FALLING SMILES
FALLING SMILES
BY John Tuft
Emerald has red hair and green eyes. And freckles on her eyelids. When you are fifteen, everything is important, yet nothing is important. Everything is about you, but you are convinced no one notices you. School will never end, yet what if it does? Emotions rule the roost, yet the heart desires the calamitous peace of true love. Fifteen is a jumble. Hopes, fears, feelings, desires, needs, more feelings, changes, clinging to childhood while acting grown up. Emerald is all of this. And more. Freckles on the eyelids is a true sign of being part faerie, part sprite, part of being from somewhere else that exists only for true believers. In the same realm as unicorns and on time delivery and the magic of words.
It is well known that leprechauns and banshees are of the solitary type of faerie, from the realm of Fae, as opposed to those in troops — trooping, as in singing and dancing. Pixies and sprites are the more diminutive of the species, beings close to the spirits of nature, sometimes being mischievous in nature. (Words-what do they mean!) It all seems to have come from the Latin, fata, or what we call the fates. Aye, there’s the rub, to borrow a phrase. In our modern era of computers, cell phones, social media, what is to be made of the fates? In this time of everybody wanting to know everything about what everybody is doing, what are we to make of Emerald, she of the freckles on her eyelids which show that
Fae has designated that she is the keeper of the fate of falling smiles?
Why make a 15-year-old the keeper of falling smiles, you ask? Who better? She feels deeply, if impermanently. Smiles quickly fall into frowns when one experiences chagrin, mortification, shame (one of the lesser-known causes in the current age), betrayal, or doubted intentions. I came upon Emerald one day while eating a chili cheeseburger at Carolina’s Diner in Asheboro, NC. Mind you now, diner folks are usually plain spoken, salt of the earth types. Yet the mark of the realm of Fae was clearly evident on Emerald’s face when she stepped from behind the counter and approached the booth where I sat, chili dripping down my chin. When I spotted the freckles on her eyelids, I nodded as my way of bowing to royalty.
“You’re from the land of the Mon, Yough, and Allegheny are you not?” (Monongahela, Youghiogheny and Allegheny Rivers for those of you not fortunate enough to be from the Fae of western Pennsylvania.) I allowed as how I was, indeed. “My tears formed the Ohio,” she stated. “My father impregnated me when I was eleven years old. He and my mother made me keep the baby.” She stared at me, daring my reaction to be scorn, or disbelief. I met her gaze and asked, “What became of the child?” She sighed and lowered her eyes, the freckles on her eyelids looking like stained teardrops. “I gave her to the rivers.”
I swallowed hard. “Did you name her?” She looked up, surprised. “Why would you ask such a thing?” I waited a moment before saying, “Everybody needs a name.” She blinked slowly, the freckles rising and falling. “Tinker. I named her Tinker.” There was a hushed rustling sound, ever so quiet, like the wings of faeries passing through the space unseen. “What became of Tinker?” Emerald brightened a bit. “The sprites beside the Ohio look out for her. She’s growing up quite nicely; beautiful like the others, learning to fly and grant wishes.” I blinked hard, my own tears threatening to form a river and drown us both. “What wishes to you want Tinker to grant?”
Emerald thought about this, hard. “To never grow up. To never be hurt by love.” We sat with those wishes for a time. I finally asked, “Are those your wishes, Emerald?” She began to wipe at the table with the towel she carried. “No. I’m already grown. I’m already hurt.” I took the towel from her and wiped down my side of the table. “But Tinker doesn’t have to worry. She’ll never be grown. She’ll never be hurt.” Emerald nodded. “And the faeries along the rivers take care of her?” I said in a near whisper. She nodded again. “I’m a good faerie,” Emerald said with pride. “I protected her. I will keep her away from all the fallen smiles.” I hesitated. “Who takes care of you, the keeper of fallen smiles?”
“Ogres and fiends,” Emerald sighed. “She’s safe, that’s all that matters. Tinker can be safe in the rivers.” I held out my hands. “What about you? Are you safe?” Emerald lowered her eyes, and I spotted those freckles one last time. “Once upon a time, I thought I was… Once upon a time.” With that she straightened herself, collected the last remnants of the land of make believe, and stepped back into the land of fallen smiles…
Words are magic and writers are wizards.
