Gentled Heart
By Elizabeth Mueller
Have you ever seen a fairy? I have. Twice. Oh, I know what you’re going to say, but I whole-heartedly disagree with you. You don’t believe in very much, to be honest with you. Don’t look at me like that! Do you remember that one crisp noon I pointed out the frosted leaf in the little stream beyond my home? The one that cuts straight through the round stone by the edge of the forest? Yes, that one. Well, that was the first time I saw them. I even pointed them out to you, don’t you remember? You had gotten down on all fours and complained how the cold grass prickled your hands, and how your knees itched. I saw you blink at what sat on that leaf boat, I did. They were the tiniest men I’ve ever laid eyes on with their little ladybug hats and dandelion fluff kilts. They were quite the sight, but you didn’t see the terror in their bright little eyes when they caught us watching, did you? All you saw were ladybugs tangled in dandelion seeds. You know, that’s when I stopped liking you. Yes, you heard me—you made me believe everything I’ve ever shared with you mattered no more, and that hurt my feelings. I can see that smirk on your face and I don’t quite like it. What? What’s that you say? Fairies don’t exist? Are you still denying that they do? What about the time last when we sat on my porch swing while the fall breeze tickled our bare feet as it chased away the last of the lightning bugs? Ah, I see that little smile, you remember that night, don’t you? What of the little lights that bobbed in a perfect row by the forest fauna that lines my terrace, do you remember them? It makes me angry how you laugh at me like that. I know it wasn’t my imagination. You even said that you wished you had your camera to record such a thing! You found it so fascinating that you had painted a picture—it hangs in my bedroom as we speak. What? You were just pretending so that I would stop ranting about little people? Oh, fine, I see how you are and I don’t like you even more. Yes, you heard me. Don’t give me that pout, you know well enough how I feel about fairies. Didn’t you know that one ladybug fairy on the leaf had hid behind a mangled mushroom and begged me to let you believe that I was just seeing things? Can you imagine such a thing? Well, I had nodded my answer, but you didn’t see because my hair hid my face; you weren’t even looking anymore. You had lost interest and walked away, flinging your crazy skipping stones. Don’t you remember how I yelled at you to stop because you would tip the leaf over? And how you just burst out in that obnoxious creaky boy laugh of yours? You know how to annoy me the right way, don’t you? I don’t like how you call me Key. My whole name is Keyliana—why do you shake your head at me? How can you deny my name? It’s a fine name. A name that suits the perfect chilled breeze as we swing on my porch. Or perhaps you shorten it so as to remind you that I’m the only one who can unlock some imagined fancy you cherish . . . If I give you a kiss, would you still deny that fairies exist? You would? Why would you—after your painting? I’ve heard you murmur in your dreams, and I can see cranberry stains upon your cheeks as I say this. I know what that means; it means that you know I speak the truth. You know that I’ve heard the words of your home. The words of flight caught in a lazy draft sailing to the rich soil of the earth so sweet. The words that whisper in your heart as you drink the sun with your goldenrod skin and the words of sweet forevers as you gaze at me with anxious indigo eyes. After everything I’ve just mentioned, how can you still tell me otherwise? Is it because you like how my eyes spark icy fire when I refuse to indulge you any longer? I don’t think that’s very nice of you. I had thought you esteemed the ones who keep time, the ones who sail the falling leaves, the ones who breathe frost on my lashes. Did you know the autumn king mourns the absence of his son—do you really care? I could hear his tears now in the weeping trees. Don’t tell me that it’s nothing more than the zephyr squeezing through the screen door, or that it’s just all a fancy I’ve created to suit my fairy whimsy. I hold his tear in my palm, see? Do you perceive how it glistens in the silver moon? The colors shine the rainbow into your eyes, I can see its reflection there. Don’t deny the truth any longer, I know what’s true and I feel it with every precious moment that I swing here with you. You can tell me that there are fairies no more in this wood until you turn plum. I won’t believe you. Whispering my whole name now won’t save you from my laugh because of a secret that I hold—it’s one that you gave me so very long ago. Oh, now you gentle me with your velvety eyes and whispering touch. Are you certain that you want me to share what I know? Are you ready? Alright, you’ve won my heart too soon. Here it is; you can’t hide who you are, I’ve reassured the king that his son is well looked after. I love you my fairy prince who denies his kin so that he could live in my world! |
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