The Little Girl Who Played with Fairies

     They would only come out if you were very still. She learned that a long time ago. So often she would stand in the middle of her circle made of sticks and she would close her eyes-that always helped her- and be very very still. Her mother would tell her not to be so stubborn. Those were no fairies she saw-only bugs with a light in their behinds. She thought this was rather amusing. What was her mother thinking? There were no such things as that! She would sneak out in the warm evenings and follow the path that lead her to her secret place. If the moon was out, she could follow its pale beams all the way without need for a flashlight. She made sure she had enough supplies that would tide them over until her next visit. She would go every night if she thought she could get away with it, but ever since her mother married Jim, things had changed and she knew not to press her luck. They were both light sleepers.

     So off she went carrying plenty of match boxes, thimbles, old wooden spools she found in the basement, and cotton balls-they loved cotton balls. They made excellent pillows. She made sure to tuck them in their usual places-the knot hole in the old Weeping Willow, beneath the fragrant blooms of the gardenias, right next to the log that nestled in the shallow water of the pond, and one last one on the lillypad for the stubborn one who never would come all the way to shore. What was she scared of anyhow?

     As she held up her nightgown and waded into the cool water she felt the tickles of the tiny brim as they seemed to play hide and seek around her ankles. She placed the matchbox on the lilly pad and stood there for a moment, wishing beyond anything that if she was very still and closed her eyes, she could open them to find herself a part of their world. Suddenly she saw a little yellow fleck of light from the corner of her eye. She turned quickly and waded back to shore. She hoped she hadn't scared them away, but minutes passed and she never saw a thing.

     Giving up, she decided to go back to the house. It was an especially clear night with a beautiful moon and she was sure that if they came back she would see them from her window. As she walked up hill she never ceased to be taken aback by the sudden image of her house in front of her. It always seemed to appear out of nowhere. This used to excite her-like an old friend popping in to say hello. Now days it just loomed over her, dark and silent like so many other things seemed to be. Except tonight, something was different. A small square of orange light beamed forth from her mother's room. She began to walk faster and with purpose. She knew she had been caught and nothing good could come from this.

     As she walked in the door, she expected to see him right away, standing there waiting for her to speak, but he was nowhere to be seen. No one was. All was quiet. Maybe she had been mistaken. Maybe her mother had simply awaken from another bad dream and went to splash some water on her face. She was okay. She was fine. She turned the corner to head up to her room, when suddenly he was before her-popping out like a clown from the scary jack-in-the-box she hated a few years before. She could see her mother behind him in the kitchen, her pink bunny slippers looking up at her as if even they couldn't believe what she let him do.

    It seemed that all at once an explosion landed on her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat and she stumbled backwards, against the wall-looking at him. She was wrong. This was bad. This was very bad. She saw him come towards her and she knew what was coming, but she also knew that running would only make it worse. So she closed her eyes and she stood very still, making believe she was with them, in her circle made of sticks. They ran and laughed and played. They bathed in thimbles and slept in matchbox beds with cottonball pillows and no one ever hit her.

     When she opened her eyes it took her a moment to remember where she was. It only took a second for the pain to remind her of just what had happened. At that moment she just didn't care. She grabbed her bag of leftover spools and a blanket and ran back down the path the way she'd come. When she arrived, she spread out the blanket and layed beneath the willow tree. As she stared up at the sleepy, swaying branches, she couldn't help but think of how much in common she had with the tree's name. She had never let it make her cry before. She was strong that way, but something shifted in her tonight. Something made it okay to let it all out and as she weeped, a small light flitted by and landed on her sore, tearstained cheek. She made sure not to move an inch, but it moved and landed right next to her on the blanket. She looked at it closely. It was beautiful! It was glowing! It was...a bug with a light in its behind. She breathed. So her mother had been right-it was just a stupid bug. She thought about getting up right then and running away. She thought about going back to the house and taking what she knew would be coming to her. But she didn't. Her mother had been right about this, but she had been so terribly wrong about many other things. She stayed and remained very still, so sure that she would open her eyes and be a thousand thoughts away.