The Tooth Fairy
I remember my mum telling me the tooth fairy wasn’t real; I don’t know how old I was, possibly nine. She assumed I had worked it out myself. Before I could question her, she laughed at how I lied with such an air of sincerity that I’d seen it.
The problem was, I believed I had.
I didn’t totally believe in the tooth fairy. I knew fairies were only in fiction; that the Cottingley Fairies were laughable fakes, and I had a little book of stories about elves and fairies, many from Irish folklore, so it was obvious they were made up. But I played along because it was exciting and even at that young age, I found life depressing and was a miserable little sod, always crying. It was nice to believe in magic.
Aged about seven, I lost a top front tooth and placed it under my pillow. That night I couldn’t sleep and I was determined to find out once and for all if the fairy would really come or whether it was just my mum as I suspected. I kept looking out towards the stairs, waiting for the moment she would come to bed, where I’d have to pretend to be asleep and confirm the depressing truth.
At this point, I saw an iridescent ball of light, translucent, and about ping-pong ball-sized zoom up to my open bedroom door. Blinking, thinking it was a blotch in my eye from the landing light, it remained there. I quickly turned over - I believed that if the fairy caught me awake, she wouldn’t bring me money. I lay with my eyes shut for a minute, heart racing, but couldn’t resist peeking, trying to listen for wings. As I faced the wall, the ball of light appeared again, swirled past my eyes, and then away. I shut my eyes tight and must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened them, it was morning and there was a pound coin under my pillow. I excitedly told my mum about my encounter. It makes me cringe now to think she just thought I was a lying brat!
Back to being nine, my mum sniggered at how - the next time a tooth fell out - she had forged a letter from the tooth fairy signing herself off as Prism, because I’d seen a rainbowy object flying around last time, and she thought it was a great name. I was pissed off. I had left a note out to confirm my sighting with something like “Was that you I saw? Sorry for being awake. What is your name?” She had thought it was all a game, that I couldn’t possibly still believe that nonsense and that I was in on the role play!
Obviously, I stopped believing in this stuff in primary school. No more Father Christmas, no God - or even Jesus for that matter (fight me!), and I never bought into the Easter Bunny that seemed preposterous even as a toddler. But that night, I saw a rainbow-coloured ball of light in my bedroom. What the hell was it? It wasn’t a migraine - those agonising horrors were to come with puberty. I’m still open-minded about the paranormal. Was it an orb?
PS the ridiculous epilogue to this is that now, my mother says she thinks fairies are real, otherwise why would people make things up? I don’t know, maybe it’s IMAGINATION? You know, that amazing thing our brains do, that helps us move through our shitty lives without despair? Or the lies you tell kids to ease them into the horrors of life?