Little Fairies (Part 2)

Nixie strolled through the house watering her mother’s many potted plants, each with its own individual name, before making her way to the dinner table where Tania sat, ready to devour her meal. Their home was like a museum for mythical beings. Anyone who were to walk in their little house might feel as though they’ve stepped into an enchanted fairy dwelling from Serafina’s porcelain winged figurines to her stringed lights hung along bed posts, lamps and walls in no particular order. Her delightful little quirks were what made her so unique and wonderfully eccentric and her daughters preferred her that way, for the most part.

Nixie scarfed down every bit of her food and ran to the door in a hurry but Serafina urged her to grab a light sweater before bolting out of the door and into the cool, crisp night. If she was being honest with herself though, it wasn’t the weather that made her wary since it was practically summer and where they lived, it was almost always warm out. No, it was Nixie’s outfit that was cause for concern. While she gave her fifteen year old daughter the freedom to express herself fully, she was still a mom and seeing her daughter walk out of the door barely dressed made her a bit uneasy. She was so thin and beautiful and the boys around town were no romeos. Little heartbreakers and womanizers riddled the neighborhood and the last thing she wanted was for Nixie to become some helpless victim. The Castle women were no damsels in distress.

She quickly ran to her room to grab a small jacket just as her mother requested of her and raced back out in a matter of seconds. Nixie was always good at respecting her mother’s wishes, she was many things but impertinent was not one of them. She was deep, pensive, daring and a hell of a sketch artist. She preferred drawing with thick pieces of charcoal as opposed to charcoal pencils. She felt one with the rock as she manipulated it to create her ideas and bring her imagination to life on paper. Something about feeling the messy, natural substance staining her skin in a rich, black dust gave her an organic sentiment that she treasured more than her skillful ability to create a descriptive scene or detailed portrait. She kept all her sketches hidden in a big yellow binder stashed under her bed for easy access, not to mention it was the quickest way to store it when she was done for the day.

Yellow happened to be her favorite color, not because she was a cheerfully spirited person but because it was everything she was not, bright, sunny, happy, you get the point. She had packs of clear page dividers and each drawing was carefully placed in one to preserve its authenticity, not that she believed her work to be of the highest standards and worthy of praise but just that she cherished each one like they held a piece of her broken heart in the shading of their precise silhouettes.

Tonight, she would be meeting with Trevor and some school friends to smoke weed on the beach and listen to music while a few of them pair off to wander aimlessly along the sandy shore in search of a nice secluded enough spot to have mediocre sex because sex on the beach is seemingly thrilling or at least it is to a group of teenagers who have no place else to explore their lustful desires. Personally, Nixie was too logical to buy into a fad like that as the idea of rolling around on a sandy floor, allowing the tiny, sharp particles to stick all over her damp skin and become lodged between two slipping body parts, rubbing them raw as salt water entered the mix to burn the already irritated flesh, all the while spilling forced moans from within to give herself and the poor boy she was entangled with the illusion that what they were experiencing was actual pleasure did not seem like a good time to her. Trevor wasn’t so foolish to believe she would be up for it either. He only invited her out for a taste of her exceptional bud since her connection provided the highest quality weed and he was an awfully elusive man for a drug dealer. Apparently, he only keeps in contact with people he knows and trusts and if they’re willing, he’ll allow them to sell to others on his behalf so he doesn’t have to meet new people because he’s that paranoid. It’s evident he gets high his own supply and too much of it at that. While Trevor has the money to buy his own stash from her, he prefers to bum off of hers as long as she’s willing to share.

Nixie’s not so naive to believe a guy like him would really go for a girl like her but he has a car and she loves the beach and she argues in her head that it’s more fun to smoke with a friend, if you can call him that. They have known each other since second grade but he’s not exactly a nice guy and definitely not someone she can trust with her secrets like you would a friend so maybe they’re simply peers who occasionally toke together to avoid being high alone. Whatever he was to her, it wouldn’t last long and she was okay with that. He wasn’t the same boy she played on the swings with competing to see who could reach the highest tree branches with their toes. He became one of those jerks who strived to be cool, popular, accepted and she couldn’t be mixed with trivial issues as such. She had her own problems to deal with such as her mom’s next wave of manic depression and scaring off the next brat who bullied her little sister for wearing her fairy wings to school for the fifth week in a row. But she felt she could finally breathe now that summer was swiftly approaching and she wouldn’t feel obligated to fill her days with school friends who actually believe they’re wild and free in a town like this. The only place that’s freeing to her is the beach but the sex-crazed group rolling around and moaning dramatically were making it hard for her to enjoy the cool breeze splashing against her face and the aroma of the moonlit sea swarming her senses. She needed to escape this scene and fast.

The Reckless Sick (Running On Empty)

Running On Empty

The weekend holds so much promise of careless mischief and wild teen parties for the small town kids of Whisper Woods. They’re scattered throughout town catching late night movies, laughing over burgers and shakes, cleverly sipping vodka from water bottles in the neighborhood parks, beating high scores at the local arcade or making out in the alley behind it. Everyone has a safe place to commit the oldest sins. One girl in particular prefers her vices done alone in the privacy of her own home.

The savory smell of roast beef and steamed vegetables filled the air, casting a powerfully blended sense of utter starvation and dizzying nausea on Harla as she sat motionless, afraid to make the slightest movement for fear she would faint right out of her seat. She stared off unaware of her fingers picking at a loose string hanging over her lap from the tablecloth set before her.

“Sit up straight, Harla,” Margaret commanded in a soft yet firm tone.

“Sorry, Mom.” She sat up briskly without a second thought and felt a wave of vertigo overpower her every sense.

Don’t faint. Don’t fall down.

As if she could control it with her thoughts alone. Just then, her mother set a plate of food in front of her, smiling briefly before sitting down across the table. Her portions were significantly less than what was served on the other plates. Margaret noticed Harla hasn’t had much of an appetite lately and preferred not to waste a perfectly good meal on her knowing it would only end up in the trash. Harla looked at the meat smothered in a hearty gravy, trying to hold back an obvious look of disgust. She couldn’t fathom how it could look so delicious and so revolting at the same time.

“Eat, girl. You’re too skinny. Isn’t she too skinny, Margie?” Richard pointed out blatantly.

“Oh, leave her alone. She just has a small frame. She gets it from me.” Margaret shot a proud smirk around the room as if waiting to be praised for her slender figure.

That was Richard’s cue, “Of course, darling. You look wonderful.”

Somehow, conversations in the Fox household always revolved around Margaret. She was quite the attention seeker, no doubt leaving Harla feeling like an old, faded piece of furniture discarded in the back of the most unused room in the house. Her mother’s ego was far too sickening to withstand any longer and she quickly shoved every last piece of food in her mouth before placing her plate in the sink and making her way to her bedroom in a very rhythmic and rehearsed walk so as not to draw attention to her swift exit. As soon as she made it to the room she locked her door and waited, finding anything around the room to distract her for just a moment longer.

As soon as her parents turned on the television, she snuck quietly into the bathroom just down the hall. She closed the door gently making no sound at all, she had it down to a science. Where to step in the hallway without making a creak, how slowly to turn the door knob so it didn’t click, waiting for a loud commercial break when her parents would talk amongst themselves so her heaving couldn’t be heard by even the most sensitive ears.

She stared at herself in the mirror. It was more of a glare actually as she detested every flaw she could think up. She studied her figure, lifting her shirt up midway to see her flat belly starting to sink inward. She thought she would be satisfied with the image staring back at her but it wasn’t enough. Why did she still look so big? Why could she pull at her skin when there was barely a trace of fat? Nonetheless, she was proud of herself for sticking to her guns and refusing to give up so easily. Soon, very soon, she will be beautiful enough. She will be so thin that there will be nothing left but skin and bones and for some reason, that’s beautiful.

But tonight, she would overdo it and life would change instantaneously.

Margaret and Richard laughed at a silly ad playing on the television when they were startled by a loud bang from inside the hallway bathroom.

“What was that?” Richard asked as if Margaret would know more than he in this instant.

Suddenly, Margaret’s face transformed and she wore a worried expression as she blurted out, “Harla!”

They rushed to her bathroom, opening the door so abruptly that it bumped forcefully against Harla’s leg. They pushed the door open a little wider to find their daughter passed out on the floor with the stench of vomit emanating from the toilet bowl and polluting the air.

“Oh, my God! Harla, wake up! Wake up, sweetie, wake up now.” Margaret was immediately hysterical, holding her daughter’s listless body in her arms and lightly tapping her face.

“Honey, calm down. We need to get her to the hospital. She could have a concussion. Get her a bag ready, I’ll carry her to the car.” Richard lifted his daughter with ease, giving no thought to her lightness as he strapped her in the car and sat in the driver’s seat trying with all his might not to look back at her lying in the backseat unresponsive. He was weak though and he turned his head briskly. It was a huge mistake, the biggest because as soon as he laid eyes on her face, the tears streamed heavily down his face and his head bobbed as he cried for the first time since his mother died when he was only thirteen. He couldn’t bare to see his little girl like this. Even if she was no longer his little girl, she was still his and still she was. Margaret practically threw herself in the car, glancing briefly at her husband. She did a double take when she saw him silently sobbing with his head resting against the steering wheel. He turned and gave her a look of defeat.

“Oh, Richie. She’s going to be okay but we have to get her there quickly.” She tried to sound brave but the tears falling from her glistening eyes spoke otherwise. She had never witnessed him cry in the whole nineteen years they’ve been married and it scared her to see him vulnerable.

He wiped his tears away with his jacket sleeve and shifted into gear. The car bolted out of the driveway, screeching down the street of their quiet, little neighborhood. He drove like a madman, marking the streets with his brand new tires.

“Careful, Rich! She’s falling off the seat.”

“Well, pick her up.”

Margaret climbed in the backseat to sit with her daughter, holding her close and checking for a pulse every few seconds. The trip felt long and she thought they would never reach their destination. Finally, they arrived at the nearest hospital and pulled up to the front so fast, he almost didn’t see the wheelchair rolling out of the doors with an elderly lady in it. He flew out of the car and opened the back door to help his wife and daughter out. They rushed her inside leaving the car running just out front with the doors wide open.

“Rich, I’ve got this. The car.” She pointed just outside and his attention shifted.

Soon they were impatiently settling in the waiting room to hear news of their daughter’s condition. After an hour, a Dr. Peck called them to the back to see her.

“Your daughter is going to be fine, the blow to her head wasn’t too bad but she is very weak. It’s not surprising since her blood work shows a loss of vital minerals. We have her on an IV in the pediatric ward where she’ll stay for a few days if you decide to keep her here. I recommend that you do. She’s suffering from slight malnutrition and drastic changes to her diet can be dangerous.”

“What? That can’t be. She eats every meal. She doesn’t eat a lot but she does eat,” Margaret assured the doctor. It was apparent they didn’t know what was going on right under their noses.

“Did you know your daughter has an eating disorder?”

“Oh, God.” Richard dropped his head in his hands.

“No. No, Rich, it’s not rue. It can’t be.” She gazed at her daughter in the hospital bed, disbelief was written across her face as she put the pieces together.

“She admitted it to one of the nurses when she came to. I don’t think she was aware of her surroundings though and she fell back asleep soon after.”

“I told you she was too skinny. I knew something wasn’t right.”

“No,” Margaret whispered to herself. She couldn’t believe any of this was happening. She never saw it coming, never noticed the signs. What kind of a mother doesn’t see the signs?

“She’s in a bad state but it’s good we caught it before she could experience serious risks such as heart failure…” The doctor’s voice trailed off. Margaret couldn’t hear anything, just the sound of her own heart beating fast. She placed her hand on Harla’s chest timing her faint heartbeat to her own. Looking closely at her, she could see just how thin her daughter really was and closed her eyes in anger for not seeing it sooner. She planted herself in the big chair next to her daughter’s bedside in hopes that she would be the first person she sees when she wakes up again. All she could do now was wait.

 

To be continued..

Little Fairies

I remember the first time I realized fairies were just a myth. I was twelve. I know it sounds ridiculous to believe in mythical creatures at that age but if you grew up with a mother like mine, you would’ve believed in them too. She used to take me and Tania in the woods behind our house at dusk and we would chase them around the brush trying to capture them in mason jars. She made us believe they were real. It was like the magic sparkled in her eyes and you couldn’t deny her truth in the moment.

One time, when I was ten, I told her they were just fireflies. She told me if I kept the jar by my bed at night, they would turn into fairies but only when I fell asleep because we weren’t supposed to know that they existed among us. It wasn’t until I was twelve that I pretended to sleep, I was so good at it that I almost believed it myself, and I watched the brightly glowing jar carefully in the mirror across from my bed. The fairy never appeared and I knew it wasn’t due to my performance, I was dedicated. I opened the jar and held the flickering light in my hand, studying it meticulously. The last of my hope spilled from my eyes and slid down my cheeks as I realized it was just a bug, nothing more. That was the last night my mom lied to me because after that, I never trusted her stories again.

I worry about Tania and how her eyes still light up when Mom tells her stories of the fairy world. I can’t tell if she’s just humoring her or if she still hopes there’s a fairy land somewhere out there. Maybe she needs those stories to make up for our troubling reality. I know I did. I don’t know why I’m reminiscing, I guess I just hate being lied to and ultimately disappointed.

I miss when times were simpler and I called on the fairies for their magic and strength when Mom would spiral out of control, breaking vases and flower pots around the house and cutting her feet on the scattered shards, leaving bloody footprints and tiny puddles of lost tears on the floor for me to clean. Then she would mourn her dead plants and apologize to them when she finally left her room days later. She would hold me tight and cry in my hair, promising never to skip her medication again and whispering over and over, “I thought I was okay. I’m not okay.” My eyes would swell while I held back my tears, knowing the moment wouldn’t last long. But I believed her then. I believed in her. And then I gave up on her.

I stopped crying over those incidents when I stopped looking to the fairies for help. I just grew up and learned to deal with problems instead of wishing them away.

“Supper’s ready, Nixie.” Serafina stood at Nixie’s bedroom door, smiling fondly at her oldest daughter.

Nixie closed her journal and set it down on her nightstand. There was no need to hide it, her mom never went through her things. Serafina was a strong believer that every girl was entitled to her secret thoughts and she encouraged Nixie’s independence. In fact, she envied it since she herself harbored an unhealthy fear of being left alone to waste away while the world around her carried on without her. With Nixie pulling away and slipping further through her fingertips, she clung tightly to Tania’s adolescence, feeding into her innocence in hopes that she would never leave her. But all little girls grow up and she knew she would have to face her mountainous fear someday. Just not today.