Mara as told in her own words
The city bus arrived. After boarding, I turned toward the window to gaze at the scene one last time. The guy I dubbed ‘Mr. Sunshine’ glanced up and smiled—rakishly.
Back then I practiced the art of denial. I was unlike any of my classmates. In a way, I felt ostracized. All my young life weird experiences happened to me, things no one else noticed or saw. By eight or nine I had learned to keep my mouth shut; except, of course, for talking to myself. I came to accept that others did not see glitter floating through the air, or light emanating off of people. Never mind ogres and trolls. Over the years I barely even registered seeing these things anymore.
For my eyes alone, Mr. Sunshine exuded first a golden aura followed by a purple afterglow that I found particularly enchanting. Admit it, Sweetie, the reason photography captured you as a little girl was to prove to Mom that fairies are real, I had thought. With fervent effort, my younger self had tried every trick I could contrive, yet I never came upon a camera or f-stop setting that could capture the authentic auras witnessed daily.
Triggered by the golden glow given off by Mr. Sunshine, a swift succession of images flashed through my mind that day— In the garden at age three: Daddy pointing at a pair of tiny shoes beneath the ferns in the backyard. The shoes swiveled back and walked deeper into the shadowed green. Daddy chuckled and held me tight before kissing my brow and setting me down.
I re-experienced being in first grade during the third week of school: Leaving the lunchroom, a raucous clatter sounded when a lid fell off a trash can. Turning around, a scream escaped my lips as an ogre dressed in the janitor’s clothes cussed and picked up the lid. The humiliation and taunting of my classmates made me sick for a week.
At Daddy’s memorial service: The entire world glowed with fairy lights, but especially at the cemetery. Most of the guests emitted light, some had wings. And the air swirled with glitter and scents so sweet I would have cried because it enchanted me so. But I was already crying. Little people—I had been told by my father that they were brownies, fairies, and wind sprites—hid in the lilacs nearby. Little people that my mother said did not exist.
“They don’t exist,” I quoted by rote.
With a slight shake of my head to clear my mind, I dispelled the images in order to deal with the reality of work.
Aerrvin as told by Bronwyn
It wasn’t as if he’d meant to sound petulant. Aerrvin couldn’t have asked for a more faithful servant as found in Bronwyn MacIntash. Making a scene on the beach showed a petulance not often revealed. Most days he was his own Purple self. He loved the qualities of being a Purple Fairy; it allowed him to be more playful and carefree. In his opinion, it was better than being Yellow, like his sister.
Ah, Harmony, he thought as he lounged upon the shore, she’s the one at fault. Without her demands, I would not have yelled at Bronwyn at all.
***
“I am not selfish! I simply want to do as I please, is that so hard to understand?”
“No, Aerrvin, I understand you. I do. It is just—hmm, you are turning one hundred and ninety years old next month, and you have yet to find a bride. Your parents are beginning to despair, and for them, that is saying something! You know how patient they are,” the broad Brownie sighed but kept a steady eye on his charge.
“I know, I know! If tha’ sister o’ mine had waited a pint-size longer t’marry, they would not be ever fretful!” In his frustration, his Irish accent grew thick. “Aye, she be t’cause of all me woes!”
Splashing his foot in the tide pool, Aerrvin appreciated the musical sound as he witnessed the sun catching the liquid diamonds before they rejoined the small impression in the sand. Becalmed, he continued, “Just because tradition says the oldest must have a child first, doesn’t mean it must be so. Does it?”
“Well, sir if I may say so, such a thing has never been done. Do you wish to break tradition, just to see what happens?”
Bronwyn had a point, so Aerrvin agreed to think upon it. The Brownie removed himself a respectful distance away. Each appeared in his natural state, being roughly six inches in height. Bronwyn climbed onto a piece of driftwood and settled down to whittle some delicate whimsy.
Situated between the two starfish in the tide pool, Aerrvin wriggled to find the most comfortable position. He visualized how he looked as his golden hair swirled in the ripples. His vanity showed on his face at the thought. Though truth be told, Bronwyn sat busily carving that very scene from the driftwood upon which he perched. The rendering would attest to the beauty of the fair prince as his hair danced in unison with the sea urchins and anemones.
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The tide inched its way up each half hour, so Aerrvin dared himself to come to a decision before the pool became a part of the ocean herself. Stroking the nubby surface of the purple starfish on his right soothed his anxiety over having yelled at Bronwyn. Not only was he Aerrvin’s personal servant, but the Brownie was also his royal historian and advisor. Brownies are brilliant at most any task they are given and are excellent writers. Aerrvin allowed it was quite disrespectful to lash out against him. Here! Here!
The truth of the matter was that Aerrvin was also partially White in his genetic make-up, causing him to cycle out of his happy-go-lucky moods from time to time. Being in a White Fairy mood meant that Aerrvin felt a need to withdraw from social contact. Sometimes he hid away for days, other times months. During these cycles, all beings learned that he was best left alone. Even so, being in a White frame of mind meant he could ponder more clearly, and make wiser decisions. It was deemed a good trait for a future King to have. Entering The Land of Dreams within the Void, Aerrvin chose to visit long-past memories—events, dear reader, which he chooses to keep to himself at present. Suffice it to say he pondered upon each fair maiden he had known up to this point. As the tide neared its highest mark, the delightful Wind Sprite, Mirri Sihee—Aerrvin’s constant and invisible-to-most companion—advised, “My Lord, I do agree, tis time for you to put aside your childhood. If I could wed thee, I surely would, as well you know. But go, make a legend of your search, one worthy of the bards in olden times.” Delight warmed his soul causing a small fit of joy to bubble out. “Ha! Mirri you are the light that cheers my soul. How could I find anyone who could compare?” Aerrvin hugged his precious companion and nodded; his chin tapped softly against her iridescently sheer shoulder. Then lying back down upon the starfish whereon they lay he continued, “But yes, you are correct: Tis time and time enough to be sure.” Mirri Sihee ran her feather soft fingers through his golden locks; breathing sweet songs of peace into his soul. With a mental sigh, Aerrvin rose up out of the tide pool. The young Fairy Prince squared his shoulders as he prepared to upsize to full Human proportions and proclaim his willingness to comply.
1 Picture Perfect
And if our dreams should go awry, what then my sweet, what then? ~ Morvayne ap Stewart
Thursday, May 7, 2009
For Mara, only one thing filled her life with meaning: her art. Photography consumed her imagination. With her camera, she felt she could make a difference in the world.
But it wasn’t true. Nothing she did could bring him back. None of her pictures captured the proof she sought. The college student had nothing else to cling to, so she allowed her passion for photography to consume her.
Mara stood at the crossroads of life that day—unaware of the many eyes trained upon her. The destiny of that single young woman balanced upon a pin, a destiny that would affect the lives of everyone. Those watching noticed that Seattle’s morning hum barely filtered into her consciousness as she walked to the corner to catch the bus. Stop and go traffic, belching exhaust from passing buses, and nearly getting run over by an angry bicyclist did nothing to sway her intense focus.
Swiping a dark curl out of her eyes, Mara spoke to herself, “Hmm, the assignment is to photograph unique images that represent nature in the city. Nature in the city—nature, natural, hmm.” Unable to come to a decision for her college final, she emitted an explosive sigh of exasperation.
Mara’s face brightened as she neared her bus stop in front of an old, vacant laundromat, bustling with new life. Workers were taking boxes into the building from a truck. She settled lightly on a nearby bench, seemingly enchanted by the blond in particular. Since her camera was already in her hand, Mara snapped a few shots to add to her photo journal. An annoying translucent Wind Sprite kept blocking Mara’s view. Exasperated, she grabbed it around the waist and flung it aside, ignoring its protests as easily as she had ignored the bicyclist. Adjusting the zoom, Mara soon captured the object of her interest.
In the afternoon sun, an aura of gold emanated away from him for a moment. Her next sigh was vastly different from her previous one.
That was when her bus arrived. Most of her watchers followed Mara to work and later back home, once again. Yet, one alone remained, intent on knowing more about this golden boy.
May 8, 2009
“Friday,” Mara said, smoothing her curls in front of the mirror. “Today, I turn in my idea for photography. And I have a calculus test. I hate math!” Hastily, she applied a pale pink blush and a light skiff of brown eyeshadow to accentuate her lavender blue eyes. “No time for mascara, I might miss the bus,” she murmured as she rushed out of her room.
Mara’s housemate caught Mara mumbling, she quipped, “Talking to yourself again?”
Jill rented the bedroom suite across the hall. They shared Mara’s house, inherited from her beloved great aunt.
“Not any more than usual,” Mara replied as the two went downstairs for breakfast. “What are we doing tonight?”
“A block party to welcome our new neighbors!” Jill shimmied down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“I am woefully ignorant of any new neighbors, but it sounds fun,” Mara responded, grabbing an orange and a granola bar.
Mara’s lack of enthusiasm and odd vocabulary caused Jill to roll her eyes at her younger housemate.
Offering Jill a shrug and a smile, Mara went out the door. She walked the half block to the bus stop, but she was earlier than needed, so she walked further down the street to the old laundromat on the next corner.
“Just to check on their progress,” she mused. A small, twisty smile pulled at her mouth. She was lying to herself but wasn’t ready to admit it. Mr. Sunshine’s smile from the day before still played with vibrant color in her mind.