by Jo Michaels
*****
My mom let out a sigh and looked at me. No, that night, she looked through me—right into my very soul. “Shirley, promise me that no matter what ever happens, you’ll never forget me, and you’ll always try to get back home.”
She was acting weird, and I’d grown uncomfortable—like I sensed she knew something she wouldn’t tell me. But, to ease her fears, I obliged.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mama. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” A smile reappeared on her face and she stood. “Time for bed.” After a quick tuck-in and kiss, she moved to the door. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
It was late, and my eyelids were already halfway down. I mumbled, “‘Night.” I never heard the door close… Or reopen.
Something was crawling on my face, and I swatted at it as I sat up in bed with a hammering heart and blurry vision.
A high-pitched, angry voice reached my ears. “Well just hit me why don’t ya?”
Still groggy, I managed to keep one eye open and surveyed my pillow. Sitting near the center, making a miniature dent in the fabric, was a tiny woman with orange wings, a cornflower petal dress, and long, raven black hair.
I scrambled away and fell off the edge of the bed, landing flat on my back on the floor, clutching the comforter to my chest.
“Serves you right.”
Stars danced in my vision, and I rubbed my eyes to gain clarity. Is this really happening?
Her head poked over the edge of the bed, proving I wasn’t imagining things. “You’re big for a little girl.” Eyes that were blue, almond shaped, and fit perfectly into her face, widened.
“I’m thirteen, and I’m not a little girl.” My brain was racing like Secretariat. “Am I dreaming?”
She giggled—a tinkling, happy sound—and put a hand in front of her mouth. “I don’t think so. That smack hurt; if you’re dreaming, I must be, too.”
“Okay…” I panned my eyes around the room, only to find it was still mine, and I wasn’t in an asylum. “Then I’m crazy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m sitting on my floor talking to a fairy.”
Her tinkles reverberated around the room again. “That makes you crazy?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no such things as fairies.” I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t getting it. Fairies didn’t exist. Needing to sort the weirdness, my mind checked itself. If there were no such things as fairies, she wouldn’t understand my distress because she wouldn’t really exist. Right? So, what? I’m reasoning with a figment of my imagination?
Her top lip curled in a grimace, and she stood, shaking out her wings. “That’s the dumbest… I’m standing right in front of you!”
Again, my intellect ran self-diagnostics. I didn’t hit my head that hard, and she was on my pillow before I fell off the bed. Logic intruded. If she was there before I fell, and I could hear her talking, and I felt my hand collide with her tiny body, and she’s still here… I chuckled. “That you are. I’m sorry. This is just so…” There were no words in my mind to finish my thought, so I didn’t attempt to.
“I understand. Usually, we deal with much younger children. They have an easier time believing.” Leaning forward, she let her body weight pull her off the edge and floated down to stand on my knee. “I’m Hyacant. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re one of the frivolity fairies?” Alarm bells went off in my head, and a strong desire to squish her flat had my hand twitching.
It seemed she was flattered rather than worried, because she gave me a huge smile and tugged on the ends of her hair. “You’ve heard of me?”
I formulated a plan. “Of course I have. You’re one of the most famous fairies ever.”
Hyacant hopped up and down, clapping her hands. “Ooo! Who are the others?”
Names panned through my head. “Maleficent, Flora, Fauna, Merriweather, Godmother, and, of course, Flita.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Maleficent. Poo. She’s really not all she was made out to be by that fairy tale, you know. Tiny little speck of a thing.” If she wasn’t being so utterly contemptible, she might’ve been cute the way she was gesturing and making faces.
“I never liked her much, either.”
That statement seemed to brighten the fairy’s mood, and she stuck her hands on her hips and gave me an award-winning smile. “Which one is your favorite?”
“Why, you and your friend, of course.”
Her tiny eyebrows pulled together for a moment, and I caught a shadow as it passed over her face.
“What did I say?”
“Well, it’s just—” her hands covered her face “—Flita was…”
Concern for the creature grew in the pit of my stomach. I urged her on.
“She was eaten by a crow!”
I reared back, thinking about how many children must’ve been saved by that single crow, but hiding my reaction—hopefully—with a sad face. Putting a finger up, I stroked her tiny head, offering comfort. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
After a few moments, Hyacant recovered enough to give me another smile. “What’s your name?”
“Shirley,” I answered.
“I know a little girl named Shirley!” She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“You do?”
Eyes as big as saucers, she cleared her throat. “I did.”
“What happened to her?”
Suddenly, the hem of her dress seemed to hold great interest. “Oh, you know, friends fall out of touch… and stuff.”
I nodded. “I do know.” If my plan to find out what happened to the other children was going to work, I needed to get that little snipe moving. That meant lots of mischief in just a few hours. Inside, I fumed over all the lives the pretty creature had stolen. “You’re aware that, in the story, you have short hair, right?”
Another round of tinkles filled my room. “It grows, silly! Just like yours.”
My face had to have turned red, because it got very warm in the cheek area. “Sorry. Right.” I looked back at her and smiled. “So, what do you want to do?”
Faster than I’d ever seen anything move in my life, she shot into the air from my knee and squealed. “Play!”
