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.”