Week 1: Untitled

starring the tooth fairy

                “Look, this wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.  All I wanted--”

                “Was your two front teeth?”

                “Technically that would be ‘were’--but no, that’s not--"

                “Customer satisfaction is never guaranteed with these things--you know that, right?  Haven’t you ever read a story with a genie in it?”

                “But you’re not a genie, you’re a fairy!”

                “You obviously haven’t read any stories with those either.”

                “Auuugggh!”

                Carlie held the pillow over her face as she vented her frustration, so as not to wake her neighbors.  Arguing with the tooth fairy isn’t supposed to be this hard, is it?  Granted, she was thirty-six and long past the age of her teeth falling out"at least, the first time around.  As far as getting wisdom teeth removed, she’d thought she could wing it.  They’d never bothered her when they were coming in, and her brushing habits were flawless. 

                “If you’re thinking about banging your head and knocking a few teeth loose, that doesn’t get you a new deal.”

                “I don’t think I want another deal.”

                “Come on, the first one wasn’t so bad, was it?”

                Carlie looked up, eyes narrow.  The first deal hadn’t been bad.  It had been atrocious.  You’re supposed to be the Tooth Fairy, emphasis on fairy--or at least fair.  This was starting to feel more like a crossroads deal.   It had started with setting up the appointment.  Cassia, her boss, had given her the week off to recover.

                Getting the time off hadn’t been the problem.  It was trying to find someone who would give her a ride to the appointment and make sure she didn’t rightly topple over once the procedure was done.  She was leery about medicine.  Something about a few too many half-hearted attempts at self-medication, and she’d decided to just let her body ride out any illness it might pick up rather than mask her symptoms with a bunch of chemicals. 

                “You got through this just fine, okay?” the Tooth Fairy was saying.  “Besides, don’t you have the rest of the week off?  You’ll recover and be as good as new by Monday morning.”

                “That’s not the point!”

                Toothy simply crossed their arms and raised an eyebrow.  Not exactly impressed, but maybe mildly amused by her tantrum.  Was that pity or contempt, in Toothy’s eyes?  Carlie flopped back against the mattress, pulling the blankets up to her chin. 

                “I’m a Tooth Fairy, not a babysitter.  So if you’re done--"

                “I’m sorry.”

                The quietness of her own voice surprised her.  Or maybe it wasn’t the quietness, just the honesty.  She wasn’t a liar, but she had a habit of catering her tone to others rather than expressing any sort of negative emotion on her end. 

                “I don’t need your apology,” Toothy said.  “And frankly, I wouldn’t want it anyway.  It’s too soggy.”

                “What, exactly, is a soggy apology?”

                “A soggy sorry comes from someone who sits in a puddle instead of splashing in it.”

                “You’re not making any sense.”

                “You’re thirty six.  You just had your wisdom teeth taken out with local anesthesia and drove yourself home. You’re having a fit because I, the Tooth Fairy, made sure you wouldn’t need anyone else’s help with the whole shebang.  What part of this is supposed to make sense to you?”

                Carlie covered her face with her hands.  Forget it.  If only she could.  She could hear the Tooth Fairy rustling around her room, edging toward the door. 

                “You’ve got three days of paid time off,” they said.  “Try to learn something.”

                Carlie’s hands slipped from her face, but her room was empty.  Without walking out to the kitchen or the living room, she knew there was no one in her apartment.  Try to learn something.  What was that supposed to mean?  It felt like the admonishment a parent would give to a three-year-old in time out.  Face it, you are kind of being a child right now…  Carlie frowned and pulled the blankets over her head.  Maybe she could sleep for three days and pretend like this never happened.

 

                Carlie throws back the blanket and leans over the edge of her bed, feeling for her glasses.  She finds them a few inches under her bed and smashes them against her face.  In the dark, the fingerprints and smears on the lenses don’t matter much.  She makes her way to the kitchen, and then frowns.  According to the glowing blue numbers on the microwave, it’s half past midnight.  According to the vacuum in her intestines, she is starving.  Too late for an actual meal, so she opts for her personal favorite: dessert. 

                Atop three scoops of vanilla bean ice cream, she drizzles caramel syrup.  At this hour, her mind is all eye.  Something about the color of the caramel reminds her of gold, riches.  Veins of treasure, buried under snow.  An ancient city, a sacred script.  She thinks of spells, magic, wishes.  Three is the magic number…  A sing-song from an educational childhood cartoon series.  Carlie smiles, puts away the caramel and brings her bowl of sugar to the couch.  Growing up, she was almost never allowed to eat anywhere other than at the kitchen table.  It’s good to have her own place, have things her own way. 

                Carlie tucks her feet underneath her and grabs the most recent book she’s reading from the coffee table.  This was the definition of bliss--solitude, a sweet treat, and a world in which she could lose herself.  The night deepened toward dawn, and she sank further into mystery, fantasy, an intriguing world that seemed so different from the one in which she lived.

                “You realize you don’t live in the real world, don’t you?”

                Carlie started, biting her tongue.  There was no scream she was trying to stifle; biting her tongue was simply a byproduct of jerking her head.  The soft moan that came out was a mix of surprise and pain, but something about the sound spooked her more than finding the Tooth Fairy perched on the arm of her couch.  She swallowed, forcing herself to be quiet and just breathe for a minute. 

                “People eat ice cream after they’ve had their tonsils removed, silly--not their wisdom teeth,” Toothy said.  “Have you learned anything yet?”

                “Why are you here?”

                “I’ll take that as a no.”

                “Wait--does this mean I get three wishes instead of just one?”

                “Greedy, are we?  I said I wasn’t a babysitter, not that I was heartless.  I’m just checking up on you.”

                Carlie shrugged.  She wouldn’t know what to ask for if she was told she had another two wishes to burn--or two hundred, or even two million.  Wishes were worthless.  She didn’t need the Tooth Fairy checking up on her.  She was fine.  At least she had been, until Toothy had asked.  

Author's Note

my friend challenged me to write a short story a week, for a total of 52 by the end of the year. this is the first one!