Everyday Dragons

Fairy Story

Once upon a time – that's how these stories usually begin, but that's not quite right. Once upon our time, that's how this story begins. Our world. Our time. Not some far away place with rules different than ours. This is our story.

Once upon our time, there were fairies.

Oh? Fairies aren't real, you say? How can this take place in our world if they don't really exist? Well, listen to the story and maybe you'll find out.

As I was saying: once upon our time, there were fairies. They weren't exactly like the fairies you see in picture books. Most looked like animals or plants. You might recall that humans are a type of animal, so some looked like them too. Humans like things that look like themselves – that's why you usually see the human kind in cartoons and pictures.

There was one particular fairy that looked like a little wild violet. Her name was Rose because, as you've probably heard, fairies have a sense of humour. Rose lived under a big oak tree in a little park, tucked away in a distant corner of an enormous city. She was never stepped on by any of the children or dug up by any of the dogs because... well because she was magic, of course. In the day she watched the children play and at night, with the evening dew crowning her purple head, she would dance and sing with the breeze and the rustling of the leaves.

There was also a lonely little girl named Taylor. Some of the other children would pick on Taylor for silly reasons like the way her teeth weren't quite straight, or how that one strand of hair never sat quite how they expected it to, or how she wore clothes that she liked. Of course, to Taylor, these were not silly reasons at all and they hurt her very much.

On this particular day, Taylor sat alone on a shady bench in Rose's park. She watched the other children play, rubbing her salt-stained eyes. An older woman with wrinkled brown skin, grey hair, and a twisted cane limped over to sit beside her.

She said, " Do you want to talk about it?"

To which Taylor very seriously (and correctly) replied, "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"You're right," the lady replied, "but there is a lovely little violet over there. You could try talking to it. I don't think it will tell anyone your secrets and I don't think it really counts as a stranger." She then got up and plodded along down the path. By the way, she was a fairy.

Taylor thought it was a very funny idea, talking to a flower, but she did want someone to talk to and the shade under that big old oak tree looked very inviting. This was how Taylor met Rose. Taylor talked for a long time to Rose, and sometimes she had this peculiar sense that Rose answered. A funny tingling deep in her tummy that felt like commiseration and sympathy and laughter all at the right times.

The next day, Taylor returned to the park with a little plastic flower pot and her mother's garden trowel. Rose could have stopped her. She could have distracted the girl with thoughts of some other pretty flower or make her worry that she might get into trouble. But she didn't. Rose let Taylor dig her up from her pretty little spot under the oak and carry her in the plastic pot all the way to a run-down triplex downtown.

Her new home was the sunny window in Taylor's bedroom. (Generally speaking, violets are fond of shade, but Rose was a fairy so this suited her just fine.) There was no breeze at night and no oak leaves to rustle, but there was a little human who loved her very much. Rose wouldn't have traded her new home for a whole grove of oak trees.

Every night before bed, Taylor would tell Rose all her woes, her wishes, her triumphs. And Rose would whisper into Taylor's mind, as fairies do, her sympathy, encouragement, and congratulations. The wishes Taylor shared often came true. And when Taylor slept, Rose would whisper her own dearest secrets, weaving them into gentle lullabies that soothed the tumult of the young girl's heart.