In their youth, when sharks circled the deep end of swimming pools and spiders might replace water from the shower head at any given moment, the girls, accustomed to solitary times in any endless array of characterless hotel and motel bedchambers, as poppa bet and momma dealt or danced depending on her physical appearance and vitality that season… Don’t let me digress, upon entering any of their new and temporary spaces, Virginia three years eldest, always took to the bed nearest the door, giving her little sister Charlotte the window view. Charlotte never once complained nor tried to even this exchange. They each proceeded to unpack similar toys and clothes from two extremely similar suitcases. Sometimes they’d play, most times one would pretend to watch a movie while the other feigned to read, hiding their similar fears behind first denim and Con’s, later silk, soft jersey knits and lace wrapping up their irreversible sadness’ in neat tidy bundles.
As the sisters grew to realize their silent coexisting game, the two would come to find this point in time to confess of their ancient ridiculous shame.
For one, I had always assumed that the killer would enter through the window to take you, leaving me to escape through the door, Charlotte. Tears welled up in the corners of each eye.
We must be more than sisters then, because I too assumed—that the killer would enter, only always through the door to kill you Virginia as I would escape through our window. They smiled briefly, identical heirloom rings glinting from the chains around their necks, one white like silver, the other one rose gold.
They could make out their father’s footsteps up the hall. Both were eager to greet him with kisses and hugs, just like the old days when rooms like this one were the nearest thing they knew to home. Through the window frame the sun hung like a radiant blob of lava suspended in a massive, still, blue rectangle lamp displayed upon an end table; lighting up the length and highlighting the depth of their day.
They both had their health, both prayed for their fathers vitality and wealth, which affects them, both of them.
The Loveliest Fairy in This World.
Fairy Tales are more than true. They bring us dragons, and preach that dragons can be slain. You laugh. I did too. But, did you know that when you took your very first laugh, it was ecstacy broken—into a thousand and one pieces? It was and those pieces all skitted about, fierce fits of rapture trying for flight and then one did.
That is the birthing of fairies.
Each bumbling girl or boy is involved—this means that there is one fairy for every boy and girl in this world.
I know that I have one.
His name is Mr. Doasyouwillbedoneby Anddont Askwhy. He is wonderful.