Fairy Godmother Resigns

Since I caught liver infection, I’ve been in need of my fairy godmother, but she has not showed up in while, perhaps preferring to not mingle with me anymore, a wise decision in the myriad of terrible ones she had graced upon me in the past. But nonetheless, I missed her visits, now that I’ve been spending much time alone.

However when she did visit, it was abrupt and quick, like she didn’t want to be with me, or be around our house at all. I was thrilled to see her, appearing before me like she always did, but this time her eyes were tired and sunken, yet not affecting her youthful appearance. How old was she anyway? To me, it never seemed like she was aging.

Sitting over for coffee, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. “Why aren’t you coming here anymore?” I ask.

My fairy godmother chuckles nervously. “Well… I got a job. It’s taking all my time, sometimes I’m not even in town for several days.”

I can feel my mouth opening slightly in that dumb way. I took a sip. “I know the workforce in Syria has dwindled significantly, but I didn’t know they were hiring grandmas. Do they even know about your magical nature?”

She winked. “I suppose my magical nature kind of… helped, in me getting the job.” She put the cup of coffee down. “Magical creatures are in high demand.”

“But I thought no one was supposed to see you, except me. I just don’t get it,” I stared at her. “You’re a figment of my imagination.”

“Oh silly you,” she pulled a cigarette out of her Lucky Star packet. “I’m real. I’m real because you think I’m real. I’m the realist thing in your life.”

I hunched over the table. “It doesn’t make sense. I created you to fulfill my crippling emotional dependency and to be my friend, because I’m too much of a lazy, arrogant loser to make any. I imagined you as a figure with a specific job to cater to my needs and whims, to withhold judgment on me and assert my opinions because I’m too afraid of being wrong.” I tightened my grip around the cup. “You cannot just go and have another job.”

My fairy godmother fixed her shining, droopy eyes on me. It scared me, she was serious, unwavering. “You don’t know anything. You’re a sheltered twit with massive daddy issues suffering from a lack of purpose and I’m tired of your bullshit and your constant whining. You can’t go to the fucking supermarket to buy your own fucking cigarettes. I will not spend the rest of my life stroking your inflated ego. I’m exhausted. And above all this, you don’t even pay me!”

“I don’t have to pay you!” I shouted. “I made you. You wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t imagine you. You wouldn’t say all this dumb shit if I didn’t make you smart.”

She again made that move of tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, regaining some of her composure. “Listen, I don’t want be your fairy godmother anymore. I can’t fulfil your needs like I used to, I’ve become too integrated into the system, too human. Not to mention I’m happy with my job, I’m even thinking of learning a second language.”

“A second language…”

“Yes, French perhaps. My clients would like it if I spoke another language.”

“Your clients…? What’s your job anyway?”

“I’m a prostitute.”

A long silence stretched between us, so slimy it was as if we were wading through a swamp of shit. Dumbfounded, I carried our now empty cups to the sink. “A prostitute…”

“Yes,” she perked. “It’s really rewarding. You get to know all those men and how they feel. It was hard at first, but I got used to it. They’re not paying as much as before, but my needs are few, and I’m building a solid base of loyal clients.”

I stared into the dirty sink, following the pattern of poured coffee and apple peels. “How… how are you marketing yourself?”

“Word of mouth.” She replied. “One man comes, tells his friends. His friends tell their friends, and so on.”

“Wow…” I glanced over my back at her. “How do you feel about it? Is it ok to you, to sell your body like that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t sell my body, I sell sex. But since you created me, I carry a little of your religious guilt, but you also created me to manage around these things. So not only do I manage your religious guilt, but also the religious guilt of the men I sleep with.”

“You’re really getting around this thing, huh?”

“Yes, I am. And frankly, I’m enjoying the money. It’s not much, but it suffices.”

I turn around to face her again. “What the fuck would you need the money for? You only eat and drink for appearances and to keep me satisfied. You dress differently every time I see you so you wouldn’t need it to buy clothes. For what, seriously?”

“I’m giving all the money I earn to independent groups working with Syrian refugees. It feels good to alleviate the suffering of a few when there’s so much injustice.”

“How touching.”

She sighed. “I’m doing everything in my capacity. I have a thirst for life. I want to expand myself. I want to see the world. I’ve been confined to your circle, and honestly that’s not healthy.”

“The circle or me, personally?”

“Both. You’re leading a destructive lifestyle. All that coffee and cigarettes, no friends, no lovers, you’re not even writing anything good anymore. You don’t take anything seriously, especially your future. You’re also too cynical, too numb, like nothing matters to you anymore.”

“See?” I exclaimed. “That’s exactly why I created you. You’re supposed to tolerate me even with all my shortcomings.”

“Sweetheart, humans learn and grow, they get out of suffocating situations for their sake.”

“You’re not real!” I shouted, frustration engulfing me. “You’re not human. You’re not supposed to feel things. You’re not supposed to develop opinions. You’re my creation.”

She sighed. “Guiding you is weighing me down, emotionally. I think… I think you need to see a therapist, to get rid of that dictator inside you.”

“This is Syria, there are no therapists.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll find something on Youtube to help you.”

It was too much. My last lifeline was abandoning me, and now my nausea was coming back. “So…” I began. “You’re serious about this resignation thing.”

“Yes,”

“Well, at least, have lunch with me?”

She shook her head. “No, I have to go, a client is waiting for me.” She got up from her seat, absent-mindedly dusting her frilly blue dress.

I escorted her to the door, where she held my face between her hands. “Take care of yourself alright? Make sure to rest well and follow the doctor’s prescription, ok?” I nodded. “I’ll visit every now and then, goodbye.”

Opening the door for her, I wondered when she stopped fading like she usually did and started using the door. Alas, shit like this no longer mattered.

“Bye, fairy godmother.”

“Bye, dear.”

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