“But I believe in you,” she says sadly, Charlie clutched to her chest. His one button eye glares at me with something like disappointment etched into every plastic groove.
“I know you do, pumpkin,” I say, ruffling her hair. “But sometimes life doesn’t turn out like the stories.”
“It does, though.” Her voice would be whiny if she weren’t so genuinely upset. She runs to her bookshelf, pulls down one after another. At first I think she’s just angry, making a mess, but soon it’s clear she’s searching for something. She has to stand on tiptoe to get it down, brings it back, dropping it into my lap. It’s accusation in Charlie’s eye, not disappointment. I’m supposed to keep her safe, make her believe in all the good things, and here I am weighed down by failure, letting it leech out to infect her dreams. Good one, Dad. This’ll keep her on the therapist’s couch for years. My makeup itches and I fight the urge to touch my nose before remembering – it doesn’t matter. I’m not performing today. I scratch and my fingers come away stained green and yellow.
“Daddy,” she insists, and I take the book out of her hands. It’s her favourite – a collection of modern fairy tales. The princess rescues the prince. The dwarves open their own jewellery store. The dragon and the princess make friends and go away to live together, far from the evil stepmother and idiot fiancé. I open it to that page, touch the illustrations gently. It’s a beautiful book – all bright colours and deep contrasts, not trying too hard to be childlike – I think that’s why she loves it. It doesn’t condescend.
“I know this is our favourite story,” I tell her, and she interrupts.
“It’s about us!”
“It’s a story.”
“About us!”
“About a dragon and a princess.”
“And an evil stepmother.”
“Your mother is neither step nor evil. She’s not around, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. We’ve talked about this.”
“But you’re the dragon.”
“I’m not a dragon. Come here.” I pick her up and plunk her down in my lap. She sacrifices Charlie to wrap one arm around my neck, the other catching the book before I can put it down. “You know this is just pretend.”
But she shakes her head. “The dragon keeps the princess safe. From all the bad things.”
“And I’m always gonna keep you safe – even if I can’t be the dragon anymore.”
“But why can’t you!” she wails.
“Your mother is right. I need to take a little more responsibility. Earn a little more money. Take better care of you.”
“Mom isn’t right about anything,” she says, and if she weren’t five years old I’d swear there was sarcasm dripping from every syllable. She leans her head against my neck and stares at us in the mirror. My hair is tall and spiked dark green, matching the painted scales on my face and neck; she’s wearing her blue puffy dress, just like the princess from the story book has. It was her birthday present last year, and she wears it every weekend. She likes to sit in the front row while I do my tricks, and she cheers every single time. Candace says I should get her pompoms, but she says she’s not a cheerleader, she’s a princess, and how could she hold her wand and pompoms? It would just be impractical.
“It’s time to grow up,” I tell myself, but I think she thinks the words are meant for her.
“I am grown up,” she says. “And I believe in you.”
“Listen, pumpkin, sometimes things that grown-ups do are hard to understand. We can’t decide what to do just based on what’s fun. We have to think of the grown-up things, like responsibility. Like taking care of you.” I click my tongue and touch her nose gently with one finger, trying to bring some levity to the situation, but she is having none of it.
“But you love being Smoke Burn. Don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You said I should follow my dreams. Were you lying?”
“No – of course not, but it’s more-”
“You said dreams come true. Were you lying?”
“No, pumpkin, I wasn’t lying, it’s just-”
“You said Mom only thinks about the real world and she’s forgotten how to dream.” That shuts me up. I did say that once – I hate how kids remember everything. I didn’t mean it to come back and bite me. And then she gives me this super solemn look and stares right into my face. “Have you forgotten how to dream?”
Her eyes are deep and blue, for just a second there’s something old and deep in them, like all the wisdom of the world somehow resides in my five year old child. And then she blinks, and she smiles, and she’s just Sadie, and the side of her face is smeared with my green makeup, and one of her little blue ribbons has come undone in her hair.
How did I let Candace get into my head so badly that I would quit this job, this thing that I love second to only one thing in the whole world? Why do I let her do that to me – and how the hell did Sadie make me see reason?
“I’m gonna miss the show,” I gasp.
“You can do it!” Sadie yells, and I pick her up and swing her under one arm as I run for the bathroom and my makeup supplies. I have to touch up my nose, and my neck, and I’ve gotta get my glass balls and I think I threw away my fire-swallowing stick and—
“You can do it! I believe in you!”
Today’s image comes to you courtesy of Rene Blais. Check out his work on His Facebook Page, and see more about him on Lucid Dreaming’s Contributors Page.
Model: Burns TheDrãgon
MUA: Lanny C. Brown’s Facial artistry