The Prairie

There I was again, among the flowers. The cool breeze blew through my hair, dirty blonde strands floating this way and that, creating fairy trails in the blue expanse above me.

Home. I was home, and there was nothing anyone could do to tear me away from here.

A high-pitched, buzzy, beeping sound silenced the breeze, but I was unfazed. I reached out a finger to touch a pixie as it flew quickly toward shelter. The fairies and woodland creatures might be afraid, but I had learned to remain calm in the face of such trials.

I arose from among the marigolds feeling joyful and energized.

As I stood, one of the attendants rushed to cover my naked body with a sheet. Another arrived shortly with a clean set of scrubs.

Fine. Whatever. I’ll get dressed.

I looked back at the prairie with its patches of wildflowers as they dragged me through the door. “Don’t worry, little fairies,” I said, “I’ll be back tomorrow!” I giggled a little then, still cheerful despite their attempts to quench my happiness. The male attendant shook his head, while the woman tried to conceal a smirk.

It was time to see the doctor. I had been meeting with Dr. Oswald every few days for what seemed like months. Time was fuzzy in this place, though, so I can’t really be sure how long it had been.

Anyway, the doctor was a major buzzkill, always trying to convince me that the prairie and its creatures were all just in my head. “But then how come I can touch them?” I asked once.

That made her angry, and she ordered another round of electroshock therapy. They tried so hard to break my spirit, but it wasn’t going to work. I wouldn’t let them.

I’ll tell you a secret, but you have to promise not to say anything…

The pixies hide in my hair, so when the electricity turns on, they divert it into their dust pouches. I still pretend to cry a little when they strap me in and turn on the machine - that way it looks like I’m getting my treatments, but I don’t actually have to feel them anymore.

The attendants sat me down in the doctor’s boring office. White. Everything is white. And grey. And dreary. And boring. She has one picture hanging on the wall – ONE! And it's just some dumb motivational poster about inner healing or whatever. Blech.

The most annoying thing about the room, though, is that it has one of those two-way mirrors taking up almost an entire wall. It makes me feel really uncomfortable not knowing who is on the other side watching or if they can hear me or not.

How about some privacy, huh?

Today Dr. Oswald wanted to talk about a new treatment option, called EMDR. It sounds kinda like hypnotism, but she says it’s not. It’s not like I have a choice, anyway. I’ll do whatever they say I have to do.

And then I’ll run right back to my prairie.

Yesterday, a little baby deer came up to me while I was lying there. He looked a little like Bambi, but, you know, real. He came up all slow and cautious, and then he touched his nose to my cheek. I just laid there because I didn’t want to scare the little guy. His mom made a chuffing noise from the edge of the woods and called him back into the trees.

Speaking of chuffing noises, one time I saw a tiger! It was beautiful and majestic. I loved watching it prowl through the tall grass. But it lunged at me like it wanted to eat me, so the fairies told it not to come back.

The doctor says there was no tiger, that it was just my mind’s way of making sense of what happened to me. But I know it was real. I saw it.

She also says I need to grow up and stop talking to imaginary friends. But what does she know? Just because she can’t see you doesn’t mean you’re not here.

Right?