The Harlequinade’s Beginning

I came expecting to deal with the insane.

I never thought I’d become one.

“Dr. Harleen Quinzel?”

“Call me Harley; everyone does.”

I’ve always been fascinated with the human mind

And the most colorful are those of the insane.

I walk and hear a tune, a haunting tune that at the same time

Sounds like it could be heard at a carnival.

I pass. He winks. I stop and look and blush.

Who is he? What secrets does he hold?

His looks are interesting, almost comical.

His face like snow, his hair like a trimmed hedge, his smile like a running red river.

“Be careful,” she warns me.

“He’s dangerous,” she tells me.

“The most difficult mind to crack,” she says.

Really? Interesting, very interesting.

In my office, all new and cleaned, waiting for an inhabitant, me.

Something is waiting for me on my desk,

Catches my eye glittering in the moonlight.

A rose.

A simple, single, red rose.

From J. From J? But how? J must mean him.

I’ll discover his meaning at the source.

I go back. I go back and see him, J, the one who made me blush.

“How did this get into my office? You must’ve gotten out of your cell.

I’ll alert the guards, you know.”

“If you didn’t care, you would have done so long ago,” he says.

He’s right. Can he see into my eyes? Into my soul?

No one has been able to do that before.

It makes me edgy, uncertain, paranoid even, but touched.

“Harley Quinzel,” he says in a silky voice, as smooth as clear waters.

“Mix it up a bit, and you get Harley Quinn!”

“Like the clown character, I know. I’ve heard it before.”

It wasn’t the first time and certainly wasn’t the last.

I didn’t have time to be mocked, made fun of, so I started to walk away.

He called after me, “Wait!”

So I heard him out, and I’m glad I did.

“You’re someone who I feel like I can relate to,

someone I could share my secrets with.”

And that was all it took, all it ever took, for me to become intrigued.

How could I say no

to the opportunity to unscramble the most challenging mind in the asylum?

Was it just because of that? Maybe...maybe not.

The sessions were slow and long, and I remained professional.

Bit by bit, story by story, he chipped away at me.

His tales made me laugh so hard that I cried.

Others made me shed a tear out of pity.

He told me of a caped hero dressed in black who always foiled his plots and plans.

In time, I came to hate the dark hero, too.

Every story, he would come in and interrupt my angel from having his fun.

He had such a rough childhood, and all he wanted was to have fun, enjoy himself.

As much as I’d hate to admit it,

I had fallen in love with my patient.

“Do you think that’s crazy?” I said to him.

“Not at all. You’re a woman of business, and you just needed to unwind and have a good time.”

He and I had switched places, and I was so blinded in love that I didn’t realize how he had craftily wrapped me around his finger.

“Thanks, Doc,” I said,

“Anytime.”

Night vanished and morning came and the first thing I noticed was that he was gone, escaped, all alone in the world and vulnerable to harm.

I was frantic, emotional, on the edge of my seat, waiting for him to come home.

The day passed and night came again.

He returned, but not how I would’ve liked.

I pushed, shoved, elbowed my way through the other doctors to get to him.

Beside him was the ebony justice that he and I despised so much,

Who I loathed even more now that he brought my angel back in such a battered and beat-up state.

I caught him when he fell, held him, comforted him.

Then they dragged him away, away from me, away from my support, away from my love.

In despair, I visited him later after he had been bandaged up only to find him weakened and hurt.

I had to do something, had to make a stand, a change, a difference.

I was done looking back, back to the past.

The time to act was now, to do something I would never ever regret for the rest of my life.

I would give my angel his Harley Quinn.

The toy store had just the right items to break him loose.

The funniest toys were turned into the most deadly weapons.

The clerk soon found out as his unconscious body fell to the stone-hard floor.

As soon as I had nabbed that mask and costume,

Harleen Quinzel had died, and Harley Quinn was born.

Now back in Arkham, I felt changed.

No longer would I roam the halls as an inquisitive psychologist,

But as a deranged criminal.

Under the cover of night, I silently took out any guards in my path until I returned to his cell.

It was risky planting a bomb on the glass and I almost doubted myself if not for his face, the look of his glorious face.

Tick, tick, tick, BOOM!!!

He was awake when I appeared, my astounding introduction now revealed to the entire world seemingly by this very act.

“Knock, knock, Puddin’! Here’s your new and improved Harley Quinn!”

Not only did I act differently, I spoke differently, too.

No more business, no more professionalism, no more rules, just fun, fun, fun!

The car was ready to go and he laughed and laughed all the way out of there and with each chuckle came a surge of happiness within me.

This would be the start of my happily ever after.