A Fairy Tale about You and Me

Six hours. All of them spent revolving around you. You stood out from the crowds. That was one of the few things I always noticed about you. You were always off to the side, never the center of attention. But when looking back on everything, it was quite clear that you were, no matter what.

Nothing could ever compare to that amount of light and beauty you swept out onto the field with those small, skittish steps you took, at the beginning of the night. You looked frightened, cold; it was clear that you were also confident.

You were perfect. It was true.

So those six hours... they were long, tedious, and probably should have felt like forever. But they didn't. They felt like mere seconds, and that I had wasted my only chance at getting to know you. The real you. The you you locked up behind that wall, that wall we all have that hides what we want to be perceived as from what we really are.

I walked up to that chair by the tents at the beginning of our time together, in search of one thing. Something no one else had given me before. And it was clear, the moment you walked over, that I would find it here. With you.

You took your cautious steps out from your car, and sort of bounced, in your own way, over to the tents. The tents I was next to when I first saw you.

I had been writing a long time. About who knows what, but does it matter? All that did matter then was that you were there, and I could see you knew what you wanted. But then again, how can you know what you want unless you have it already?

Regardless, you walked over and sat down right next to me. You were gazing up at the sky; the clouds slithering along the oceanic blue. Flitting this way and that, your eyes came to focus directly on one thing. Whatever that thing was was written in my book.

"What are you writing?" was the first thing you said. But I could not reply. I pulled the book away, and you moved closer.

"Let me see. Come on, I won't tell anyone," you said quietly. From the way your eyes glimmered, I had this feeling you knew I wouldn't be able to avoid it any longer. With a sigh, I passed those bound papers to your hands.

You read something no one else had read before. And it went like this.

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, as all good stories start, there was a town. And in this collection of houses lived a girl by the name of Belle. Belle was, quite honestly, stunning. Her hair fell in delicious brown curls about her shoulders, and it bounced with each step she took. Her lips were red; her skin was satin. She had long, luscious eyelashes around her twinkling green eyes that made you look back again and again. She was, all in all, perfection. And it was obvious to all who beheld her in their sight.

Every day, people would give her gifts. Gifts of toys when she was a little girl: things to run and play with, clothing to jump about in. Gifts when she grew older, a young teenager: books, dresses, makeup, though she never needed it. They always came to her house, her cozy cottage, the same way. They would walk up the stone steps, and knock three times.

On the first knock, Belle would look up from her nest of a couch.

On the second knock, Belle would stand up.

And on the third knock, Belle would walk over to the door and smile at the stranger, as she rarely knew the person at her door. She would give them a kiss on the cheek. With a blush, as it so happened every single time, the stranger would place their gift on the ground and walk away.

They all noticed how immensely gorgeous she was, and how kind she looked. With every gift she smiled, and she felt the warmth of thanks swirl throughout her being.

It was then, many years after the gifts became a regular occurrence, that something strange happened. Belle was sitting on her couch, curled up in the nest that formed itself around her. It was what she thought to be a normal Saturday morning, but she was wrong.

The first stranger showed up at around noon. With her morning tea in hand, Belle waited until after the first knock to look up. On the second, she stood, still holding the teacup. Strange, she usually placed it down before standing. On the third knock she walked to the door, opened it, kissed the stranger, and looked down to see what she had been given. It was a blank envelope.

Perplexed, Belle picked it up as the stranger left her entryway. She looked at it wearily, fumbled it about her hands. Nothing special

Disappointed, Belle maneuvered back to her spot.

A second stranger came about five minutes after the first. On the first knock she looked up; second, Belle got up, envelope in hand; third, she pranced to the door and opened it. An elderly woman was there and it was clear she would be unable to bend over. She had some parchment in her hand, and Belle was slightly perplexed. She held out her hand to receive it, but instead the woman took the envelope. She smiled kindly, put the paper inside, and meandered off.

Slightly confused, Belle found her way back to the couch slowly. No one had ever taken something from her, and she could feel a kind of light envy growing in her heart.

Then the third stranger came, not much longer after, and this one definitely was strange. On the first knock, Belle looked over. On the second, she stood. And on the third, she approached the door. But wait...

The stranger never knocked a third time.

Deterred, she opened the door regardless. And there he was. He had a ragged look on his face; it was clear he hadn't shaved in weeks. His clothes were of similar quality to his skin, oily and plastered with dirt.

Hesitating, Belle looked about. His eyes were glazed, and he had this disorganized frown somewhat below where she had been looking before. They both stood there, trying to examine the being before them, for who knows how long. Eventually, however, Belle shuffled away and closed the door.

Three hours went by, and no more knocks on the door. Curious, Belle stood once again, tea in hand, and opened her door. The man from earlier was still there.

Aghast, she stomped and pointed away. And he left slowly, looking down. Belle could feel the awkward air around them both. With a start, she felt something. Something she had never felt before. It was a new feeling, like when you're young and have your first bite of ice cream. Sure, it tastes good, but it burns in its own cold way as you eat more than you were intended to. And this feeling of icy guilt followed her.

As the man walked away, Belle tried to do the same in the other direction and turned back towards her home. She glanced back and saw him moving, quickly. So Belle followed. Every moment she spent moving she thought he was getting closer, but in reality he seemed to be going further away.

Before long she lost sight of where she was, what she was doing. All that was around her were some trees- tall, spooky ones. The ones you think of when you imagine a cemetery. Frightened, very frightened. Guilty. It was all so new, so many new emotions she hadn't known for a long time. And yet, she still moved on.

Stumbling over this and that, eventually Belle made it to a clearing. In the clearing she could see the man, his lean back hunched over. It was definitely him; she was sure. She looked down for a moment, and saw a reflection from a small puddle of water. In it she could see the fog settling down; when she looked back up, the man was gone again.

The emotions were so strong, Belle could feel them taking over. She sat down in dismay, resting her head in her hands. Her jaw clenched, her eyes clamped, her head aching. And that sweet, delectable feeling of sleep over took her.

When Belle finally awoke, she was in her home again. On that couch. But something was wrong, something was off. In just that blink of an eye, everything seemed so wrong. She had dirt on the floor and the paintings were all crooked. A pile of laundry sat in the corner, and her kitchen was a complicated mess. Mounds of things sat around, unused for years, and it was horrifying.

Why hadn't she seen this before? Why was her home so entirely different? Was it the fault of all those new things she felt? Was she really that oblivious?

No matter how hard she worked at it, Belle couldn't make it perfect. The paintings tipped over more the more she tried to fix it. Mounds seemed to just grow larger as she tried to put the pieces where they belonged. In a final outburst, Belle gave up and decided to escape it.

She heard some stomping outside.

On the first stomp, she looked up. On the second stomp, she turned over to the door wearily. On the third stomp, she walked over to her door and opened it shyly. There the man was, again, for the third time. Why was it that these things happened in threes? Belle knew not; regardless, she opened her door and let him in.

He stood at his own angle, and shambled on in. Placing his bag down, he looked at Belle. And they both smiled.

Yes, he was a stranger. Yes, he was bizarre in his own special way. But he had given her a gift more precious than anything anyone else had ever given Belle.

The first time she saw him was like that first knock. He made her glance over.

The second time she saw him was like that second knock. He made her stand up, more aware than before.

And the third time she saw him was like that third knock, so familiar to the girl. He gave her her gift, that gift she had so anticipated from every other stranger that looked into her pretty little eyes.

The gift of a friend.

You looked up slowly after reading it all the way through. I could see your expression changing as you read along, and I knew it touched you in some way.

But then again, you still sat up. You placed the book down in my lap, murmuring, "It was lovely," and then proceeding to walk away.

I watched you for the next several hours. You always stood on the edges of groups, but it was clear you were their center of attention.

And at the end of the night, you walked on by me, one last time, and I could see from the way your lip twitched in an awkward upward smile that you thought exactly what I thought. That story... it was a fairy tale about you and me, and we both wanted the same gift.

Each other.