A half hour later, her mother entered and placed a tray of food on her dresser. Then she left, closing the door behind her. Maggie heard the key and lock engage.
She ate the cold soup and stale crackers and drank a little of the water. She was afraid they might forget to unlock the door and she’d have to wait until morning to use the bathroom, but as with the night before, when she woke in the middle of the night, her door was slightly ajar.
This became her life and she was okay with that. She was away from the continual fights between her father and mother, and the chance encounters with her father after he had too much to drink, or with her mother’s angry emotional outbreaks, both of which were always taken out on her.
They had taken her IPod and computer out of her room, only letting her have the computer when she told them she had a homework assignment that she needed it for, but they left her books.
Both her parents only had a high school education, and they hated reading. They could never understand why Maggie enjoyed it, and sometimes they mocked her much like the kids at school. Because of their attitude toward books, they left them alone. Since books weren’t something they would like, they thought Maggie would get sick of them.
Her parents were under the impression that Maggie would miss her IPod and computer and start to whine about it. Because of their outlooks, she did exactly as they expected her to—she complained about the loss of her computer and IPod, and because of that, they left her books alone. That was her saving grace.
She immersed herself in old Nancy Drew mysteries—her favorite. When she read all of them, she moved to her other favorite series—Hunger Games, Percy Jackson, Twilight, and Harry Potter. Her parents didn’t monitor what books she had. They didn’t care, so she was able to read what she wanted, and what she wanted was to lose herself in stories that were totally different from hers.
She wanted to believe in magic, other worlds, good overcoming evil, and most of all…happy endings, especially when you had to fight so hard to get to them.
Chapter Six
Maggie’s fourteenth birthday came and went without any festivities—no birthday cake, presents, or birthday greetings except for the one from Betsy and her teacher. The day before her birthday, she asked her teacher not to mention her birthday to the class. Mrs. Pratt tried to talk her out of it, but in the end, she relented and wished her a happy birthday in private.
Her life at home had become an uneventful, even predictable routine. She went to school, came home, went to her room, read, ate whatever food her mother brought her, and eventually, fell asleep. The next day she went to school, came home, went to her room…you get the picture.
Maggie was complacent with the way things were. There weren’t any more punishments or verbal abuse. The only yelling was between her parents, and that had increased over the last few weeks. Sometimes the screaming lasted long into the evening, but Maggie had been around it all her life and had no problem falling asleep during the thunderous conflicts.
Her gift from Fairy Blue was gone the day she turned fourteen, at least that’s what the fairy told her would happen. It could have left her before that because she hadn’t needed it since she became a prisoner in her bedroom.
The night after her birthday, she woke at her normal time, about midnight, and went to the bathroom. The light was on in her parent’s room, and she heard crying.
Maggie tiptoed down the hall and peeked around the door frame. Her mother was in bed, the sound of crying muffled from her face buried in her pillow. Her father wasn’t there. Maggie found this unusual because her mother had never cried—be it out of sorrow, or tears of joy—her mother was as dried up as the desert. She had only shown one emotion whenever it came to Maggie or her father, and that was always anger.
Maggie fought the urge to go into the room and see what was wrong, but past history told her it was not a good idea, so she slipped quietly to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and went back to bed.
For the first time in fourteen years, she couldn’t fall asleep.
A loud crash woke Maggie from the deep sleep in which she had finally succumbed late into the night. She sat up in her bed, her eyes widening as they tried to focus in the dark. She could see light coming in from the hall, but it was very dim.
Another crash made her get out of bed and look into the hall.
“You’re just a drunken piece of shit,” she heard her mother yell from downstairs.
Maggie jumped at the sound of glass shattering.
“You’ve got no right to hide my booze, bitch.”
Maggie tiptoed to the top of the stairs and stayed flattened against the wall.
“We’ve got no money, no food because you got fired, and you spend what we do have on your damn liquor.”
Then Maggie heard it—the sound of bones cracking sending excruciating pain through the nerve endings. She had felt and heard it on herself; she knew the sound, only this time, it was louder, harder, angrier.
Her mother screamed followed by an explosion of noise including a mix of her mother’s yelling, her father’s shouting, and things crashing, banging, pounding, and smashing.
Maggie ran back to her room and closed the door. She fumbled with her blankets trying to get under them as fast as she could to hide, but she knew there was no hiding anymore. She started to cry, hoping to block out the horrific sounds coming from downstairs. She prayed they wouldn’t follow her up to her room.
The volatile outbreak interrupted Maggie’s quiet, uneventful home life almost every night after that. One night she heard hard footsteps pounding up the stairs. She hid in her closet, pushing her body as far back as she could, and covering herself with toys, shoes and clothes.
She heard her door open, pacing in her room, and then her door slamming. She stayed in her closet that night and any other night she heard one of her parents coming upstairs. She hoped they thought she was still disappearing, and that was why they didn’t venture into her closet.
Her mother didn’t always bring her dinner. Often, after the blow out, her father left the house and her mother fell asleep in her room. On those evenings, Maggie would go down and scrounge whatever food she could. Her dad didn’t come home until later in the evening, giving her free range of the kitchen.
Every morning she went downstairs, her father was passed out on the couch, and there were bottles scattered all around the floor, on the kitchen counter and in the sink.
One night, one of her parents came into the room and paced longer than the previous times. The door to her closet opened, and she held her breath wishing herself not to shake because she might be found out. She decided then, she had to do something because whenever they came into her room, they came in for one reason and one reason only—to use her for an emotional punching bag. It wasn’t just that thought that scared her but the merry-go-round she realized she was on. It wasn’t just her mom slapping her, but now her dad was hitting her mom, and she had no idea how long that had been going on.
After several days of a very volatile and explosive situation, Maggie couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t go to her bus stop. Instead, she went to the woods. She wanted it to stop. If her dad stopped drinking, maybe he would stop hitting her mom, and in turn, her mom would stop slapping her. They’d have money for food, and her mom would be happy about that. Her father not drinking could solve all their problems, and she hoped Fairy Blue would show herself.
When she entered the forest, she walked directly to the tree where she first found the fairy’s house. It wasn’t there.
“Fairy Blue? Are you here? I need you.”
Maggie felt helpless. She looked at every tree that was close to the one she thought Fairy Blue’s house was in. Maybe she made a mistake. Several minutes later, something caught her eye in a tree off to her right. It wasn’t the little house she remembered. This one was different.
Steps made out of mushrooms found their way up to a green door adorned with a silver door handle and a round window framed
in black.
There were no other windows and the door was solid, making it difficult to see if a fairy lived there or if someone just decided to decorate a tree.
“Hello? Hello? Is anyone home?”
The door opened and a small face appeared. “Is that you, Maggie?”
“Fairy Blue?”
The fairy stepped out onto the small platform, but it wasn’t Fairy Blue. This one was the same size wearing a long dress that sparkled the same as Fairy Blue’s, only in shimmering, shamrock green light. This little person had soft facial features that appeared to fade into each other as if she had a veil over her face. Her long, blond hair was braided with leaves interspersed throughout the braid. She truly blended into the forest.
“Where’s Fairy Blue?”
“Not here, of course.”
“I see that.” Maggie shook her head in frustration. “I need her. She has to help me.”
“She already has. Besides, she can’t help you with this. It is not her area of expertise. You need me.”
“How do you know what I need?”
She tilted her head and made a “tsch, tsch” sound. “We’re fairies. We know.”
“Who are you? Fairy Green?”
Her laugh sounded like tiny metal wind chimes. “Oh, my little Maggie, my name is Viridian.” She leaned so far forward Maggie thought she was going to fall off her perch. “What is it I can do for you?”
“You just said you already knew,” Maggie challenged the tiny creature.
“I am aware of what’s happening in your life.”
“Then you know my dad is a big, fat drunk and hits my mom, who by the way isn’t much better than him”
Viridian nodded.
“It makes her turn around and hit me. Besides, he’s probably going to kill her.” Maggie picked up a long stick and started writing in the dirt. “I hide in my closet. Mom still thinks I’m disappearing, but my birthday passed so I couldn’t if I wanted to.”
“I see.” Viridian studied Maggie’s actions intently.
When Maggie was finished scribbling in the dirt, she stepped back and looked up at Viridian. Big, fat drunk was spelled out in the brown particles.
“So, Maggie, what is it you want?”
“I want him to quit drinking,” she replied with resentment through clenched teeth. “I’d really like them both to go away, but I’ll settle for the not drinking.”
Viridian raised her hand and waved it through the air. Sparks flew out from her tiny fingers and when they landed on Maggie’s hand, she jumped back and shrieked in a panic. She patted her hand with her other as if to put out a fire.
Maggie examined her hand. It looked normal. “What did you do?”
“Touch whatever glass or bottle your father drinks from, and it will become water.”
“Yeah, like that will really work. He just won’t drink it. He’ll open another.”
“And you will touch it.”
“You’re kidding me, right? ‘Cause that’s just plain stupid. Is that all you’ve got?” She started to walk away. “Fairy Blue was much better. At least she helped me.”
“Did she?”
Maggie stopped and turned around.
“The taste of the drink won’t change.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father will still think he is drinking what he set out to drink.”
“So…” She looked up at the sky as she contemplated what the fairy was saying. “I have to touch every bottle or glass he drinks from. Does it wear off?”
Viridian tilted her head. “Wear off?”
“When you wash the glasses. Do I have to touch them again?”
She giggled. “Oh, no, my dear. Only once.”
“Oh. Okay. So is there a catch with this one?”
“It is a gift I bestow upon you, and you must not misuse it. The gift will be yours until your next birthday. But…if at any time before that you abuse my gift, you alone will reap the consequences, and the gift will come back to me.”
Viridian smiled, turned, and walked through her door closing it behind her.
“You fairies are really strange,” Maggie said as she threw her stick into the woods. Then she called out, “This better work.”
Chapter Seven
Maggie decided to skip school, and she knew that would get her into a heap of trouble if she were found out. Her hands were sweaty and she felt her heart beat a little faster than normal. She wasn’t sure this was such a good idea, but she had to try the fairy’s gift.
She had left for the bus stop a half hour ago and walked aimlessly along streets where she hoped she wouldn’t be noticed. She felt it had been long enough, so she headed home. If her mother was there, Maggie would say she got sick on the way to the bus stop and decided to come back home. Her mother hated the sight, smell, and sound of puke. In fact, she didn’t even like to hear anything about it; therefore, her mother would send her to her room without a second thought—at least she hoped that would be the way it happened.
Feeling smug with herself, Maggie’s reluctance vanished, and she quickened her pace. When she got home, her father’s car was gone. That was the first breath of relief she blew out. The second was when she entered the house and there was no sign or sound of her mother. She walked upstairs and tip- toed to the door of her mother’s room. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. Luck is on my side, she thought to herself as she exhaled, releasing the last bit of fear that she would get caught.
She went into her room, undressed, and got into bed. She was tired. She’d hardly slept the night before, so if her mother looked at her half-drooped eye lids, she might believe Maggie was sick.
Minutes after her eyes closed, she was jerked awake by a hand shaking her violently.
“You missed your bus,” her mother exclaimed.
Maggie’s eyes popped open.
“Get out of bed.”
“I went to the bus, mom. Please stop.”
Her mother gave her a final shove and stepped back. “Then what are you doing here? It’s not a holiday or teacher’s thing. I would know that.”
I got sick on the way to the bus stop. I don’t feel well,” Maggie replied in the most pitiful voice she could muster.
Her mother jumped back. “Jesus, kid. Gross! You just stay here in your room. I’m going out for a while.” Her mother backed out of the room, covering her nose and mouth with her hand. She didn’t even close her door most likely for fear of catching germs from touching the door knob.
Maggie smiled as she listened to her mother race down the stairs through the kitchen and out the back door. Her mother never was a good care taker, let alone a parent, she thought to herself.
She was now more positive than ever that her dad’s drinking was the root cause to all of their problems. She firmly believed if she could cure her father’s drinking, she could cure their family problems.
She spent the day reading and doing homework she hadn’t finished. At lunch time, her mother placed a tray of crackers and cheese at her door. Maggie didn’t touch it so her mother wouldn’t suspect that she was faking. When evening came, her mother shouted up to her that she was going out for a while.
Maggie waited about ten minutes to make sure her mother wasn’t coming back. Then she hopped out of bed and raced down the stairs into the kitchen. She opened a cupboard door exposing drinking glasses of all shapes and sizes.
She picked up a short, wide glass that she recognized as one her father often drank his hard liquor out of if he was sober enough not to drink directly from the bottle.
She held it in her hand and studied it like a master glass blower looking for defects. How would she know if it worked? Desperately wanting her father to stop abusing them, she rubbed the glass as hard as she could on all sides with the hand Viridian sent sparks into. Then she did the same to the next and the next, and every glass on the shelf no matter the size or the shape.
When she was done, she turned to the refrigerator. Inside were four twelve
packs of beer. The hunger pains in her stomach made her think, no wonder there’s no room for food. Then she spotted the crackers and cheese tucked in between some containers that she dare not open for fear what was in them was weeks old. She grabbed the snack not caring if her mother noticed and began munching.
One after the other, she pulled the cases out and placed them on the table. How to do this without getting caught was her main thought. After thinking for a moment, she pulled out a junk drawer and found a container of Elmer’s glue.
Back at the table, she carefully opened the top of the first case, pulled each bottle out, and after she was satisfied that she had spread the fairy’s spell over the outside of each bottle, placed it back in its spot. Then she put a dab of glue—not too much--between the cardboard flaps.
When the cases were safely back in the fridge, she put the glue back in the drawer and made her way to the pantry. She wasn’t sure where her father kept his multitude of bottles of hard liquor. She had always been instructed that she was not allowed in the pantry unless asked to get something. For that reason, she thought this might be the best place to start.
Nothing jumped out at her when she opened the door, but she was afraid to move things because she might not get them back in the exact same spot they came from. Maggie knew her mother kept track of where every jar and can was.
She reached to the back of each shelf, except for the top shelf, and felt for any tall bottles. There were none. She took a step back and listened. She was still alone, and she needed to see what was on that top shelf. She pulled a kitchen chair over and climbed on to the seat.
Jackpot.
On the top shelf, pushed to the back, were many bottles. She looked at the labels—whiskey, gin, vodka. She rubbed every one of the bottles, being sure to do it with the hand that received the fairy’s magic sparks.
The Fairy Trail Page 3
