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Monday, October 2nd, 2006
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8:37 pm
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King Arthur’s Eight-Year-Old
A hush fell over the crowd, heads bowing and knees bending as the noble knight approached the throne. The people of England had never before seen such a striking figure, let alone in one so young. Only one man, a lord dressed in the red hose for which he was named, did not kneel, but turned away. The knight ignored him, refusing to acknowledge petty jealousies on a day such as this. Drawing away from the front of the crowd, the knight walked slowly up to the foot of the throne, knelt, and looked up into a gentle, bearded face. It was a face with eyes which radiated both power and mercy, age and youth. It was the face of King Arthur.
“My Lord,” said the knight, laying the sword across both hands and raising them in supplication, “I bring you the sword of Lord Vader.” Before King Arthur could take the glowing green prize from the knight, a distant chiming began, growing louder and more persistent, demanding the knight’s attention.
“Ummm…one sec,” called the knight, setting the sword gently on her bedspread. With the speed and precision which had won her an Olympic gold medal in 100-yard dash, the first female athlete in the history of Cody, Wyoming crouched and dashed as the starting pistol (which sounded like a doorbell) fired. She sped down the dark, stone corridor, sprinting with deliberation past the torture chamber. It looked benign enough in the light of day, with baby blue tile in the shower and on the counter. But once a month, this was where they held the executions. She knew. She had seen the blood. Arms pumping, head down, the athlete dashed across the final stretch, coming to a sudden halt at the finish line and skidding to a stop. She wrenched open the door, ready to face the wildebeest waiting on the other side. “Oh,” she said, relaxing her hunter’s stance, “Hello.”
“Hello yourself, Hailey.”
A tall figure stood at the threshold, clutching the battered old helmet he called a fedora in one hand, and a large, mysterious case in the other. “Mommy!” Hailey called, “Floyd’s here!”
Mommy insisted that Hailey call this man Floyd, but she knew that wasn’t his real name. Last year, when fancy-pants Nancy Carbunkle had told her that Santa Claus was just a story, Hailey had quickly proven her wrong. “No he isn’t!” She had said triumphantly, “I’ve met him!”
In fact, Christmas visited Hailey’s house four or five times every month (this is how she knew she was so much gooder than the other kids). He never came when Daddy was home, but Hailey figured that was cause Daddy didn’t believe anymore. Mommy believed. That’s why Christmas liked to come visit so much. He always brought Hailey presents in his case. They weren’t presents like she got for her birthday, but Hailey had realized at least a year ago that birthdays and Christmas meant very different things. Birthdays meant Daddy kisses and rainbow-chip cake with dolphins made out of icing. Christmas was more like a quest, a slow collection of tiny things which would lead to Holy Grail. Two weeks ago, Christmas had given her a purple and orange-striped lighter with the words “Spokane Indian Reservation” written on the strip of duct tape which held it together. The gift of fire was an important one, especially as armor was known to get drafty on long quests, and the lighter now held the place of honor in Hailey’s front jeans pocket.
“I’ve got something for you,” said Christmas, his eye twitching beneath his well-oiled hair. Hailey had always wondered why he needed two helmets. “Do you wanna see?”
Hailey nodded, leaning forward to peer into the case. Burrowing his yellowed fingers down into the mass of old gum wrappers, crumpled papers, a subway stub, and a pocket watch which had seen better days eons ago, Christmas pulled out Hailey’s prize. The bright pink and green scrunched up fabric dangled in front of her eyes, making Hailey feel like one of those dogs that played in the park on Sundays by her house. She sat, wagged her tail, and begged. Really she just smiled, but it worked just the same.
“Umm…” said Hailey, afraid to seem ungrateful for the marvelous gift, “what does it do?”
“Well, little lady,” Christmas winked, “it does whatever you want it to do.” Mommy giggled and told Christmas that it was bullshit, but Hailey didn’t laugh. Her years as a detective had taught her that sometimes it took time for things to come together. Last month, she had spent nearly three days trying to catch a thief named Padreagh O’Shea. When she found the old broken head of a gavel underneath the elm tree, she hadn’t known what it meant. But later, when she saw Padreagh O’Shea using a wooden, headless handle to rob a bee’s nest, Hailey knew the gig was up. She confronted him and the whole thing turned out. When she told Mommy that Padreagh O’Shea had stolen Daddy’s gavel, Mommy didn’t believe her at first. Hailey couldn’t understand - after all, if she believed in Christmas, how could she not believe in Hailey? But then, Hailey realized that Mommy only knew Padreagh by his fake name, Tommy Kincaid. She explained and, as a reward, got two snickerdoodles for dessert instead of one.
“Thank you,” Hailey said solemnly, holding her pink burden close to her chest. “I’ll use it well.”
Christmas chuckled and patted her on the head. “You do that little lady.”
“Hailey honey,” Mommy said, “why don’t you go play outside with your Super Soaker or something? Just be sure to keep your shoes clean. And I don’t want to have to mend your jeans again. Have you ever seen those cute little headbands that Nancy Carbunkle wears? I was thinking that would look nice in your –“
“Good Lady,” Hailey interjected, rolling her eyes, “Knighting is very hard and dirty work.”
Mommy smiled in tense agreement and tugged at her ear, then turned her attention to Christmas. He said something quiet, something that made them both giggle and Mommy’s cheeks turn rosy. Hailey watched them turn and start walking up the stairs to the dragon’s cave. Hailey wasn’t allowed in the dragon’s cave when Christmas came to visit, but sometimes, if she was good, Daddy let her peek inside. Everything had flowers on it, which seemed odd at first, but then Hailey realized it must be a girl dragon. Daddy said that the dragon had stolen the big bed in the middle of the room from a King (it must have been specially made too because it had a tag that said “KINGSIZED”). This made sense. Dragons were known for hoarding things like gold and jewels. They probably wanted to be comfortable too. Mommy and Christmas always went to try and fight the dragon when he came – Hailey didn’t understand how it was still alive. She always heard noises when they fought it, and sometimes it sounded like the dragon was hurt. But after the noises stop, she could still hear the heavy breathing that meant the dragon was still lying in wait, mouth open, ready to torch the next person that came in the room.
Hailey turned away from the ascending dragon-slayers and crossed through the kitchen to the backdoor. Daddy always joked that it looked like it had come from some run-down bingo parlor, but Hailey liked the door’s ornate flower stencils and battered knob. It was a brave door. She pushed on the creaking hinged and jumped off the back steps.
The lush forest crept up around her, mist tickling the back of her neck and coaxing her bare feet farther into its mystical depths. Softly-mossed stepping stones wound their way through the growth, like the footprints meandering fairy. Mommy always said that she hoped it looked like the Japanese Gardens of some wet city she had visited last year. Porte-lande or something. But Hailey knew she was wrong. This was where King Arthur lived. As she left the relative safety of the clearing and moved towards the dense hedge, Hailey realized what Christmas’s present was. It was a marker, a pink beacon to help her find her way back to Camelot after her quest. Hailey set it down gently on the last bit of stepping stone, took a deep breath, and plunged into the lush beyond.
In the little opening underneath the hedge and beside the fence, which Hailey was sure had been made by the White Stag as it escaped unworthy dreamers, she crouched, opening her treasure box and inspecting the lot. A studded black torture device was wrapped in an old, grease-stained piece of cloth adorned with the picture of a blond knight. It was probably used by an evil king on the Nile River to chain doves to his ship so that there would never be peace, only war. Hailey had taken it from the pirates who lived on the other side of her hedge. There was also a magnificent turquoise and opal ring with a spider in the middle which Hailey had received from a wizened old wizard when she completed her spelling quest the year before – the others had faltered over silent “e”s, but Hailey had persevered and triumphantly spelled “bowery”. The entire wizards councils had held up their green-tipped wand in approval. The one who gave her the ring afterwards told her that he had gotten it on the plane from London (which Daddy said was in England) and only someone as special as she was should have it. Hailey smiled and spat into the dirt. She remembered King Arthur telling her that spit had magical principles. Combined with paper, it was a deadly weapon.
The ground was kind of wet, and Hailey’s knees started to feel wet and cold. It had rained the night before and made tiny little pools of glass throughout the forest. Daddy called them “puggles” cause they only came when it rained cats and dogs. Shifting her weight, Hailey plopped down beside her box and sat with her back to the fence. She ran her fingers gently over the pipe at the bottom of the box, inhaling deeply and trying to remember just exactly how Daddy smelled. The pipe gave her strength on her quest, and Daddy had smilingly told her that knights liked to have a puff every once in a while – it helped them befriend dragons. Hailey closed her eyes and listened to the birds chirp sweetly above her, almost dozing off when a loud slam told her that the pirates were home.
“What the hell, Gloria?” screamed the man pirate, “What is this? You said you threw them out!”
Hailey caught her breath. They were talking about the treasure.
“I gave them to you asshole! Right before we ate at that shitty Mexican place!” The girl pirate sounded angry.
Hailey hadn’t realized that the pirates went to Mexico.
“Don’t screw with me! You’ve been stashing them”
Hailey’s mind ran over the delightful possible contents of the pirate’s booty. She turned towards the fence, craning her neck to see through the brushy opening. If she tilted her head to the side and squinted, she could make out a tiny patch of grass about four feet beyond.
“I – I – haven’t. God, Sampson, I swear –“ the girl pirate was panicking now, her tears almost audible. And then she began to sob.
It was strange. Hailey didn’t think pirates were allowed to cry. If she was captain, anyone who cried would have walked the plank.
“SHUT UP!”
Hailey heard a thunk and a bright pink phone fell to the ground. A small hand came into Hailey’s patch of grass and reached for the beaten device, but stopped suddenly, and withdrew. Two large boots came and stood beside the phone, denim trunks bursting from their battered laces. Hailey hadn’t thought that pirates wore jeans either. She heard a click and smelled something – it was kind of like Daddy after he used his pipe, but less friendly, less warm. A cigarette butt fell to the ground, next to the phone, and the boot ground both into the ground.
“C’mon, baby” said the man in a cold voice, his lips smacking, “I’ll be a good daddy. Literally.”
Hailey looked hard though the fence, trying to see her pirates. Instead, right where her pirates should have been, she saw a big man standing over a woman. A tattoo of a huge ship with the words “We are One Anonymous” covered his back. The woman on the ground who wasn’t reaching for the pink cell phone had an empty bottle of Perrier clutched to her belly. Hailey recognized the green bottle. It was what Mommy always got for Christmas.
Very quietly, Hailey pulled away from the fence, replaced the clear, plastic, floral=print umbrella which protected her box from the rain, and crawled carefully out from under the hedge. She walked back up the forest’s cement path and picked up her marker, hiding it under the shed that kept the barbeque and sprinkler dry so that it would be safe. Pausing in front of the kitchen door, she looked up towards the upstairs bedroom and listened. The dragon must be putting up a fight.
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, December 8th, 2004
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1:22 pm
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| Friday, December 3rd, 2004
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12:04 am
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| Tuesday, September 14th, 2004
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9:47 pm - This is a story I've been working on. I'd love feedback..I'm new so be gentle! Sorry about sp..lazy!
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Hahahaaa!!! This is Meg hacking into Katie's account. I saw that her journal layout was all screwy so I had no choice but to try to fix it. Sort of. Also, I've taken the liberty of lj-cutting the story. There we are.
Katie, will be im-ing you later in order to tell you how to lj-cut. And so forth.
BWAHAHAHAAAAA!!
( 1st installment of katie's AWESOME STORY )
Meg out.
current mood:  chipper
current music: Gershwin
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