Untouchable

Chapter 6 - The Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus

Chapter 6 - The Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus

"Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality."

-Edgar Allan Poe

When I was a kid, I believed in the Tooth Fairy. Everytime a tooth fell off, I would wrap it up in my pretty yellow handkerchief embroidered with flowers of purple, pink, red, and blue. I know, I know, I liked girly stuff before. Please, let's not linger too long on this, okay? It's not something I'm proud of and it's not something I like to remember. Anyway, I would go to sleep early, hoping that I'd wake up even earlier and get a present or a quid from the legendary Tooth Fairy.

I never saw her though, she was sneaky, that one.

I also believed in the Easter Bunny. Don't laugh. But you know what was odd? The day before Easter, I'd help my Mum, my Grandma, and my aunties prepare and paint the eggs because Grandma said and I quote, "The Easter Bunny likes it when the good little children like you would help." End of quote. So every Easter Sunday, I'd be up early to head over to my Grandma's house again to play the Easter Egg Hunt with my cousins.

I never saw him too, but my Mum said he was Australian and he was timezones away and he didn't have a flying sleigh like Santa did. It took her 2 hours to explain what timezones were, and when I finally got it, I pitied him and I let him off the hook. The poor guy lives on the other side of the globe and he has no sleigh? That's just unfair!

I was also a firm believer in Santa Clause. In fact, one of my most vivid memories of Christmases years ago would have to be around the time I learned of this fallacy.

I remember getting into a fight with a Nicolette Chansler in the First Grade because she told me Santa Clause was a myth. I didn't know what a myth was back then. When I got home that very same day, I hunted for an adult and found my dad first. Yes, of course I have one, you nincompoop, how do you think I got here? Carried by a stork? What is this? A fantasy? Wake up bro, this is the real world. Anyway, I asked my Dad what a myth was and he said it was something that was believed to exist, but actually does not.

The next day, Nicolette Chansler approached me again. She happily teased me about being a wimpy baby because I believed in Santa Clause.

I was normal back then, so I just beheaded the three dolls she currently held.

I was so sure Santa Clause existed. And even though he never finished the glass of warm milk, he always ate the cookies I left every Christmas Eve.

I never caught him too, that sneaky bastard.

And then I "grew up" and I learned the awful truth about why I never saw them. I still refused to speak it out loud back then. I felt as if saying it out loud would seal my belief of its non-existence. I felt so betrayed when I finally knew about it. I mean, I trusted them, so how could my Mum and Dad lie to me about this? Hell, I even asked my Mum about it and she said that Santa Clause was somebody who was so generous, he liked to give gifts.

Okay, so maybe she didn't lie to me technically, but she could have said something about it being unreal! And now that I think about it, Dad was lactose intolerant, no wonder the milk was never finished. And no wonder he went to the bathroom a lot during Christmas Day. Haha serves him right...Oops. I mean, oh my poor daddy!

The whole point with me telling you all this is that when I was a kid, I had an over active imagination. I loved make - believe. It wasn't even just make believe to me, it was my reality and I loved living in it.

I wasn't so much for dolls, but I loved my unicorn stuffed toy. I brought it with me wherever I went because I firmly believed that Mandy, my dearest unicorn, would stab anyone in the stomach with her unicorn horn if they so much as said a wrong word to me or offended me. And I liked playing at the park, seeing nymphs and faeries wherever I went, teaching them how to play hula hoop and hopscotch, and letting them play with Mandy, my unicorn.

But I had to grow up, right? I was around ten years old then, and my Dad sat me down on his lap, stroked my hair, looked me in the eyes, and gave me the talk.

Not THAT talk, you idiot. The talk for younger kids! Sheesh. Your mind is dirty. Dirty, I say.

Anyway, as I was saying, my Dad confronted me about it, saying how it was wrong to have such and "overactive imagination" and how unhealthy it was and that he was worried about me and such.

It was a long talk, I was dozing through half of it. See? Even as a kid, I knew never to listen to stupid, old people trying to ruin my dreams. But then Mum came along and they argued. I heard my mum say that I was young, that it was okay, Dad said something else. Back and forth, back and forth they both went. So I just left and went to play in my bright blue room with Mandy and the Faerie princesses until Mum came along, looking sad, hesitantly saying it was time for me to stop talking to my "imaginary friends" and make ones from school, ones that they could also see, ones that would come to visit me at home and join our family dinners. Which were never really exciting to be honest.

But anyway, moving on now.

I was shattered. I belonged in a world that did not accept my source of happiness.

And I don't know why, but that's how I felt right now.

My chest was aching. Every breath I took was forced, painful, the air seemingly too cold and sharp. My shoulders felt stiff, and I was trying so hard not to let the trembling of my fingers show. I clenched and unclenched my fists repeatedly.

Confused and panicking out of my wits end, I stumbled into the ladies bathroom and hurried to the sink, fumbling with the faucet and desperately splashing my face with the cool water. I felt some water trickle down my neck and I hurriedly wiped it with the sleeve of my sweater. I took a deep, shuddering breath and braced my arms on the sink, leaning on it, trying desperately to calm down. I counted slowly to ten.

Be still, my heart. I can feel you pounding your way out, dammit. And I'd like for you to stay just where you are.

I thought of the ocean, the beach and how it looks when the sun finally sets for the day, with the myriad of colors in shades of purple and orange flooding the once bright blue sky. My feet encased in soft, fine sand with the most relaxing sea breeze swirling around me as I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the waves as they repeatedly rush to the shoreline, sea spray becoming a fine mist as it travels closer to me on the shoreline.

I thought of the smell of fresh air in the mountains, cooling, relaxing. The sound of the waterfall as it pounds the rocks beneath it, the vibrations that I could feel as I walked barefoot, nearer to its base, my hands outstretched, welcoming, opening up to its wonder.

I thought of the beautiful view overlooking the top of the waterfall, with everything looking so green and alive, entrapped in the heart of an emerald fortress. So vibrant, breathing, pulsating, living, also intense... almost like Caleb's eyes.

Caleb.

He reminded me of someone, and in my subconscious, I saw a flash of green fleetingly, making my heart stutter for a moment. My heart rate slowed, the pounding muscle finally calmed down, my shoulders relaxed, and I gave a soft, barely audible, sigh of relief.

I looked up to the mirror in front of me, but instead of focusing on how hideous my face currently was with my splotchy cheeks and trembling lips, I noticed a girl desperately trying to make eye contact with me. It was the girl who had the nail polish fiasco back in English Lit. I pretended not to notice her, whipped around, and ducked into a stall. I leaned on it and prayed desperately that I'd survive this day.