The Wizard of Oz

The Road That Took Her Home

The tornado came on a Tuesday. It picked up Dorothy's house — the whole house, with the creaky porch and the leaky roof and Toto barking under the kitchen table — and carried it up, up, up into a sky the color of a bruise.

Dorothy held Toto. Toto held Dorothy's sleeve. The house spun. The wind howled. And then — gently, the way a leaf settles on water — the house came down.

Dorothy opened the door.

Everything was green. Green grass, green trees, green flowers that hummed when the wind touched them. In the distance, a city sparkled — emerald and gold, like a jewel dropped on the horizon.

And at her feet: a road. A yellow road, made of bricks the color of butter, curving away through the green fields toward the sparkling city.

A small woman in a white dress appeared — she popped up the way mushrooms do, suddenly and without explanation.

"Follow the yellow brick road," the woman said. "It leads to the Emerald City. The Wizard of Oz lives there. He can send you home."

"Who are you?" Dorothy asked.

"A friend. Now go — before the road changes its mind."

Dorothy walked. Toto trotted beside her, ears bouncing. The bricks were warm under her feet.

She found the Scarecrow first — hanging from a pole in a cornfield, straw poking out of his sleeves, with a painted smile and button eyes that looked, despite being buttons, genuinely worried.

"Could you get me down?" the Scarecrow asked.

Dorothy lifted him off the pole. He wobbled, found his balance, and bowed — which sent straw flying out of his hat.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To find the Wizard. He might send me home."

"Could I come? I need a brain. I'm a scarecrow — I'm supposed to scare crows, but I can't even scare MYSELF. I'd like to think properly. Just once."

Dorothy looked at him. He had, in the last thirty seconds, politely asked for help, figured out he needed a brain, made a joke about himself, and bowed. That seemed like a lot of thinking for someone with no brain.

"Come along," she said.

They found the Tin Man next — standing in the woods, rusted solid, one arm raised with an axe frozen mid-swing. He'd been caught in the rain months ago and hadn't moved since.

Dorothy oiled his joints. Creak. Creak. CREAK. He moved — slowly at first, then faster, swinging his arms and stamping his feet, sending rust flakes flying.

"Thank you," he said. His voice was hollow and musical, like tapping a bell. "Where are you going?"

"To see the Wizard."

"Could I come? I need a heart. I'm made of tin — I can't feel anything. Not warmth, not cold, not... anything."

But when Dorothy had oiled his joints, the Tin Man had said "thank you" — immediately, without being asked. And now a tear ran down his cheek. A rust-colored tear.

"You're crying," Dorothy said.

"I can't be. I don't have a heart."

Dorothy handed him a handkerchief. He took it very carefully, the way you hold something you're afraid of breaking.

"Come along," she said.

The Lion was waiting on the road. He was enormous — golden mane, huge paws, claws like kitchen knives. He leaped onto the path and ROARED.

Toto barked. Dorothy stepped back. The Scarecrow fell over.

Then the Lion burst into tears.

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed, covering his face with his paws. "I'm sorry, I just — I'm a LION, I'm supposed to be scary, but I'm TERRIFIED. Of everything. Mice. Butterflies. Loud noises. QUIET noises. I am the most cowardly lion in the ENTIRE —"

"You jumped in front of us," Dorothy said quietly. "That was brave."

The Lion sniffled. "That was HABIT. I always jump first and panic second."

"That's exactly what brave means," Dorothy said.

Four friends walked the yellow brick road. The Scarecrow figured out which fork to take by studying the stars — "I just GUESSED," he insisted. The Tin Man carried Toto across a stream so the dog wouldn't get cold — "I didn't FEEL anything," he claimed. The Lion walked at the front when the forest got dark — "I'm just too big to go anywhere ELSE," he muttered.

They reached the Emerald City at sunset. The gates were green. The buildings were green. Even the people wore green spectacles, which made everything look green whether it was or not.

The Wizard was... not what they expected. He was a small man behind a curtain, pulling levers and speaking into a tube that made his voice boom. He was ordinary in every way except for his eyes — which were kind and a little bit embarrassed.

"I can't give you a brain," he told the Scarecrow. "You already use yours better than anyone I've met."

"I can't give you a heart," he told the Tin Man. "Yours is already so full it leaks through your eyes."

"I can't give you courage," he told the Lion. "You've been brave since the moment you jumped — it's the panicking afterward that confused you."

He turned to Dorothy. "And you. I can't send you home."

Dorothy's chest tightened. "Then how do I get there?"

The Wizard smiled. "You were always able to get there. You just didn't know it yet." He pointed at her shoes — plain, dust-covered, ordinary. "Click your heels. Three times. And think of where you belong."

Dorothy looked at her friends. The Scarecrow, who thought he couldn't think. The Tin Man, who thought he couldn't feel. The Lion, who thought he couldn't be brave.

She hugged each one. The Scarecrow rustled. The Tin Man clinked. The Lion tried not to cry and failed entirely.

She clicked her heels. One. Two. Three.

"There's no place like home."

The green city spun. The yellow road blurred. The wind came — warm this time, not wild — and everything dissolved into light and air and the feeling of falling... gently... softly... the way you fall when you're not scared of where you'll land...

Dorothy opened her eyes. The creaky porch. The leaky roof. Toto on her lap, tail wagging. The Kansas sky — grey and flat and enormous and HERS.

She was home.

And as the sun went down and the stars came out — the same stars the Scarecrow had studied, the same sky the Lion had walked beneath — Dorothy sat on the porch with Toto in her arms and the dust of a yellow brick road still on her shoes...

And the wind blew softly across the plains... carrying something — barely a sound, barely a whisper — like the tin echo of a man who finally felt warm... and the rustle of straw in a field where a scarecrow stood a little straighter... and the low, rumbling purr of a lion who had stopped apologizing for being afraid...

And Dorothy closed her eyes... and the road was gone... but the friends were not... and home was exactly where it had always been... right here... right here... right here.