He didn’t know how he ended up at the party. It was the type he despised - with expensive cocktails and trendy cheeses consumed by literati in thick-framed glasses while forcing their lips around words like “kafkaesque” and “mise-en-scène”. He had vowed time and time again never to go to another party like this, but each time he went anyway, following his girlfriend. Right now she was discussing some matter with an independent film critic ten feet away.

He adjusted his jacket and pointed his mind back to the woman in front of him. She had not noticed his lack of attention - and probably wouldn’t notice even if he yawned. He apparently had missed a key part of her monologue in his absence, though, and what she was saying now made no sense to him. His mind began to wander again, unintentionally. His ears focused on fragments of conversations around the room: “…when Soderbaugh discovered his voice…” “…Of Montreal’s latest pop opera…” “…since the time I first discovered Narnia….”

His head swung around at the last. Narnia? He had not heard the name in years, had not read the books in much longer. He tried to find the face of the person who mentioned it - forgetting completely his conversation partner - but he couldn’t pick it out.

Why had she decided to mention that place? What business did The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe have in a conversation at a party like this? And how long had it been since he read it? The book had been a favorite of his as a child - no less so for the towering wardrobe his parents kept in their bedroom, always full of mystery to young eyes. And the talking animals…. “Aslan,” he breathed, and for a moment wondered whether the lion himself would appear as if summoned.

He was pulled back to the party by a quizzical “Hm?” from the woman in front of him.

“Excuse me,” he said as politely as he could manage. He found his girlfriend and wrestled her from the film critic - he could stand the party no longer. His mind was full the entire way home, and he barely heard anything she said.

*

Sleep erased much of his thoughts. His mind focused on work the next morning, as minds do on Mondays. It was simple: shower, coffee, tie, keys, traffic, and office. At the office, there were reports to be read, emails to be answered, and the obligatory “what did you do last week?” meeting.

He sat through the meeting in his usual place - a middle manager on his left, the woman one cubicle over on his right. He sipped his third coffee with one hand and doodled on a legal pad with the other. His eyes moved around the room as the meeting progressed, but they rarely went higher than the neckties of his colleagues. A nudge from his left made him glance at the middle manager, who looked questioningly at him, then down at the legal pad.

Glancing down to see the scribbles, his eyes widened. Amidst swirls and concentric boxes:

“Email James. Fill out form for Gary. Once a king of Narnia, always a king of Narnia. Check status of iRes programming. Narnia. Narnia. Narnia. Narnia.”

“Narnia?” the man next to him asked.

“It’s… it’s nothing.” He was back at his desk seven minutes later, gazing at his screen. Narnia? He pulled up an email window, but the white blankness of it stared him down and he was unable to find words to write. Narnia?

He gulped down the rest of his long forgotten second coffee, and turned his wrist so he could see the time. Fifteen minutes till lunch. Maybe he’d take lunch early. Maybe… Yes.

He picked up the phone and called his boss. She wasn’t there, but he heard her recorded voice. He left a message: “Hi, Dana. I’m not feeling well at all - I think it’s the flu that’s going around. I think I’m gonna have to take a sick day.” He let her know the status of his project, and told her he should be better in the morning.

*

An hour later he was home, opening and searching through boxes ensconced in his attic. “Narnia,” he muttered to himself, wondering if he still had the books. They had to be here. He couldn’t have thrown them away.

There. In the bottom box of the third row, between A Wrinkle in Time and The Island of the Blue Dolphins, was a set of the Narnia books. He sat down, leaning against the box as he pulled out the first book. He held it with both hands, gazing at the cover as if he expected the pictures on it to come alive. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Almost trembling, he opened the book and began to read.

By 3:00, he was deep in the sacrifice of the lion. By 4:00, his breath came quickly as he read of the battle. He followed the children through their adventures, their victories, and their return to his world. Then he was done, and reading the back cover of the book.

So that was what had entranced him as a child. That was what he had forgotten. What had made him think he was too old for all of this?

“Narnia,” he said out loud for no reason. He picked up the rest of the series and left the attic for the comfort of his sofa. The fact that he had skipped both lunch and supper didn’t occur to him as he began the second book.

*

Each night he read another book after work. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader on Tuesday. The Silver Chair on Wednesday. The Horse and His Boy - always one of his favorites - on Thursday. By Saturday, he was on the last. He couldn’t wait till the evening, and sat in bed without breakfast until he finished the book.

He sat in bed long after, recounting his favorite scenes. He envisioned Reepicheep and Puddleglum and giants and centaurs, all standing before him in various poses, watching him. His mind didn’t stray from them; he watched them intently.

They scattered as the phone rang. His girlfriend: “Hey. I wanted to remind you we’re eating with the Sosolskis at 1:00. Do you want me to pick you up?”

He paused. “I’m going to have to bail this time. I… I need to do some furniture shopping.”

“Very well. I’ll see you tonight.”

He struggled to get dressed. Yes, he thought, a wardrobe was just what the place needed.