THE FAIRY RING

It seemed like a good idea yesterday, when, in your safe little bubble of a world, myths were just myths. You dared Elsie to step into the circle of flowers that had appeared at the edge of your yard overnight, a perfect circle of white clover puffs just at the edge of the forest that bordered your parents’ property. Something about the circle and its sudden appearance had seemed cheerfully ominous, but you couldn’t figure out why. You could, however, tell that Elsie felt the same way as you did about the strange little ring. You couldn’t resist daring her to stand for three seconds within the border of the flowers. You saw the flicker of fear in her large brown eyes before she grinned bravely and hopped into the circle.  There she stood with her hands on her hips, giving you that same grin until you counted to three, and that was that. Her mother called her into the house soon after, and she jogged next door while you walked back to your own house, yelling a goodbye over your shoulder.

It seemed like a good idea yesterday, when, in your safe little bubble of a world, you didn’t know that fairies were real. You walked over to Elsie’s house, knocked on the door, and waited after her mother told you she would be out to play in a bit. You stood on the deck, hopping from foot to foot, singing to yourself under your breath. It was the song your mother sang while she hung the laundry up to dry, and, unbeknownst to you, the same song her own mother had sung. You looked up as a crow flew overhead and cawed loudly, stark black against such a blue sky. You would remember how out of place it looked that summer day. You would remember how ominous that cawing seemed. Most importantly, you would remember that sky after your gaze came back down, how that blue that matched the dark blue eyes of the Elsie now standing silently in front of you.