Daddy's Fairy

“Maeve!” Daddy bellows with a drunken, guttural roar. His incoherent babbling bounces off the dusty walls fringed with mold. I scuttle behind my favorite chair, the red and yellow striped one with the wobbly leg. I hear him stomp closer, I hear a glass bottle slip from his grip onto the stained carpet, but I’ve learned to stay quiet. Hugging my knees, I sway back and forth to help me pretend that I’m quaking on purpose. I think Daddy’s stopped in the middle of the living room. His heavy breathing slows, and his mindless muttering becomes quieter and quieter, and soon a loud thump indicates that it’s safe to emerge.

On hands and knees, I poke my head out and see Daddy slumped over a pile of dirty blankets on the floor. The house is once again silent, except for his snoring. He’ll be in a foul mood tomorrow morning with even fouler breath, but for now I spot a half-eaten PB&J sandwich left on the rustic wooden coffee table. My stomach clamors for dinner, so I tiptoe around Daddy and snatch the sandwich. With a few hungry gulps, I finish it off. I’m still famished, but I can’t reach the high cabinets where Daddy stores the non-refrigerated foods. The refrigerator is empty; it’s been broken for a long time.

The broken bottle that Daddy had dropped lies shattered at the doorway to the hall that leads to my bedroom. I carefully maneuver around the sharp pieces, pretending that they’re land mines and I’m a soldier creeping bravely around them. Apparently, I wouldn’t make a good soldier because I step on one of the mines. I clap my hands over my mouth, squinch my eyes tight, and sit down hard on my rear. Clutching my wounded foot, I rock back and forth until I gain the courage to open one eye. Blood oozes from the ball of my foot and drips onto the carpet. Clumsy me, now I’ve made a mess. I shake my head and angrily pound my fist into my thighs, fat tears rolling down my white cheeks. Bad girl. Bad Maeve.

I don’t think the glass is stuck in my foot. At least, I don’t see any, but my vision is blurry, so I can’t be sure. Oh well, nothing to be done about that. I press the ball of my foot into the carpet to stop the bleeding. I’ve already made a mess, so I might as well not bleed to death. After a few minutes, I gingerly peel my injured foot off the blood-crusted carpet. Leaning backwards against the doorframe, I slowly pull myself up onto my good foot. I stand like a flamingo for a couple of seconds, then try hopping towards my bedroom. Look at me! I’m a bird! I can fly! I tuck my fists into my armpits and flap like a deranged chicken all the way to my bed. Sleep cures everything, I’ve found. Well, not Daddy. Sleep just makes him mad and grumpy after he comes home with the glass bottles. But except for that, sleep can cure anything. My bed creaks underneath me as I jump into it like a baby bird flopping around in its next. I pull the faded pink princess blanket up to my chin and curl into a ball. I gradually notice the throbbing pain in my foot less and less as I drift off.

When I open my eyes, Daddy’s standing in my bedroom doorway. Uh-oh. I’m supposed to wake up before he does. I quickly squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to still be asleep. I hear him stomp towards me and squeeze my eyes even tighter, hoping he doesn’t know I’m awake. “Maeve!” he screams. I jerk up into a sitting position and hug my knees, swaying from side to side. Don’t speak. Don’t scream. And most of all, don’t cry. No, no, no. Don’t cry. Crying is for babies. I’m not a baby. I’m a big girl.

Daddy’s fist swings out. I duck, but he loses his balance, staggers forward, and collapses on top of me. I try to push him off, but he’s big and heavy, and I’m little and scrawny. He heaves himself off my bed and knocks me underneath my chin. My teeth grind together, and I’m flung backwards by the force of the blow. Daddy raises his fist again and delivers a punch to my stomach as I lie prostrate on the bed. I clutch my ribs and gasp for breath. I’m dizzy. Through stars I see Daddy lurch out of the room. I think he’s getting his belt. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

My body is a tangle of bruises, welts, and scrapes. I’ve crawled into a corner and drawn my knees to my chest; I sit, motionless, pretending that I’m a piece of furniture. Furniture doesn’t feel pain. Furniture doesn’t cry. And neither do I.

After hours of agony, I wearily raise my head. I realize that I’m sitting in a splash of sunlight beaming through my window. With grunts and groans, I heave myself towards the light. I drag open the limp curtains to reveal a wonderland of vivacious green grass and strong, knotted trees. I swear I see fairies prancing about without a care in the world. What if I joined them? What if – what if I left Daddy and became a fairy? Fairies never get hurt because nobody wants to hurt them. Excited and hopeful, I hop to my closet and open the door. What would a fairy wear? Bright colors! My eager hands snatch a hot pink tank top, and I dig through a pile of old socks to find a puffy tulle skirt. After a quick change, I’m ready. I clamber up onto the windowsill and breathe in deeply, savoring the fresh summer air. I’m so entranced by the magical land in front of me that I don’t hear Daddy enter my bedroom. “Get down.” I twist around suddenly at his words and nearly fall onto the floor. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to become a fairy!” I blurt out. Then I press my lips together. Uh-oh. I broke the first rule. Don’t speak. Daddy takes a step forward, another glass bottle in his hand. “Oh really? Well, I can help you,” he replies. I gaze at him inquisitively. What does Daddy know about turning into a fairy? I adjust my position on the windowsill so I’m sitting facing him, one hand gripping the side of the window frame. “You have to close your eyes,” he said, “and say the magic words.” I tiled my head and made eye contact as if to ask what he meant. He slurped from his bottle. “The magic words are,” he continued, a bit more slurred now, “One, two, three-ee, make me a fairy.”

I figured it was worth a try. Daddy was older, so he must know more. I closed my eyes and repeated his incantation. “One, two, three-ee, make me a fairy.” Immediately, I felt the power transform me as it crashed like glass on the crown of my head. I toppled backward out of the window and rolled onto my stomach, pressing my forehead into the soil. I see a viscous red liquid seeping through the brown dirt. I grab a fistful. It’s sticky and warm. My fingers grow limp, and dirt crumbles from my clenched hand. A brilliant light extends welcoming rays to me. This is it. I’m becoming a fairy! I’m about to grow wings! I’m about to be free! My body relaxes, and I succumb to the power of the light.