And so (continuing from my previous post) I went to bed that night with a record cache of baby teeth under my pillow and accordingly high expectations for the Tooth Fairy. You’ll think I only dreamt what happened next, but I know better.
I was asleep, when suddenly my father appeared at the foot of my bed. He was somehow a smaller version of himself by at least a foot; he was also uncharacteristically . . . happy. Tweaking my big toe through the blanket, he whispered urgently, “Wake up, wake up! There’s someone here to see you.”
And I woke up right then, no question.
I turned my head toward the hallway and into the doorway slowly stepped a glowing fairy princess of full, adult height. She was dressed very much like Glinda the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz, with a smaller crown. She held a wand that went all the way to the floor. She seemed to be made of light and sparkled from head to foot, and I could see through her.
As my father smiled and retreated, I lay there gaping at -- well, who else could it be but the Tooth Fairy? Apparently she’d make herself known for a high roller like me, when it was a matter of multiples under the pillow.
She turned to face me, and spoke, directly to me. But something was wrong. Just as with the schoolboy’s scribbling, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She continued on, talking rapidly in some kind of language, or level of my language, that was completely beyond me. I lay perfectly still for some minutes, trying and failing to grasp even a word.
It pains me still to recall what happened next.
I (ouch) spoke.
“What did you bring me?”
Instant regret.
The presumed Tooth Fairy startled, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time. Without another word, she turned into the hallway and floated out of sight.
I was mortified. Selfish, selfish!
And when -- after a rough night of self-recrimination -- I found two dollars (a veritable fortune then) under my pillow, it might as well have been blood money to me.
I’d have given anything, for many years, to have been able to take those child’s words back. People have suggested since that she might have been some kind of well-dressed spirit guide, there by coincidence, communicating with my “higher self,” some part of me that would have understood had I been, as she may have assumed, asleep. Maybe so. All I know is that I understand why people talk about their inner child, or used to. Sometimes it’s the only way to contemplate forgiveness for yourself. Because how many chances are you going to get to say “sorry” to somebody like that?
Yet there was more that night: whoever she was, seconds after she disappeared, a beautiful ball of gentle white light floated in from the hallway, crossing slowly in front of me and out through the wall. I knew it was her.
It's possible she wasn't even angry with me at all.
Of course, being six or so, I immediately jumped out of bed and ran to my parents’ room, shouting for my father. “She was here! She was here! The Tooth Fairy was here!” But my father, not happy to see let alone hear me, had somehow contracted amnesia. His brief happy-go-lucky personality had disappeared, and he had the crazy idea I’d just had a dream.
“But you were there -- you woke me up! You saw her before I did!” I insisted.
I’m pretty sure we both shook our heads over each other for a few days after that. If not a few years.
I was conscious that time, I swear.
I was asleep, when suddenly my father appeared at the foot of my bed. He was somehow a smaller version of himself by at least a foot; he was also uncharacteristically . . . happy. Tweaking my big toe through the blanket, he whispered urgently, “Wake up, wake up! There’s someone here to see you.”
And I woke up right then, no question.
I turned my head toward the hallway and into the doorway slowly stepped a glowing fairy princess of full, adult height. She was dressed very much like Glinda the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz, with a smaller crown. She held a wand that went all the way to the floor. She seemed to be made of light and sparkled from head to foot, and I could see through her.
As my father smiled and retreated, I lay there gaping at -- well, who else could it be but the Tooth Fairy? Apparently she’d make herself known for a high roller like me, when it was a matter of multiples under the pillow.
She turned to face me, and spoke, directly to me. But something was wrong. Just as with the schoolboy’s scribbling, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She continued on, talking rapidly in some kind of language, or level of my language, that was completely beyond me. I lay perfectly still for some minutes, trying and failing to grasp even a word.
It pains me still to recall what happened next.
I (ouch) spoke.
“What did you bring me?”
Instant regret.
The presumed Tooth Fairy startled, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time. Without another word, she turned into the hallway and floated out of sight.
I was mortified. Selfish, selfish!
And when -- after a rough night of self-recrimination -- I found two dollars (a veritable fortune then) under my pillow, it might as well have been blood money to me.
I’d have given anything, for many years, to have been able to take those child’s words back. People have suggested since that she might have been some kind of well-dressed spirit guide, there by coincidence, communicating with my “higher self,” some part of me that would have understood had I been, as she may have assumed, asleep. Maybe so. All I know is that I understand why people talk about their inner child, or used to. Sometimes it’s the only way to contemplate forgiveness for yourself. Because how many chances are you going to get to say “sorry” to somebody like that?
Yet there was more that night: whoever she was, seconds after she disappeared, a beautiful ball of gentle white light floated in from the hallway, crossing slowly in front of me and out through the wall. I knew it was her.
It's possible she wasn't even angry with me at all.
Of course, being six or so, I immediately jumped out of bed and ran to my parents’ room, shouting for my father. “She was here! She was here! The Tooth Fairy was here!” But my father, not happy to see let alone hear me, had somehow contracted amnesia. His brief happy-go-lucky personality had disappeared, and he had the crazy idea I’d just had a dream.
“But you were there -- you woke me up! You saw her before I did!” I insisted.
I’m pretty sure we both shook our heads over each other for a few days after that. If not a few years.
I was conscious that time, I swear.
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