Descriptive Essay Living a Fairytale.
I stepped out of the big white door onto the steps that led to the driveway that led to the yard where my sister and her friend played in front of the izales, “Mom says you have to let me play!” I was already close to whining even though my sister normally let me play.
“We’re playing with our fairies, you have to pick one out,” My older sister grabbed my arm and dragged me to the dogwood tree that was at the far left side of our yard. The pink flowers were already mostly gone but it was still a beautiful tree with branches filling in the spots that should look empty. And I saw a beautiful fairy sitting happily on each branch, each twig, but there was one in particular who smiled down at me. She made me smile inside and out. I saw her wave a pale hand. She had a blue skirt made of petals, a simple brown t-shirt and blonde hair that waved down to her shoulders. She was beautiful and she was mine.
“I want her,” I pointed up and my sister laughed at me.
“She has to fly to you,” I watched as she folded her small legs under her into a squat and lept off the tree; she landed gracefully in the palm of my left hand, “I’m Bubbles.” My heart surged with the love for a friend that I just met and the butterflies in my stomach fluttered with wings that matched my faires.
And she stayed with me for years. As my sister and her friend moved on and began playing with other things, I kept my fairy. I enjoyed all the things kids normally enjoyed, like hopscotch and jump rope and Sesame Street. But Bubbles was there with me. I didn’t really talk to her and she didn’t really talk to me but she would sit on my shoulder and assure me that I was okay, that I was doing things right.
As time wore on I slowly realized that Bubbles wasn’t there. She was just my imagination. It hurt but I let go, she no longer sits on my shoulder or makes me smile by cartwheeling in front of my face. I felt forced to let go of this friend who had lived through everything that I had lived through. I can’t remember if I cried but I know that I wanted to. Although I had discovered that this friend of mine wasn’t real I hadn’t yet discovered all the other things that were simply my imagination.
Life was full of magic when I was a child. It had everything that I could have wanted and more. I had a man who came down the chimney once a year just to give me presents. I had a teeny woman who would slide under my pillow with a shiny quarter and slide out with my tooth. I had a castle to play in with my friends. Everything was colored with bright blues and yellows, pinks and greens. It was magical, and I got to live there.
I couldn’t sleep and as time ticked on my parents were staying downstairs. It was midnight, it was 2:00 am. They weren’t giving Santa enough time to come. I started pacing. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. I didn’t want to allow it to be true but it didn’t care if I was going to let it. It was true. Santa wasn’t real. The next hours were mixed with numb sleep and disappointment but I awoke Christmas morning like nothing was wrong and by noon that day, nothing was. Christmas hadn’t changed. I had.
By the next Christmas Eve I wondered if I had really changed as I sat in front of the computer trying to find the website on which you could track Santa. Maybe I knew it wasn’t true but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t allowed to believe that Santa would still come down the chimney that night. So, I decided that maybe I was wrong last year, maybe I wasn’t but either way I could still picture Santa falling down my chimney and sauntering over to my christmas tree with a big black bag full of gifts all for me.
To this day I can picture these things in my mind. Sometimes I see Bubbles with another little girl, but she smiles back up at me in a way that I know means even if she isn’t real, she was there. Anyone or anything that can make you feel that happy or safe or excited is there. Maybe not physically but emotionally.
I think that’s what people don’t understand. That imagination isn’t knowing something is true, it’s believing in it even if you know it’s fake. It’s taking all the things that people say or do to prove it wrong and making them prove it right. It’s not only believing in the things that people tell you to, like Santa, but making up your own friends and being able to play or have a conversation with them.
So it’s a whole lot easier to keep your imagination. You don’t have to lose the images of these wonderful, magical, creatures just because it’s known they aren’t there. You should still be able to remember their voices and faces, and if that’s possible then they were there and they meant and probably continue to mean something. So I urge you to hold on tighter than I did because I got lucky that my images stayed close enough for me to be able to grab back on.
“We’re playing with our fairies, you have to pick one out,” My older sister grabbed my arm and dragged me to the dogwood tree that was at the far left side of our yard. The pink flowers were already mostly gone but it was still a beautiful tree with branches filling in the spots that should look empty. And I saw a beautiful fairy sitting happily on each branch, each twig, but there was one in particular who smiled down at me. She made me smile inside and out. I saw her wave a pale hand. She had a blue skirt made of petals, a simple brown t-shirt and blonde hair that waved down to her shoulders. She was beautiful and she was mine.
“I want her,” I pointed up and my sister laughed at me.
“She has to fly to you,” I watched as she folded her small legs under her into a squat and lept off the tree; she landed gracefully in the palm of my left hand, “I’m Bubbles.” My heart surged with the love for a friend that I just met and the butterflies in my stomach fluttered with wings that matched my faires.
And she stayed with me for years. As my sister and her friend moved on and began playing with other things, I kept my fairy. I enjoyed all the things kids normally enjoyed, like hopscotch and jump rope and Sesame Street. But Bubbles was there with me. I didn’t really talk to her and she didn’t really talk to me but she would sit on my shoulder and assure me that I was okay, that I was doing things right.
As time wore on I slowly realized that Bubbles wasn’t there. She was just my imagination. It hurt but I let go, she no longer sits on my shoulder or makes me smile by cartwheeling in front of my face. I felt forced to let go of this friend who had lived through everything that I had lived through. I can’t remember if I cried but I know that I wanted to. Although I had discovered that this friend of mine wasn’t real I hadn’t yet discovered all the other things that were simply my imagination.
Life was full of magic when I was a child. It had everything that I could have wanted and more. I had a man who came down the chimney once a year just to give me presents. I had a teeny woman who would slide under my pillow with a shiny quarter and slide out with my tooth. I had a castle to play in with my friends. Everything was colored with bright blues and yellows, pinks and greens. It was magical, and I got to live there.
I couldn’t sleep and as time ticked on my parents were staying downstairs. It was midnight, it was 2:00 am. They weren’t giving Santa enough time to come. I started pacing. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. I didn’t want to allow it to be true but it didn’t care if I was going to let it. It was true. Santa wasn’t real. The next hours were mixed with numb sleep and disappointment but I awoke Christmas morning like nothing was wrong and by noon that day, nothing was. Christmas hadn’t changed. I had.
By the next Christmas Eve I wondered if I had really changed as I sat in front of the computer trying to find the website on which you could track Santa. Maybe I knew it wasn’t true but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t allowed to believe that Santa would still come down the chimney that night. So, I decided that maybe I was wrong last year, maybe I wasn’t but either way I could still picture Santa falling down my chimney and sauntering over to my christmas tree with a big black bag full of gifts all for me.
To this day I can picture these things in my mind. Sometimes I see Bubbles with another little girl, but she smiles back up at me in a way that I know means even if she isn’t real, she was there. Anyone or anything that can make you feel that happy or safe or excited is there. Maybe not physically but emotionally.
I think that’s what people don’t understand. That imagination isn’t knowing something is true, it’s believing in it even if you know it’s fake. It’s taking all the things that people say or do to prove it wrong and making them prove it right. It’s not only believing in the things that people tell you to, like Santa, but making up your own friends and being able to play or have a conversation with them.
So it’s a whole lot easier to keep your imagination. You don’t have to lose the images of these wonderful, magical, creatures just because it’s known they aren’t there. You should still be able to remember their voices and faces, and if that’s possible then they were there and they meant and probably continue to mean something. So I urge you to hold on tighter than I did because I got lucky that my images stayed close enough for me to be able to grab back on.
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