This is a strange tale of someone we’ll call Penelope Pennybroke. You may believe it or not, as you choose. Penelope, quiet, gray-haired woman of a certain number of years, was on her daily walk, minding her own business, keeping an eye out. She always did this–kept an eye out. One time she found a ten dollar bill simply by using her keen eyesight, so she never knew what might lie in her path, but she certainly wasn’t expecting to find what she found that gray, windy, drizzly day in February. There, on the sidewalk in front of her, lay a cloak. Now, cloak isn’t a word you hear much nowadays, but that’s what it was. It was black, lined with red silk, and had one clasp to hold it together, a heavy, shiny clasp that looked like gold.
Intrigued, Penelope bent over and picked it up. A strange tingling ran from her hands up her arms and she had a sudden urge to put it on. Since the low and dark clouds were beginning to drizzle a freezing mix of rain and snow, she did just that–flung it around her shoulders. Such a feeling of warmth and goodwill enveloped her! She loved this cloak and it felt just right–like it had been made for her. Silly feeling, but that’s how she felt.
Penelope wore the cloak as she trudged toward her house. One of the things she dreaded about her walk was the possibility of meeting with an unfriendly dog. She cringed as she saw two of them charging down the sidewalk straight toward her. Shrinking back onto the grass, she held her breath, hoping they would pay her no mind. They didn’t. They ran straight on, not even glancing her way, as if they didn’t see her.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Penelope hurried on toward her front door, let herself in her house, and closed the door behind her. The cloak felt so good, she hated to take it off. Glancing in the hall mirror, she expected to see her image reflected, wrapped in that beautiful cloak. She saw nothing at all.
With a little shriek, Penelope leaned toward the mirror. Did mirrors ever wear out? Was something wrong with this one? She trotted into the bathroom and squinted into the mirror above the sink. She saw the medicine cabinet, the bathtub, the wall behind her, but she was not in the reflection.
Heart pounding, Penelope slipped out of her cloak and went into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It was her eyes! That must be it. She must need cataract surgery. She would call the doctor right away. Holding her coffee in her cold, shaky hands, Penelope wandered back into the hall. She checked out the hall mirror to see if maybe it had become fogged with cold. There she was, holding her coffee cup, plain as day. Fear shook her and even the coffee couldn’t keep her from shivering. She grabbed the cloak again and wrapped it around her shoulders. Peeking into the mirror once more, she saw that she had disappeared.
To cut to the chase, so to speak, Penelope soon realized it was the wonderful cloak. It was the cloak of invisibility. As soon as she accepted that impossible fact, she began to enjoy it. It came in handy. It was useful. If she was having a bad hair day and didn’t want to be seen, on would go her cloak.
She tried not to let this super gift go to her head, but it was such fun. She could nip up to the front of the line in crowds, take off her cloak, and there’d she be; no waiting at the doctor’s office no more frowns from people in theaters or church as she climbed over them to get to a choice seat, and the things she found out! She heard what people actually thought. She could slip into political meetings that were behind closed doors and learn why politicians acted in the way they did. Shocking! She learned secrets. In fact, she heard so much that she simply couldn’t keep it all to herself, so she decided to become a writer of tell-alls. Her books sold like hotcakes. But, of course, she had to write under a pseudonym. Being invisible also had its drawbacks.
And, that’s the story of Penelope Pennybroke. Do you believe it?
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