they’re served up just as they like it. Tickets for the big wheel and the dodgem cars come with strobe-light warnings: may cause seizures, death, and/or deafness. But it’s only a few train stops away, and the fairies just mentioned nature in general. No specifics. So, nature with the incessant ker-klunk of fifty-cent slot machines was probably okay.
The rock was cold and sharp and very uncomfortable, and I wasn’t too sure if I should be touching it with my hands. Did I need to make actual contact with the rock, or was it enough justto be sitting on it and feeling its damp sharpness soak through my jeans? Then I focused on “clearing my head of noise.” This wasn’t easy either, because all I could think was: Clear my head of noise, clear my head of noise, clear my head of noise . It was a lot of noise bouncing around in my head. And there were other voices popping in, too. What am I doing sitting on a rock in Bray? If someone I know sees me, they’re going to think I’ve gone mad. Maybe I have gone mad. Should I be listening for fairies? What would they sound like, anyway? What am I doing? Shhh, I should be thinking about nature. Shhh, focus on clearing your head of noise—I need to empty out my brain.
And then I was on a loop back to square one, desperately searching for silence. And how long was I supposed to sit there for, anyway? Until I felt a tingle? I was already tingling—well, shivering. I took the shiver as a prompt to ask for my heart’s desire. I had to think about that: “my heart’s desire.” Be realistic , I thought. I desire, and have always desired, money, nice clothes, a smaller nose, hair with less frizz, an Hermès handbag, and a labrador puppy with big chocolate-brown eyes whose hair doesn’t molt onto the couch. But I’m no fool: I’ve read fairy tales. I know that you never, ever wish for material possessions. You wish for the intangible: love, health, joy. And so I did—I wished for a love that would make my face ache with smiles, a healthy body whose lungs filled up with fresh air, and a joyful skip in my soul. And as I slid off the rock, my jeans damp and an icy tremor in my bones, having not seen or heard a fairy, I felt jolly. Honestly I did. I think taking a minute or two, or five, out of your day to sit on a rock on the beach—to listen to the sea gurgling, in between sirens and fighting seagulls, to think about things that make you happy—actually makes you feel happy.
I didn’t feel like I’d had a fairy experience—not that I’d knowwhat a fairy experience would feel like—but I did have a smile on my face as I bought my train ticket from the stationmaster.
He collected my coins with dirty fingers, rubbing them on the arm of his navy jacket. “You look happy.”
“I am,” I said.
“You must have gotten lucky last night.” He flicked the ticket at me with a knowing wink.
“Pervert!” I shouted, grabbing the ticket. I pulled my cardigan tight around me and marched up the platform, back to real life with a whack, thud, wallop.
When I got back to the office, I kept my early-morning expedition to myself. No one needed to know that I’d been sitting on a rock. At my desk was a sack full of kitty litter, a mountain of cat food, and a giant Irish wolfhound. The kitty litter and cat food I could explain: I’d agreed to babysit Colin’s cat. His oldest son was suffering from allergies, and while he was getting tested the doctor recommended removing the cat. I’d offered to take Mister Snoop Doggy Dogg, who was going to be delivered to my flat that night.
The wolfhound’s chin was perched expectantly on my seat and he wiggled his eyebrows as I approached.
“Setanta? What are you doing here?”
He shimmied under my desk in the manner of a shrug and proceeded to curl into a ball, a big ball, and pretend to be asleep.
“I know you’re pretending.”
He opened and shut one eye.
“You can stay if you’re quiet.”
He leaped out and furiously wagged
The rock was cold and sharp and very uncomfortable, and I wasn’t too sure if I should be touching it with my hands. Did I need to make actual contact with the rock, or was it enough justto be sitting on it and feeling its damp sharpness soak through my jeans? Then I focused on “clearing my head of noise.” This wasn’t easy either, because all I could think was: Clear my head of noise, clear my head of noise, clear my head of noise . It was a lot of noise bouncing around in my head. And there were other voices popping in, too. What am I doing sitting on a rock in Bray? If someone I know sees me, they’re going to think I’ve gone mad. Maybe I have gone mad. Should I be listening for fairies? What would they sound like, anyway? What am I doing? Shhh, I should be thinking about nature. Shhh, focus on clearing your head of noise—I need to empty out my brain.
And then I was on a loop back to square one, desperately searching for silence. And how long was I supposed to sit there for, anyway? Until I felt a tingle? I was already tingling—well, shivering. I took the shiver as a prompt to ask for my heart’s desire. I had to think about that: “my heart’s desire.” Be realistic , I thought. I desire, and have always desired, money, nice clothes, a smaller nose, hair with less frizz, an Hermès handbag, and a labrador puppy with big chocolate-brown eyes whose hair doesn’t molt onto the couch. But I’m no fool: I’ve read fairy tales. I know that you never, ever wish for material possessions. You wish for the intangible: love, health, joy. And so I did—I wished for a love that would make my face ache with smiles, a healthy body whose lungs filled up with fresh air, and a joyful skip in my soul. And as I slid off the rock, my jeans damp and an icy tremor in my bones, having not seen or heard a fairy, I felt jolly. Honestly I did. I think taking a minute or two, or five, out of your day to sit on a rock on the beach—to listen to the sea gurgling, in between sirens and fighting seagulls, to think about things that make you happy—actually makes you feel happy.
I didn’t feel like I’d had a fairy experience—not that I’d knowwhat a fairy experience would feel like—but I did have a smile on my face as I bought my train ticket from the stationmaster.
He collected my coins with dirty fingers, rubbing them on the arm of his navy jacket. “You look happy.”
“I am,” I said.
“You must have gotten lucky last night.” He flicked the ticket at me with a knowing wink.
“Pervert!” I shouted, grabbing the ticket. I pulled my cardigan tight around me and marched up the platform, back to real life with a whack, thud, wallop.
When I got back to the office, I kept my early-morning expedition to myself. No one needed to know that I’d been sitting on a rock. At my desk was a sack full of kitty litter, a mountain of cat food, and a giant Irish wolfhound. The kitty litter and cat food I could explain: I’d agreed to babysit Colin’s cat. His oldest son was suffering from allergies, and while he was getting tested the doctor recommended removing the cat. I’d offered to take Mister Snoop Doggy Dogg, who was going to be delivered to my flat that night.
The wolfhound’s chin was perched expectantly on my seat and he wiggled his eyebrows as I approached.
“Setanta? What are you doing here?”
He shimmied under my desk in the manner of a shrug and proceeded to curl into a ball, a big ball, and pretend to be asleep.
“I know you’re pretending.”
He opened and shut one eye.
“You can stay if you’re quiet.”
He leaped out and furiously wagged
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