An Hour In Faerie Part II

I continued to walk out the door. Unfortunately for me Betterman followed.

“Are you a writer? Are you trying to build a following?” He asked matching my pace annoyingly well. “What gave you the idea to bring your stories directly to children?”

“No. No and No.” I answered as I stopped walking. It was clear that Betterman had latched on to me. The challenge was deciding which technique I was going to use to inspire a quick detachment on his part. Rudeness had always worked fairly efficiently. No. He seemed to be a nice kid. Rudeness of my caliber might hurt his feelings. I mentally shook my head. For the first time in years I had spent the last few months encountering people that seemed to have feelings. This one was an adult to boot. Life can take some funny turns.

“I know. I look really young. It’s true that I haven’t been at the paper for very long. I am just getting started. Could you do me a favor and give me a break?” He asked.

And with those words he had me. What I wanted more than anything some days was for someone to give me a break. How could I not extend the same courtesy to him when I knew how it felt to need it myself?

I checked the time on my phone. Great. Pops is gonna charge me good for this. I continued walking quickly and stopped in front of a pleasant looking diner with a sprinkling of empty tables. “How about this, you give me a couple of minutes to make a quick phone call and then I’ll let you buy me a cup of coffee.”

Betterman nodded, smiled, and turned to enter the diner.

“Betterman.” I called.

He turned to face me.

“You get three questions. Three questions. Make them good ones.”

I heard the other end of the line pick up just as Junior Reporter sat down.

“Candy? It’s me Trudy. I’ve got a puppy on my heel and I’m going to be late. Cover for me?”

As soon as the waitress left, I let Betterman have his moment. “Go.”

“Your stories are wonderful. They show so much imagination. Did your parents encourage you in any way?”

“How?”

“There are certain toys. Paint sets, puppets. Did you make up stories for your dolls to act out? Did they encourage your storytelling in any way? Do you have any special gifts that you received as a child?”

“Yes.”

Betterman looked at me. Pen at the ready.

“A gift for counting. That was all of your questions and then some.” I said. My lips turned up in a brief smile before I took a sip of my coffee.

“That was one question with two subparts. You never specified the type of questions I could ask.” Betterman countered.

“You got me on that one Betterman.”

“Now for your answer.”

“No. No. And no.” This was going to be much easier than I anticipated. With any luck I would arrive seconds late and could tell Pops to kiss my ass.

“When you tell a story to a child you foster the development of that child’s imagination, they learn how to picture in their minds what they are hearing. You’re not only helping them to develop listening skills but opening other doors to their development of literacy including imagination which can lead them to creating their own stories. Did you know that you were sharing so much? Are you aware of the scope of what you are teaching them? When you started, ‘An Hour In Faerie,’ is that what you had set out to do?”

“You’re diving a bit deeper now.” I said.

Betterman met my eyes. It was a challenge. I had to decide if I wanted to accept it. I raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment then answered.

“I want to teach these children many things. That monsters do exist. How a monster behaves. The fact that they never look like you think they will. How to face battles in life yet still not give up hope. If they keep working, keep fighting, eventually, they can win.”

“Anything else?”

“A tear away bra and matching thong is never an appropriate birthday gift.”

Betterman’s brow furrowed at that final remark.

I sipped my coffee waiting for him to proclaim himself finished, make an awkward apology and leave.

He scribbled profusely then he looked at me. I watched as his face stilled and his jaw set. “Tell me about ‘An Hour In Faerie,’ what happened on that first day.”

“You really are digging.”

“Channeling Barbara Walters is my super power.” He waited for a few beats and then repeated. “That first day.”

I looked out the window at the activity surrounding us. Two kids on skateboards lifted pieces of fruit from a display outside the local grocer. A pair of teenagers on the far corner greeted each other. One sliding his hand over the other’s, I knew that a small bag of coke had been bought and paid for. A well dressed man and woman stopped in front of the diner’s picture window. No words could be heard through the glass but the looks on their faces said it all. The woman got into the man’s face and said something, he put his hand to her shoulder and pushed her back, hard. An old lady came into the man’s line of sight. He stepped away from the woman and crossed the street headed for the teenager with drugs. The word “ogre” crossed my lips, no sound escaped them. I turned back to the young, naive Betterman. “The world can be a dark and cruel place. Every day I see people looking for some kind of light. Any kind of light in the darkness. Some turn to alcohol, drugs, gambling, engaging in extramarital affairs. Some worship money or hoard material things. Others turn to religion, invest in their health and physical fitness, meditate or seek therapy. They are all doing the same thing, looking for a way to cope. Looking for sliver of light in all of the darkness" I take a breath and clasp my hands in my lap before I give Betterman what he came for. "I don’t do any of those things, instead I go to Faerie.”

The young journalist’s body tensed with the information. I knew that it would.

“You’re safe Betterman. I’m not delusional. I checked. It's true that I do go to the library for an hour every day. I sit in the multi-purpose room in my favorite chair and picture going on an adventure in a more colorful world. When I leave the multi-purpose room I leave Faerie behind until next time." 

I studied him, he made no move to leave. I continued my story.

 "One day, a few months ago, the little girl that always sits in the center of the front row approached me. She started asking me questions like who I was and why I came to the library every day to sit in the multi-purpose room in the same chair just to look out the window.”

“Instead of telling her that the world was a dark and difficult place to live in and the library was your safe haven…”

“I told her what I was seeing in the moments before she approached me.”

“When you were telling yourself a story.”Betterman said.

I nodded.“When I was telling myself a story.”

“She returned the next day.” He said.

“Yes with two of her friends. It grew from there.” Before he had a chance to ask me anything else I stood up and offered him my hand. “It looks like you have your answers. I need to get going. It was nice to meet you Ty Betterman. Best of luck to you.”

“I was wondering if I might get a phone number and an email address. I prefer to send my interviewees an advance copy of the article before it is sent to print to verify their name is spelled correctly and nothing was misquoted.”

“No and no.”

Junior Reporter looked at me, his mouth ajar.

“We had coffee. I trust you.”

He stood up awkwardly and shook my hand.

“I have no preferences regarding this interview, it is your story.” 

I leaned in close before releasing his hand and whispered. “Think about what you choose to write and how it will affect the children. ‘An Hour In Faerie,’ belongs to  them now.” I looked into his eyes hoping to communicate how important it had become to them...to me.

He nodded. “You have my word.”

I wished him a nice evening and went to work. I knew that he would follow but the interview was over and I was late. I was not cutting him any slack this time. I felt his eyes on me as I entered the strip club for my shift.

 I whispered to myself, “Remember your promise Prince Valiant. Remember your promise.”

An Hour In Faerie

“I looked up at the sky, Prince Valiant and I watched as a falling star crossed overhead and disappeared into the distance. We fell asleep nestled in the trees at the edge of the enchanted forest and woke with dawn’s first light.”

I looked at my audience. The girls were sitting still, listening closely. The boys were fidgeting. I watched as one removed a wad of gum from his mouth and stuck it to the underside of a nearby shelf. I moved my gaze before his eyes turned to the back of the room and found mine.

“What do you think happened next?” I asked.

“Prince Valiant says a bunch of stupid stuff, gets down on one knee and asks her to be his princess or something.” One boy responded looking at the carpeted floor.

“Yeah, that stupid girl stuff.” Another one added.

I smiled at them. “You’re forgetting, Prince Valiant is not a man.”

With that one sentence the fidgeting stopped and the room fell silent.

“I told you yesterday, Prince Valiant is a unicorn.”

“He’s not a prince?” One of the girls asked.

“He is a prince. He is also a unicorn. Faerie is magic. Animals can talk, fight in wars, cast spells, and they can be princes.”

I looked at the children as their expressions changed. They were thinking about what I told them, picturing it, then accepting that in this magical dimension some place far away things could happen in exactly that way. The faces changed again. It was the expression that I had been waiting for. They had questions about Faerie. It was a sign. They were drawn in completely. 

I had my audience.

“How can a unicorn fight if he can’t hold a sword?” One boy asked.

“He can speak therefore he has magic.” I raised a fisted hand to my forehead and stretched my arm, indicating the horn, “And a unicorn always has his weapon with him.”

“How will you become a princess if you cannot marry Prince Valiant?”

“I won’t.”

“How will you survive?”

“A lady does not have to become a princess to live in Faerie.”

“If she doesn’t marry a prince she won’t have a happily ever after.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because all of the other stories say...”

“All of the other stories.” I responded. “Not every story is the same. I think that if you let me finish my adventure you will be pleased with the outcome.”

“Do you become a princess later?”

I sit and contemplate the little girl’s question before answering. “No.” My eyes slowly pan the group, all are interested. “I do not become a princess. I am made a queen.”

“A queen. How?”

“The usual way.”

The little girl in front who is obsessed with princesses answers, “She married a king, how else do you think she became a queen stupid? Everyone knows that marrying a king is way better than marrying a prince.”

“I fought beside the brownie tribes during The Ogre Raids and after the ogres were defeated they asked me to be their queen.”

I decided not to admonish the little princess sitting in front of me and handled the issue indirectly, “Do you know the word stupid does not exist in Faerie? Because every being has its own set of strengths and weaknesses. We do not believe in pointing out each other’s differences in demeaning ways. It is not considered polite. Royalty should always be polite. Who else has a question?”

The little princess hangs her head for a few seconds but immediately raises her hand to ask another question. I know that my words have gotten their point across without causing any permanent damage.

A hand popped up from the back of the room. I acknowledged it.

“Have you ever ridden Prince Valiant?”

I found the face attached to the raised hand. It was an older boy standing with a group of his peers, his face was red with embarrassment. I knew where the boy was trying to go with this and quickly headed him off at the pass.

“Of course not. Princes do not carry passengers.”

He tried again.

I interjected.

“Princes do not carry passengers.” I returned my attention to the children at the front of the room. “Who knows what an ogre is?”

When the children collected their things and headed out of the library’s great room, twenty minutes later, The Ogre Raids had begun. Their conversations consisted of sharing what they knew about ogres and comparing notes in anticipation of our next visit.

As I rose from my chair and picked up my bag I noticed that the room had not emptied out entirely. A young man stood by the entry. He was tall, well-groomed yet comfortably dressed and was wearing a friendly expression. Ogres wear friendly expressions too. In the beginning.

I told myself that he is probably just a weekend dad that didn’t get the message from his ex that Timmy has a fever and not to pick him up for a visit today. I crossed the room at an efficient speed to get whatever it was over with quickly. I had things to do.

“I did not know that a unicorn could become a prince.” Were the young man’s first words.

“In Faerie anything is possible.” I responded.

“You’re very good with children. How long have you been teaching?”

“I’m not a teacher.” I said as I continued my journey.

He fell into step next to me. “How long have you worked at the library?”

“I don’t.”

The stranger looked at the sign posted at the room’s entry. “How long have you been an actress?”

“I’m not.”

He looked at me more closely. I could tell that he was studying everything. The shiny gloves peeking out of my bag, my outfit, the elaborate styling of my hair, the vibrancy of my make-up. “You’re not a teacher, a librarian, or an actress. Who are you then? Why are you telling stories to children?”

“My name is Gertrude, Gertrude Scott. Who wants to know?”

“Everyone.” He said with a smile. The young man pulled a card out of his jacket pocket as I stopped to put on my coat. “Ty. My name is Ty Betterman, I’m a reporter for The Post. I was sent here by my editor to write a story.”

“About?”

“About ‘An Hour In Faerie,’” He responded, pointing to the sign. “About you.”

“ ‘An Hour In Faerie’ is a story hour set in the land of Faerie.” I said picking up my bag. “End of story. Congratulations. You’re done.” I said as I proceeded to walk away.

When Your Blog Characters Read Your Novel

“Oh my goodness. That is most exciting.” Diomedes exclaims. The dragon looks around the room at the others and smiles.

Ray and Carp look up from their e-readers.

“Where are you?” Carp asks.

“In the woods. Everyone is how do you humans say it? Everyone is outfitted for confrontation?”

“Everyone is packing?” Carp suggests.

“Locked and loaded.” Tinkletoes answers absentmindedly. He presses the button on his controller to continue his video game. (Sorry, virtual training exercise.)

“Oh my goodness.” Diomedes calls out. He thumps his tail in amusement, setting Aunt Purdy’s rocking chair in motion lightly tapping the wall. “It is most humorous how you humans do battle.”

“Duuude. No spoilers.” Ray says.

An explosion comes from the television signaling that Tinkletoes’ character has died. The self-proclaimed mercenary growls under his breath and starts a new game.

“No way.” Ray says.

Carp looks up from his reader. “Way.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Carp repeats.

Tinkletoes goes up in flames again.

“Oh my.” Diomedes says. The dragon is a tranquil blue color with a violet tint indicating he is having a good time.

“Anyone up for a game?” Tinkletoes asks.

Ray shakes his head.

“Bu-sy.” Carp responds without looking up from the screen.

Tinkletoes studies the group for a moment. He shuts everything down and puts the gaming equipment away. “What are you guys doing?” He asks.

“Reading.” Carp answers.

Diomedes looks up from his dragon sized reading device. “It’s most entertaining. Most entertaining. A story about a darling woman fighting a cannibal.”

Tinkletoes looks at Diomedes questioningly.

“Heather Darling and The Case of The Clockwork Cannibal.” Carp corrects. “It is quite entertaining.”

“No way man!” Ray proclaims.

“Way.” Carp says.

Tinkletoes looks around the room and spots an abandoned reading device on the table next to the couch. The self- proclaimed mercenary sits down next to the table and picks up the device when he thinks that no one is looking. “How do you turn this thing on?”

Carp holds out his hand and takes the device from Tinkletoes. He opens it up. “Do you want to read the book too?”

There is no response.

Carp turns his head and looks at Tinkletoes.

“I guess so.”

Carp puts down his device long enough to set the other device up for Tinkletoes. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary takes one look at the cover and asks, “This isn’t one of your books is it?”

“Are there half naked people on the cover?” Carp asks. “Does it say ‘Jenny Love’ at the bottom?”

“No.”

“Then it’s clearly not one of mine.”

Tinkletoes begins reading, decides to abandon the book and just as he’s putting the e-reader back down on the table...

“An excellent outcome. That was most enjoyable.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary picks it back up and reads. After a few minutes he begins shaking his head. At an hour in, he is muttering to himself. He shakes his head and puts the e-reader back on the table. Tinkletoes looks around the room. No one is looking at him. No one is talking. “That is a waste of time.” He proclaims.

“You don’t like it?” Carp asks.

“Duuude, how do you not like it?”

“A woman wrote that. One that doesn’t know anything about men.” He responds.

Carp and Ray look at Tinkletoes.

“Detective Farina? Real men don’t act like that.”

Carp and Ray look at each other. Carp looks back at Tinkletoes. “Some men do.”

“Well they’re pu....”

A child runs through the living room chasing a pixie.

“...wimps.” Tinkletoes leans in and whispers. “She calls him ‘Vagina.’ No man in his right mind is gonna put up with that.”

“It’s a term of endearment going back to the first book. It’s unusual but charming in it’s own way.”

Ray nods. “It’s a long story man.”

Tinkletoes counters, “A real man wouldn’t put up with it. I wouldn’t put up with it.”

“Terms of endearment can be embarrassing but he’s got a girlfriend. Can you say the same thing?” Carp asks.

“I may not have a woman right now but no one calls me funny names.”

“Your name is Tinkletoes.” Carp says.

“Damn right it is.”

“Are you not seeing the irony?”

“Alpha males have unusual names, it helps us stand out in a crowd.”

“Tin-kle-toes.” Carp says.

“Yes?”

Carp looks at Ray, “He doesn’t get the irony.”

“That’s rough man. Cheese puffs?”

“Sounds good.” Carp responds. “It’ll go great with the shoot out.”

“There are guns and stuff?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Ye-ah.”

“Maybe I’ll read a few more pages.” The self-proclaimed mercenary picks up the reading device. “Point me to the guns.”

"Heather Darling and The Case of the Clockwork Cannibal" is available for download on Amazon.