The Absurdity of Fairy Tales

three

..

Are you watching, mother?

I'm trying to be better, I promise.

But every day feels like a dream

And I'm just waiting for the nightmares.

..

My parents are standing over my bed when I open my eyes.

My mother beams down at me, tears falling freely. Same loose curls, same smile, same clothes she died in. My dad, standing beside her with one hand on the curve of her shoulder, is smiling too, his glasses crooked and dark hair messy like always.

"We love you," Dad whispers, and his eyes are impossibly glassy. I can see myself in them, young and scared and vulnerable.

My mom stretches a hand out to me, palm up, her pianist's fingers calloused but delicate. Same treble clef tattoo, too. When I was little and got bad dreams at night, I'd crawl into my parents' bed and trace the lines of black ink—semicircle, curve upwards, swoop down and then curl at the end again. Without even thinking about it, I stretch my hand out too, reaching for her, reaching, reaching—

And as soon as my fingers close over hers, I wake up.

A sob gets caught in the middle of my throat as I sit up, my frantic heartbeat breaking through the silence. I let my head fall back onto my pillow, my eyes squeezed shut, and try to remember how to breathe.

They're gone, I tell myself bitterly. They're dead, Arielle. They died a long time ago.

But when I dress for school, I still can't look at the boxes at the top of my closet labeled 'Mom' and 'Dad'.

..

A few days later, Nick and I are on our way to History when someone bumps into me hard, throwing me off balance. I turn to glare at them and come face-to-face with a scared-looking girl, apologies flying out of her mouth at the speed of light.

My glare melts away instantly as I catch the wild panic in her eyes. "Hey, hey, it's okay," I soothe, smiling at her gently. "It was an honest mistake."

"I—" she breaks off and looks down at her shoes as a group of girls, huddled around a nearby locker, laugh nastily. "Sorry," she whispers again, eyes bright with tears. Empathy forms a knot in my windpipe as I recognize the similarities between her and freshman-me.

I place a careful hand on her shoulder. She snaps her head up to me like a deer caught in headlights. "What's your name?"

"M—Mei," she stutters out, worrying her lip between her teeth. The girls behind us laugh again, and anger burns white-hot against the back of my throat. No. I will not let them treat her like this, not let her be pushed around like I was.

"It's nice to meet you, Mei," I say, trying to control my temper. "I'm Arielle." I gesture to Nick, and he waves at her with a kind smile. "And this is Nick."

"Hi," she whispers, giving us a shy smile. My heart crumbles and then reassembles two sizes bigger like the Grinch on Christmas morning.

"Those girls aren't worth it," I say gently.

She blinks furiously as her eyes fill with tears. I understand how she's feeling all too well. It's hard to accept that people can care about you when you've felt worthless for so long. "I—I thought they were my friends. Now all they do is laugh at me and call me names. I don't know why."