Darcey O'Brien

Sir Robert

Rebecca Wright stood next to the bed for no more than a few seconds, then ungracefully plopped onto her back and stretched out lazily on the top of the comforter. Too much family, too much food and too much football for a twelve year old - for any sane person under the age of 21 - to maintain some sort of livable equilibrium in this existence. Why do adults always do that? They try to cram twenty years of catching up on old ties into one holiday afternoon, eat like there's no tomorrow and swear that not one highly paid coach in the NFL knows half as much as Uncle Louie or Cousin Fred. Those Thanksgiving Turkeys win in spite of that bonehead coach, don't they? Too tired to giggle at the insanity of it all, young Miss Wright drifted off mercifully into lala land.

Half an hour later, Rebecca awoke, refreshed and smiling. Sometimes the holidays can really wear you down, she thought, but still she treasured each and every one. The eldest of four children, she had seen more and experienced more holidays than her two younger brothers and baby sister. Speaking of which, she supposed that Todd and Michael were passing the football outside with Cousins Freddie and Matt, and Sara was probably still in the throes of her afternoon nap. Rebecca crossed the hall into the bathroom to rinse the sleepers from her face and heard the quiet murmuring of after dinner conversation downstairs. Cigar smoke drifted upstairs, but she didn't mind. The soon-to-be teenager knew that her Mom and Dad loved their children and they loved each other, so a little cigar pollution a couple of times a year from the `Real Men' seemed to be a small price to pay for a totally happy childhood. How much she wanted to be like the high school girls - like dating and driving - but it was still nice to be Daddy's little girl, even though Sara was now the real little one.

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Mom told her to take up to an hour for a nap, but to come back down for pumpkin pie after that. It wouldn't do well to take any longer, as it would make the company feel as though they were being avoided. I've got about 20 minutes, she thought, as she sat on the bed and eyed her satin leather shoes for any scuff marks. None there, then she turned right toward the dresser and caught herself face-on in the mirror. Rebecca smiled at herself, but still wished that the gaps would fill in between her teeth. The dentist said `to give it some time', but it's already been three months since her last appointment. She then smiled at the fairy, sitting on her pillow. What?!

She spun quickly around to look at the pillow, still fluffed and covered by the comforter, the way she had left it this morning, the way her mother had taught her. There was nothing on the pillow, silly, maybe just too much stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy. She smiled at herself in the mirror, then jerked back in horror. That smiling fairy returned her smile. A soft moan crept out through her dry lips.

“I wish you no harm,” the fairy said in sweet, dulcet tone. Honey velvet couldn't sound any sweeter. Rebecca turned away, while holding her breath. “I'm right here… in the mirror.”

`Yeah, well you're there in some kind of a dream, but I'm awake,' Rebecca thought logically, as her big brown eyes avoided the face of the mirror. `I know I'm awake. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed and I just came out of the bathroom. I know I did.' Afraid to look up, afraid to look into the mirror and afraid to look at her pillow, Rebecca slowly, and in a shaky voice, counted to ten, then breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth exactly seven times. Seven was her lucky number.

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“Please look at me,” pleaded the fairy. “In the mirror. Please.”

“You're not real,” Rebecca whispered hesitantly. She feared looking into the mirror; it might lend credence to what she had just seen.

“I most certainly am,” remarked the fairy, looking intently without threat to the reflection of the young girl. “Look in the mirror and you'll see,” she said with a sweet Emerald Isle lilt.

“I don't want to.”

“Please, I won't harm you in any way.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Rebecca turned, half expecting to see a pretty face morph into ugliness with long, jagged teeth and eyes narrowed into cunning slits with yellow craziness where the whites should be. But her imagination did not replace her reality. The little fairy flashed a warm and inviting smile, a gentle offering of friendship. In the mirror, the fairy sat demurely with her legs crossed at the ankles on the pillow. It was difficult to judge her height as she was sitting, but Rebecca guessed her to be at the most ten inches tall. She wore a light green body suit with a see-through mesh skirt that stopped an inch above the knee. However strange she appeared, there was nothing quite like her translucent wings that seemed too fragile for flight.

“Who are you?” Rebecca felt a strange constriction in her throat. How do you talk to someone who doesn't exist? Or only exists in the mirror?

“Darcy,” answered the fairy, reassuring and friendly was her tone. “Darcy O'Brien. Back home, of course, I'm Little Darcy O'Brien.”

“Are you Irish?” Rebecca wanted to stay on familiar ground, something she knew or at least had heard about. She didn't want to enter into a tete-a-tete at a complete disadvantage, but it didn't look like there was any other way around it. This…whatever seemed to have the upper hand.

“Not really. I'm a fairy, just one of the Folke.”

“Folke?”

“Aye,” Darcy said. “The Folke are fairies and elves, leprechauns and other little people who exist and share space in the Globe with you and your family and friends, and all of the rest of the Creator's creatures.”

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Rebecca jerked her head quickly to spy the pillow and not from the vantage point of the mirror, but there was nothing there. There wasn't even an indentation where the fairy sat.

“Are you like a guardian angel?” Comfort started to ease its way into Rebecca's voice.

“No, Rebecca,” reasoned Darcy. “That's spiritual. Fairies are not angels. Well, I suppose that a fairy can be an angel eventually if he or she earns such merit. No, fairies are simply a part of this great Globe to make life more pleasing and tolerable, whereas angels are more like soldiers of and for the Creator.”

Still unsure of what to do or say, Rebecca then asked: “Why are you here then?”

Darcy displayed a picture-perfect smile. “I have been an apprentice - well actually, I still am an apprentice - to a dream weaver. I've come to be your friend, that is, if you're agreeable.”

“A dream weaver? Does that mean that you can make dreams come true?” Even at her delicate age, Rebecca believed that to really be far-fetched.

“No,” Darcy replied, with absolute finality. “I just try to help you to interpret them better. Once you understand them - your dreams, that is - the easier it is to enjoy your complete existence.”

“This is so weird. I never heard of this kind of thing.” Naturally, Rebecca felt more than just a twinge of skepticism. A fairy and dream interpreter - I must be nuts. “I mean, do you do this with other people? Or are there other fairies around?”

“Well, first of all,” Darcy started, “there really are no other fairies around, at least, not that close. And secondly, I've never approached anyone else like this. But all I'm asking is that you give me a chance.”

“For what?”

“Just to be friends,” replied Darcy.

Perplexed by this somewhat unorthodox relationship, Rebecca furrowed her unblemished brow. Of course, she was amenable to making new friends; new friends meant new ways of enjoying life and laughing at different things and meeting new and interesting people. But a fairy? In the mirror, yet? Strange is strange, but this is really ten dill pickle stranger. What did you do over Thanksgiving? Well, I had this really interesting conversation with a fairy in my bedroom mirror. Top that, will ya?

“Can you fly?” Rebecca asked. Proof is in the pudding, whatever that means. Geez, this is really too weird.

“Yes.” Darcy's wings extended half again as much as they were in repose, then started to flutter slowly but with much authority. She clasped her hands together, then lifted off the pillow about a foot and hovered in place, her smile never leaving her lovely face. As Rebecca stared into the mirror, it also came to her inquisitive attention that the dainty fairy didn't even leave a shadow. She was just `there'.

“Now, about your dreams,” Darcy began, “Is there someone special or something special you dream about?”

“You mean you can't see into my dreams?” Rebecca inquired. “I thought that's what you've been talking about? Seeing into my dreams and…what is you said? Help me interpret them better?”

“I can't come into your dreams uninvited,” explained the tiny fairy. “I can be there in your daydreams when you consciously invite me or in your sleeping dreams when a certain event triggers my coming into your dreams. For example, if you want me to enter your dreams, you might pull a rope or ring a bell or skip in the sunlight. But if I came into your dreams uninvited, it would be an invasion of privacy, your privacy. In fact, I and others like me would be severely punished if we trespassed uninvited into a dream.”

Click on Darcey O'Brien Conts.

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