This is a continuation of my last post, Dinner with My Troll.

As we open, I’m sitting at the table waiting for my troll. And his guest. Who knows me. And is a she.

I’m a little freaked out. He mentioned the dream, and says she knows about it and has been around that long. So she knows everything about me.

Yikes.

The table has no less than seven big plates of cookies. I didn’t bother with other food. I hope she likes cookies, too.

The door opens and my troll walks in. He’s so huge his shoulders barely fit through the door. But tonight, unlike the past times, his hair is combed and he’s made an attempt to dress nicely.

I wonder why.

Then, behind him, I see sparkles. And dragonflies. And a woman with a long, flowing gown. Her hair is long and golden-red. Her eyes are violet, and huge. She smiles, and her voice feels like warm honey.

Woman: Hello, Liz. I’m your fairy.

She takes my hand, and ever so gently gives it a squeeze. It feels like my mother’s hand did. Soft. Capable. Strong.

Then she gives me a hug. It makes me melt, it is so full of peace and calm. She knows what to do.

She drifts in and elegantly perches herself on a chair next to mine. Suddenly, the tiny dining room is enlarged.

Meanwhile, with much grunting and hrumphing, my troll takes a chair at the end of the table. He reaches for a plate of cookies.

Me: I had no idea. I have a fairy?

Woman: Yes. I’m your fairy of creativity. And of protection. And I love you. Always.

I am silent.

Woman: I hope that’s not too much, all at once.

Me: Wow. I had no idea. I really didn’t know about you at all. I always thought I had, um, scary things. I had no idea there was someone like you, too.

Woman: Yes, dear. Of course. All people have their fairies, but very few get to meet them. I’m a bit more, um, outgoing than most of my colleagues. Don’t mind me calling you dear, do you? It’s just been Iggy and I all these years, with so much to do. And we do think about you every second.

Me: Iggy….?

Woman: Yes, Iggy.

Her eyes look at my Troll. He attempts a crooked smile, looking back at her adoringly. He nods at me.

Me: I had no idea you had a name, Iggy. How silly of me. Of course you would have a name. Can you forgive me for not asking?

Troll: Hrumph. Yeah. Hrumph.

Me: [turning back to the woman] Do you have a name? What should I call you?

Woman: No. My name would be your creation. That’s what I am. I am what you create…

She stops, and I see that her eyes have filled with tears. One teardrop starts to gently roll down her cheek.

Woman: Our meeting is overdue, my dear. I’m afraid I should have done this a while ago, but I hesitated. I sent Iggy instead, but he had difficulty with the subject. You see, we have a problem…

Me: Anything. What can I do?

Woman: You remember, as a little girl, how creative you were? All the hours of playing and acting things out, and making all sorts of things? Of re-arranging furniture in your bedroom, dressing your dolls? Reading and reading and reading until you couldn’t read anymore?

Me: Yes. Of course. I loved all that.

Woman: Well, it stopped. A few months ago, a few years ago, actually, it started to taper off. Iggy and I weren’t too concerned because it is kind of normal for working moms of young children to go through something like this, but it continued. And then earlier this year… your creativity valve… it shut off, for a moment.

Me: I have a creativity valve?

Woman: Oh, yes. And we called in a repair person. It had shut off sometime in March. We got it repaired and it is working now, but Iggy and I are afraid that the stoppage might have permanently set you back. Can you understand, dear?

Me: I guess so. I had a power outage. And things might not have come back on normally. Like that?

Woman: Yes, dear. Like that. Around that time, as you and Iggy discussed, you started being much more rules-driven than normal. Looking for formulas that were outside yourself, rather than relying on your inner self to create. It may have started to malfunction quite a while ago, in fact, going through tiny stoppages. Perhaps you could feel some of that?

I was silent.

Me: Yes. I felt it in September, I think. And then little bits for a long time.

Woman: Along with that, which we think was related to the creativity valve, you stopped being so vigilant about self care. You started the crazy schedules again, the ones of getting up in the wee hours of the morning to write. Pushing yourself. We worry.

Me: I can feel how hard it is for my body to do that, but I have to, with the kids and everything. It’s just impossible to find a quiet moment.

Woman: We know. It is hard. But Iggy and I felt we needed to check with you about your intentions for the future. Do you plan to go back to all this rules stuff you’ve been doing, or will you allow yourself to again be creative… really no-holds-barred creative kinds of things?

Me: Yes. Oh, yes. [I start to cry] The last few months have been awful. I truly do want to be creative. But it’s hard, sometimes. It takes courage — particularly when it comes to letting others see. And sometimes I don’t know if I have that. The courage, I mean.

Woman: But dear, you always have us for courage. If things get too difficult Iggy and I are here for you. We are always in your fortress.

Me: [interrupting] You mean there’s a fortress? Of mine?

Woman: Oh, yes. A lovely one with walls thicker than you are tall. It’s huge, with more rooms than you can imagine. It’s peaceful and quiet, and we have a cleaning lady so everything is kept up. In fact, you used to imagine it. Do you remember the dream you used to have for a while, the good one about the beautiful rooms that were just off the kitchen in your parents’ house?

Me: Sure, I remember it. I loved that dream. That was the fortress?

Woman: Yes. When you were a teenager I used to pick you up at nighttime and we would walk through the fortress together, exploring the rooms. I wanted you to see what was possible. I’m glad you loved it.

Me: Can I visit there again, sometime? Would that be alright?

Woman: We’ll see. First, Iggy and I just needed to know that you, um, still needed our services. Now that we know you want to be creative, we also need to know you plan to take care of yourself. That you plan to, um, not push. That’s just too hard on all of us.

Me: I’ll try. It’s always so hard to get anything done, particularly this time of year with the kids not in school. But I’ll try. Can I ask you a question?

Woman: Anything.

Me: Does that mean I can, um, sleep? I know that probably sounds strange, but I always feel so guilty when I sleep. When I don’t get up immediately once I wake up. That’s part of why I do that, because I wake up and it’s past midnight so I feel I need to get up.

Woman: No, dear. You don’t need to get up. We want you to sleep. I need you to do that if I’m going to be able to continue helping you be creative. It’s been particularly difficult for us these last few months, being trapped in the fortress and not being asked to come out and help you. And we want to help you. We do, so much. And you have such a larger role to play, my dear. It’s important that we help you discover that.

Me: I’d love that. And I feel so much better knowing that Iggy and you are there to help me. And that there’s a fortress whenever I need it.

Woman: Good. And now [she smiled, seeing that Iggy had eaten every single plate of cookies and had put his head down on the table], it is time for us to go. Dear Iggy does get so upset if they reveal the secret ingredient on Iron Chef before he gets there. We’ll see you again very soon, my dear. Perhaps you can come to the fortress for a visit.

Me: I’ll look forward to it. Thank you.

They leave, my fairy floating and my troll shuffling his huge, hairy feet behind her. I think about the fortress — with a cleaning lady! — and smile.

Suddenly, I feel very sleepy. Using my newly found permission, I go upstairs and crawl into bed.

*************

If this kind of seemed like your thing, you might also enjoy these posts:

Dinner with My Troll — My first unchaperoned encounter with my troll

Tina and The Troll — Where my sensible friend Tina has a sit-down talk with my troll

Pollyanna has a Really Bad Day — In which I acknowledge that rose-colored glasses aren’t all they’re cracked up to be

Technorati Tags: