Who I Want to Be

Beyond the Picket Fence

Anna always tells me how wild I was as a child. When I first moved in, she had to pull me away from the fields behind her house, where I would spend hours playing. I was rambunctious and reckless and often wound up hurting myself. Because of this, she would leave a first aid kit on the back step, and had to make a list of prohibited behaviors. One such rule was that I could not pass the picket fence lining the property. For some reason, she said, I was always desperate to explore the woods beyond.

I think it stemmed from a memory long ago. One of the few memories that still contain my mother. We were back in the city, mom lying in her rocker, and me colouring on the floor. I could not have been older than five or six. I looked up and watched my mother quietly rocking. Her eyes were shut, her lashes like butterflies; her hands were slightly curled with purple polished nails; her whole body swayed, and I feared a gust could knock her over. She was sick, and had to rest, like heroines in old hollywood films. To me she seemed delicate and graceful and beautiful.

"Mom," I asked, "Are you a fairy?" While waiting for a reply, I pulled out a pink crayon to colour in the wings of my picture.

"And why would you think that dear?" Although her voice was slow, it still sounded light and airy.

"I don't know. Are you?" I looked back up. Her eyes were open, sparkling blue, and centered on me.

"No, silly." She smiled a gentle, angelic smile.

"How do you know?"

"Mm," she tapped a finger to her lips. Her eyes had a conspiratorial glint. "Because I saw one."

"You saw a real fairy?" I was amazed. Recklessly, I abandoned my colouring and climbed onto my mother's lap.

"Careful Gabrielle."

"Tell me! Tell me!"

"Only if you promise to keep it a secret. We don't want this getting out to the press, right?"

"Mhm, mhm," I nodded vigorously. My mother laughed once again.

"Very well." My mother shut her eyes again and tilted her head upwards, beyond the ceiling and towards the sky.

"When I was very little, about your age," she gave me a squeeze, "Auntie Anna and I were playing in the field behind our house. Gramma and Gramps lived in a huge farm out East, and everyday after school Anna and I would simply explore. One time, we decided to climb over the property fence and go into the woods."

"Why?" My mother opened her eyes to look at me.

"I can't remember."

"Is that where you saw the fairy?" I incessantly tapped her shoulder. She grabbed my hand and held it.

"I'm getting to that part. Patience." There was that smile again. "Anyway, as we got deeper into the woods, Anna started getting really scared. She wanted us to go back, but I wanted to keep looking. When I finally agreed to turn around, it was too late," Mother looked deep into my eyes, "We were lost." I gasped and Mother copied me, her face going wide with playful shock.

"What did you do?"

"We decided to wait - it would be better than getting more lost. Then suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small shimmering light."

"A fairy!" Mother laughed.

"Yes," she agreed, "a fairy. The light was moving and we began to follow it. As we walked, I swore I saw tiny wings inside it. Eventually, we were led back to the farm. When we turned around, the fairy was gone."

"I want to meet a fairy too." I leaned back against my mother's chest. Suddenly, I was feeling very tired.

"Maybe you will someday." She strung a hand through my hair. Her fingers were soft and warm. Maybe.

"Then we could be best friends." Mother was humming a soft tune. She began rocking gently to the rhythm.

"I'm sure you would." Her voice was a soft whisper. It tickled the hairs on my arms. Slowly, I shut my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

*****

It is that dream again - the one that occasionally repeats. I awake out of breath, sweltering and sweaty. I pull off my sticky blanket and sit up. My whole body is shaking.

I dreamed that I was lost in the woods, being chased by something unidentifiable, when I stumbled across an old cave. There were lights inside, like in my mother's story, but before I could enter the darkness swallowed me up. Then it was empty.

The clock is ticking in the background, alongside the humming sound of the fan. Slowly, I get up off my bed and walk to the window. There is a windowsill seat there, with several pillows. I sit and yank open the window to let the breeze flow in. It is still night outside. A crescent moon hovers in the sky, lightly illuminating tops of trees in the distances. From this angle, the forest looks like a snow covered field.

I listen to sounds in the distance: the hoot of an owl, the scurrying of woodland creatures, the rumble of passing cars. The noises disconnect me from the world so that I am simply an observer. I am watching the universe turn without time passing for me. I am divided by a plate of glass. This helps to catch my breath. If I am apart from the world, If it continues without my existence, then it cannot hurt me. My dream cannot mean anything.

In the night, the grass is dyed midnight black. The wind strokes it like brush to ink, making ripples through the stretch of flat ground. Where did all that excitement go - all that wonder? I was once that little kid in Anna's stories, the one that played behind the house, the one easily excited by fairies and magic, the one with bright eyed curiosity. Now, that part of me is lost. I am still stupidly childish, but without the joys of childhood. A saddening enigma for sure.

Then a glint. A spark. Deep in the woods. I blink. Impossible. Another flash of light, further in. I blink again. Sleep deprivation has devoured me, I am imagining things. A story is a story and nothing more. I am simply clinging to memories, desperate for a sign that my mother is not entirely gone. A third spark, closer this time. No, I am not playing along with my hallucinations. I slam the window shut, the outside world silent with one quick snap. The flashes rest in the back of my head, though, vivid images of lights glowing through darkened woods. I squeeze my eyes shut but they do not leave. They imprint themselves, cling, resist. I really am pathetic; I cannot even stand up to my own delusions. I am weak.

My bed is still damp from sweat. I sigh, lying back into my pillow. Beneath everything else, the lights carry a strange allure. They are whispering to me through the walls. You can change. You can change. They know my fears and they feed off of it, leaving me lonely and dry. Already salty tears pull from my eyes.

I do not like who I am. I look grotesque, I act abnormal, I have no friends, I am idiotic and pathetic. These lights know it, and they want these insecurities, grasping at them without hands. Worst of all, I want that life. The one I keep looking at through glass panes, the one I see in the halls and on the bus. I want friends. I want the spotlight. I want beauty and grace. I want everything I do not have and it sickens me. The lights, they tell me that I can change, but I cannot. I have no idea how. Seeing that world pass by me, as I sit complacent, I hate it. I hate it all. And the sparks, they know it. Real or not, they know it. All at once, I am terrified and intrigued.