered with mud. Nevertheless, he popped it out of the silver wrapper and popped it in his mouth. His eyes rolled up in his head. “Mmmmmm…” reverberated through my mind.

I looked out through the hole into the black night, and he did too. Then Farkus looked up. “Who did this?” he said, pointing toward the broken roots, his eyebrows knitted together in distress.

I felt like I was six years old, and my father was standing over me, pointing to a stack of Meade Lux Lewis and Albert Ammons 78 rpm records that I had been breaking like so many toys.

“Um, I really wanted to see you all again, so I…”

A great angry roar resounded through my head this time. “All of our work! Why did you…?”

“I didn’t know how to find you,” I said, resisting the urge to yell the words out loud.

He wiggled a surprisingly pale finger at me. “You do not understand,” he said. “Have you not learned anything? Come. Let me show you.” He led me off into the darkness.

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