Day 3: Questions

My first day at the Daily was mind-numbingly simple, but it was good to be back to being productive again. 

I distributed the orders to various addresses in the morning, then spell-checked a few things in the afternoon. I caught where one of the other girls had misspelled the mayor's name in a story about a recent community festival, and when I brought it to Joanie, she seemed impressed that I had caught it after only having learned his name this morning on my route. I sense a promotion on the horizon!

After work, I felt the urge to exercise again, but the sky looked like it might rain, so I decided to try out the local gym, Bell's Barbell House.

It wasn't exactly state-of-the-art, but my old apartment building back in Bridgeport had a really nice workout center, so I'm sure I was spoiled. Anyway, it had treadmills, which was really all I needed. I warmed up on low for a few minutes then turned it up and ran for awhile, watching the close-captioned news. I didn't notice anyone else until I heard a woman's voice exclaim behind me. An elderly woman had tripped on the treadmill. I hit pause and immediately jumped off to go help her, casting a glare at the inattentive desk clerk who was bobbing his head to the beat of the music on his iPod and paying no attention to anything beside his magazine.

Having ascertained that the woman was alright and didn't need further assistance, I introduced myself. She smiled and shook my hand. “Flora Goodfellow,” she told me. Apparently she lives with her son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter here in town. I told her I had just moved to Dorsey from Bridgeport, and she welcomed me warmly. “You'll like it here, it's beautiful.”

That's when I noticed her wings. I guess I just hadn't been standing at the right angle, because they were pretty thin and diaphonous, easy to miss. Anyone else would've just thought they were seeing things. I leaned in and whispered, “Um, excuse me, but... what are you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked me, wide-eyed.

“You have wings,” I pointed out.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

I frowned. “What do you mean you don't know? They're right there behind you!” Flora got very tense suddenly and she almost looked frightened, so I attempted to reassure her. “Don't worry, I'm not trying to hurt you or anything, I was just curious.”

She looked around the mostly empty gym, then stepped closer. “You... you can see them?” I nodded, and she frowned. “Well, that's odd.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, most mortals can't see them,” she said.

“Mortals?” I echoed, getting excited. “What are you?”

She studied me for a moment, then sighed. “Well, you did me a good turn, young lady, so I'll trust you. But beware the wrath of me and my kin if you betray that trust!” She gave me a glare so ferocious that I thought for a moment I might spontaneously combust from the effort of meeting it. But then a brilliant smile lit up her wrinkled old face, and she leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I'm a fairy.”

I gave her a skeptical look, and she sighed again, shaking her white head. “I knew you wouldn't believe me. Here,” she said, and took something out of her pocket. Holding it out to me, she instructed me to cup my hands, and she released a stream of fine yellow dust into my hands.

“What is it?” I asked, poking a finger into the tiny pile in my palm. My finger left an indent and came away coated with the shimmery powder.

“Fairy dust,” Flora said, in an isn't-it-obvious tone. “Be careful with it, though, a little goes a long way. And that's precious stuff! Don't waste it!” Then a car horn honked outside, and the guy at the desk took one earbud out and looked toward us. “Your ride's here, Miss Flora,” he called, replacing his earbud. Flora started. “That'll be my daughter-in-law. I have to go, dear. It was nice meeting you, Sofia. And remember,”-- there was that icy glare again-- “this is our little secret!” With that, she was out the door, and gone before I could collect my things and come looking for her.

When I got home, I put the dust Flora had given me in a little glass jar I found in one of the cabinets, and inspected it. I knew it wasn't cocaine or anything like that. I had run into that enough times covering stories back in Bridgeport to be able to identify it easily: crackheads see some pretty loony things when they're high. This stuff was different, more like gold powder used by artists. It didn't look like anything particularly special. Finally, I put it away, laughing at myself. Here I am, in a new town, and the first person I meet who isn't a coworker is a crazy old lady who thinks she's a fairy. But then I thought about those wings again. They had looked real... they even moved. Was it possible? Could she actually be a fairy? Or were those just some really impressive high tech fakes, maybe her son's way of playing into his mother's aging delusions. But then what kind of son would do that to his elderly mother?

I don't know. I have more questions than answers at this point. I'll have to figure out where the Goodfellows live and see if I can pay Miss Flora a visit. Perhaps her daughter-in-law can clear things up for me. We'll see.