Innocence

The trees brushed past my window in the car in uneven patterns of shades of green and brown- there were a few leave that had already begun to fade into the reds and golds of fall and an even fewer had already fallen to the ground in celebration of the aptly named season. I wished I could grasp them- in my childish twelve year old mind I could see the elegant fairies and woodfolk that I had not yet ceased to believe in swimming through the branches. It was a childish notion, yes, but it was oh so magical!1

There were two people sitting in the front seat- my grandparents- occasionally they looked back at me as if they thought I would vanish-mostly they just left me to my dream world. How did they know? Perhaps they recognized some faraway look in my eyes that glazed them over so that nothing could discern what it was I was seeing; they had had children before so they would have to know.2

Once I caught a glimpse of a smiling green face—a real fairy, I gasped in childish delight—it was a mere fleeting image in real sight but it stayed in my minds eye for the rest of the journey—I thought of that fairy constantly, it had been ill formed in my sight when my eye caught it but I eventually pieced it together well enough so it could be my friend, a secret companion only I knew about who would be there constantly on my shoulder with an open ear and smiling face.3

Such a sweet fairy!4

Her name (for I had pieced her together female) was Jenny and she was a lovely fairy—only the size of my child’s palm and appearing even more delicate for she was glowed in such a manner that she seemed almost translucent, or perhaps that was my true sight and mind’s eye competing for reality. Still, she always was a pale peach in color, glowing like a setting sun and shimmering in her aura of cheery play. I loved her wings most—pearly clear wings that tickled my nose when I would tease her; I loved those wings.5

She became my special secret friend that day in the car ride—I later wondered just why Jenny chose to tag with me. Weren’t there other little girls in need of a friend? Perhaps I was the only one who could see her? I believed, l believed, I believed in fairies and that is why she chose me my mind reasoned. I believe that Jenny agreed too—I once asked her why when we were alone in my tiny room—she did not answer my question, rather she just kissed me on the head and said she loved me. My little fairy, so sweet. She loved me.6

I am sorry for what I did to you.7

Truly it was an accident—it was something I could not prevent. I think she began to fade when my innocence left me—was that all you saw in me, Jenny? That car ride here you saw a little girl who ought to have been mature by now but was not—you grasped onto this last offering of innocence and fed on it, in return for food I got a friend—still you did not deserve what I did to you.8

My mind turned away from our silly games of whispers and jokes and embraced make-up and sex appeal—did my sudden maturity disgust you? We shared a good year together and then I turned thirteen and noticed that I had breasts and noticed that cooties were not real.9

I lasted longer than most.10

Slowly you were replaced by loud music and glossy magazines—I began to care more about reality and lost those notions I once had that the trees were full of wood creatures and the fairies you had introduced me to—there were only trees and whistling leaves and the natural normal animals that lived there—nothing magical—and slowly I began to no longer believe in you—I should have noticed that droop in your glossy wings and how you no longer glowed; I could see through you even more, you were fading into a ghost and I never noticed as I regaled you with stories of lust and scathing hatred of my life. I never noticed until you were gone and still I did not notice.11

I believe I simply forgot that you existed.12

You had been fading a little more each day that I began to grow used to not having you—when you were gone there was only an emptiness that went unnamed. It wasn’t until I read Peter Pan that I remembered you—my little fairy, is it true that your kind dies when a child ceases to believe in fairies? If so then I killed you Jenny and for that I am sorry. You were always my special friend and when I remembered you I think I cried—Jenny, my sweet Jenny, forgive me—I think I believe again. You are in every word that I pen, have you become my muse? Thank you Jenny.13

Perhaps I shall meet more fairies, now that I am innocent again.14