She’s Baaaaack

/ roughwighting

monster under the bedAlthough I see the pixie face at the window, I widen my eyes in the dark, disbelieving.

The entire tiny form then somehow squeezes through the fractionally opened window. A cold November air has swiftly turned the bedroom frigid, causing me to burrow deeper into my flannel sheets, but my eyes remain outside the comforter.window, bedtime, monster

In the 2.a.m-dark-room, I watch the silvery shadow move swiftly from window ledge to underneath the bed.

She’s back!

I grin like a school girl despite my over-half-a-century wrinkled and wrung out face, and shout out loud: “YES!”

“Shhhhhh,” comes forth a soft-as-satin sound from underneath my bed.

“But I always knew!” I whisper back.

Then I sit up straight in my queen-sized bed, sheet still pulled up to my chin, and ask in a normal voice: “Why are we whispering?”

“So you don’t get into trouble,” the sound says gently, the way I remember it over 50 years ago.

“But my parents don’t live here,” I explain. “No one is going to tell me you don’t exist anymore.”

As clear as daylight I see mom and dad trying to convince 4-year-old me that the winged pixie I describe flitting from corner to corner is actually a monster under my bed.

My parents are sure that I’m experiencing a young child’s rite of passage – a bedtime monster – which is much easier for them to believe than a flying fairy.

My dad rushes into my room, thrusting a broom under my bed, in, out, in, out, then proclaiming: “There, I’ve killed the mean old monster. Nothing more to worry about!”

At 4, I don’t know how to explain to them that I’m not worried. I just want to share with them the delight of my nighttime exploits with this joyful little sprite, who keeps asking me to fly with her.

“Why can’t my daughter see monsters under her bed like most kids?” my mom asks my dad.

Now, all these years later, I climb out of bed and bend down, peering behind the dust ruffle.

“Come on out now,” I say. “I’m ready to fly this time!”

131 thoughts on “She’s Baaaaack”

    • Thanks for sharing that link, Darlene. It’s funny: I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do as a consumer, in response to that ad. But I knew what I felt, which piques curiosity, which in turn makes me want to watch it again and find out. What’s more, it caused me to think about perspective and creativity, which inspires.

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  5. Ahh…Pam, this is a delightful story. I love that the magic of her pixie friend has stayed with her all these years and come back fifty years later! 😀😀 May they fly and explore the world together…❤️

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  6. Oh I love this! Why? Because firstly it is so beautifully written, with the perfect photos to go along and secondly because as a young child I had an “imaginary” friend for a very long time. Not only that, but I strongly believed in fairies and that They presented in flying seed form (from the milkweed pod). I had a little suitcase full of them and their magic which would be opened at times of need, to release the magic spirits within and collect more.
    Peta

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    • Peta – your memories of your milkweed pod fairies are charming and delightful. Ohh, couldn’t we all use some of that milkweed magic scattered around us from time to time?
      Your childhood imagination (and dare I say, 3rd eye abilities) are what have made you into the artist and explorer you are today.

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  7. I had an imaginary friend named Honey and this lovely tale of your pixie brought back memories of her. How delightful that your middle of the night visitor was a friendly sprite. Such a happy ending – it’s never too late to take flight, Pam!

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    • Molly – I’m thrilled that the story of my night-time visitor has brought Honey back to you. My wish? That the two of you get reacquainted, and perhaps fly a few times in the dark of night…<3

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    • It’s fascinating – how many of us writers had “imaginary” friends when we were children.

      The bold question I ask now is —– were they really imaginary, or can we just not see them anymore, now that we’re “grown up”??? :-0

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    • I think we each need to keep a sense of wonder and imagination throughout our lives. The idea that being an adult means treading the same mundane path over and over each day is one I just have never bought into. This is a topic I write about often, and included as an entire chapter in my last book.

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  17. I love your flight of fancy, a great metaphor for your ability to transport us to fairy land every time you post. One question: How did you decide how many a’s you were going to put into “back”? I noticed an odd number. Just sayin’

    Thanks from your quirky friend – hugs too! ((( )))

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    • I love your questions and your curiosity, Marian. Not only in writing, but in all aspects of life. Hmmmm, the creative muse told me how many a’s to use in Baaaack. One of those things of ‘when you see it, you know it’s right’ kind of things. (In my mind’s eye, it had to be enough so that it didn’t look like Baa Baa Black Sheep…). 🙂
      P.S. Quirky is the BEST way to be. xo

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    • It’s so true, isn’t it? I actually wanted to be the girl who flew along with Peter (Tinkerbelle was a little too mean at first). 🙂 Finally, I think I’m ready to go off in the night with my own Tink now. May we both keep the wonder inside us…. xo

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  28. I won’t get into too much detail here, Pam, but I had many childhood friends who visited in my dreams rather than when I was awake. When we met up in my dreams, they all knew I’d been away in my “other life” and were happy to see me. We caught up on what I’d been doing, as well as what they’d been doing since last time we saw one another. They weren’t recurring dreams, just recurring settings and friends — one being an entire town.

    I had a best friend in my dreams up until I was about 14. We both lived in a neighborhood on a hill that sloped down toward the ocean. I knew that neighborhood — every house, the snack shack down by the water on the left, all of it. Recently, I found myself back there in a dream! It had changed. Some houses were gone. Others had been built. The snack shack was abandoned and a shopping mall had gone in behind it. But my childhood friend still lived in the same house, now my current age. It was quite a reunion. All very surreal.

    Your post gave me “that feeling.”

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    • I’m honored and thrilled that my pixie post reminded you of your dream friend – and his town. I totally believe your dream experience – I’ve had similar, but not as fleshed out as yours. I’ve been to towns (in my dreams) that in ‘real’ life I never knew, and yet knew that I belonged there somehow. Once, when I lived in CA, I dreamed of a town that I thought was in NE, but that’s all I knew. In the dream, I walked into a small store in the village, and found a little ceramic object that touched my heart. About six months later, my guy and I visited his family in Boston. My mother-in-law decided we should visit one of her favorite towns on the ocean one day. When she parked on the village’s street, I got a tremendous deja vu feeling. Once we started walking the town, I knew every inch of it. It was the town in my dream. I led us to a store that I knew (from the dream). And yes, right on the window ledge was that little ceramic object. FREAKY. Oh, the town? Marblehead.
      Thanks for sharing your ‘freaky’ dream experience. It solidifies that what happened to me isn’t unbelievable.

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    • You’re such a great reader and reviewer of children’s book, Patricia. I figure those who write for children have the ability to bring themselves back to that time when “what’s supposed to be,” and “what isn’t supposed to be'” merge into some magical experiences.

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  41. In our childhood we are so creative and free and anything is possible, including pixies. Then adulthood comes along and our imagination dies. But fortunately in older age our childhood returns. My “pixies” are now back in my life to stay… I no longer disbelieve in any possibilities! Thanks for your story.

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    • Perhaps you’re right. In our mid-life, we’re too busy to allow our childhood dreams and magical realities to come to the forefront. But now, on the other side of the middle, we’re opening up to those almost-forgotten delights.

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  42. How lovely and slightly scary…things that go bump in the night. I grew up with things under the bed, in the closet and on the stairs…and to this day I’m still not a fan of late night sounds. This was fun though and I’ll try to think of all the noise as friendly ghost…

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