Another journal

Written during my month of writing.  You can find all the sections here.

The house was a heavy, after-midnight quiet. Emily checked the children again, returning to her seat on the couch, unread book to hand. She’d been sitting there an hour or more, still absorbing everything Becky had told her. It was patently ridiculous information, wish fulfilment, but Emily couldn’t figure a motive for such an elaborate lie. She’d never been so anxious for the kids’ parents to get home, they could give independent confirmation to everything Becky had said. Or denial.

A careful step on the porch outside alerted Emily. The homeowners found her standing in the middle of the raised living room, practically wringing her hands.

“I’m gonna guess Becky had a talk with you.” Nut brown and balding, with the easy carriage of someone who fixes things for a living, Mr. Terrin was an ultimately soothing presence. His wife gave Emily a smile and went to peek in at the children.

“So, it’s really for real? Oh, the kids were great, by the way, they’re all so much better behaved when they’ve got company. It helps that you guys use that sparkly gel toothpaste. Everybody really thinks that’s awesome.” Emily scratched her head and looked at Mr. Terrin from the corner of her eye, trying to place someone so terribly mortal in the sphere of the Sidhe. His wife slipped in from the hall, resting her hand on his arm.

“Thank you so much for watching them, Emily.” She held out folded bills, smiling. “There’s something extra in there, since I know you had quite an evening.”

Emily took the money, brow furrowing. Mrs. Terrin suddenly enveloped her in a hug, pinning Emily’s arms.

“Oh kiddo, it is true, you can’t even realise how grateful we are. You’ve been such a boon.” She gripped Emily’s shoulders and held her at arms length, bending her head down to meet her eyes. “It’s a lot to take in at once, I know. It’s late, you’re tired and so this is all the more unreal. I know this gambit is a cliché,” she gave Emily a slight shake, “but you’re our cliché.”

A pat on the shoulder from Mr. Terrin and another crushing hug from his wife found Emily on the porch, in the warm summer night. It was real.

On the porch of her aunt’s trailer, Emily fell into a hammock and lit one last cigarette. Her throat would be sore the next day as a consequence of seeking comfort and subconsciously matching Becky’s pack-a-day habit, but she liked the time for reflection. Behind her the trailer lay dark, her aunt probably asleep for hours.

Eighteen was an age that looked super exciting until it happened and the only benefits were voting, lottery tickets and being able to buy your own smokes instead of sneaking or caging them from disapproving adults. For the five months between her birthday and graduation Emily kept waiting for the other shoe to drop while normal life churned on. Though she never could have admitted it, she had been waiting for something like what had just happened, direction and purpose for an adult life dropped into her lap.

Becky had been right, she had no goals, except a vague idea of saving money and maybe going to a trade school. It wasn’t that she lacked a sense of motivation, Emily had just never found an end point to work for. She’d had a sneaking worry that getting promoted to manager at the grocery would be the high point of her life.

Not that she had to worry about that now. What she’d done up to that point—running lights for the theatre club, reading, saving up money for CDs and bicycling to the next town where there was a decent record store—it seemed even smaller and unconnected to the aimless desire for more she’d always felt. A part of her continued quantifying everything with “if it’s true.” If it was true, there had been nothing but that nagging feeling hinting at the future reveal. Which was all part of the gambit, probably.

Emily made a mental list of magical chosen child stories, deciding to read them through again to try and figure things out. She reminded herself that the stories were fiction, modern fairy tales and that she shouldn’t take any advice in them seriously. Startled, she realised that the entire situation she found herself in had no more grounding in science and fact. With a snort of laughter she crushed out her cigarette and turned in.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.