A Far-Off Place

By Brianna Suazo

I pretend not to notice when Sarah and Cricket disappear into the woods behind our property. Normally, I would warn her not to wander too far, but I can see it. I can see the familiar glimmer around the small wooden fence and between the trees. So, I look away. It’s not my place.

When my daughter reemerges minutes later wearing a crown made of starlight and a sparkling gold gown, I smile and act like she is still wearing her knit hat and overalls.

“Did you have fun?” I glance up absently from my show. “Catch any frogs?” I add, knowing full well she spent the last three months chasing down the last key to the forgotten Diamond City.

She stares at me, awestruck. After a few moments, she grins and strokes Cricket’s fur. “Yeah, Mom. A few.”

I nod and turn back to the TV.

Days later, I watch them run into the blend of summer haze and blue-lit magic while I fold the laundry. When they come back covered in scrapes and cuts, panic grips me. I run out to the yard and scoop Sarah up. Her tears soak my shoulder. I forgot it could be like this.

I take her into the bathroom and clean the cuts, but shush her when she tries to tell me about the cruel, cat-sized, velvet-scaled dragons who did this. “You’ll have to be more careful,” I say while Cricket whines and licks at the scrape on Sarah’s elbow, “not to fall into brambles or wild rosebushes next time.” She glares at me through her tears for a moment but softens when I place an orange Band-Aid on her knee. It’s not my place to remember.

Sarah’s hesitant to return, at first. For a few weeks, she sticks to playing in the yard or reading at the kitchen table while I work. But after dinner one night, Cricket’s wagging tail disappears into the mist. Sarah has no choice. Adventures await her.

When they return, Sarah is holding a gleaming sword above her head. I shout from the deck that the stick is neat, but she needs to leave it the yard, and she smiles knowingly. “Sure, Mom.”

It’s not my place to see it.

That night after she is tucked in bed, I sit outside in a lawn chair. I try to keep my eyes off the gleam at the edge of the woods. It’s no use. In a moment of weakness, I weigh down the stack of bills with my phone, step off the deck, and run barefoot toward the mist.

I can almost see the enchanted meadows and shining castle coming nearer, nearer, nearer… and then I’m past it. Sharp twigs stab my heels, and I can smell the neighbor’s cigarettes in the air. It’s not my place, anymore. No matter how much I’ve missed it.

Embarrassed and hurting, I walk back into the house. I pause at Sarah’s room, then go quietly inside. When my eyes adjust, I can see her sleeping with her hair in her face. Cricket is curled up at her feet, her nose twitching slightly with doggy dreams. A few feet away, I can see the starlight crown glowing slightly on Sarah’s bookshelf, nestled between other treasures: seashells, quarter-machine keychains, plastic snow globes, and a small rocket ship she made at school. I curl my fingers around the top of the crown. I wonder how she feels wearing it, if it’s the same. Does it make her hold her head high, safe in the knowledge that she is clever, graceful and brave? I start to lift the crown but think better of it. Instead, I lift a stray blanket off the bed, mush it into a pillow-like shape, and lay on the floor next to the bed.

“Mom?” she whispers just as I am falling asleep.

“Mmmm?”

“Are you awake?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can’t fall back asleep. Will you tell me a story?”

I chuckle. “How about you tell me one?”

“Sure,” she says, “but you have to know something.”

“What’s that?”

She sits up on her elbows and Cricket stirs slightly. “It’s 100 percent true.”

I glance over at the shimmering woods outside her window. “Okay,” I say softly.

She takes a deep breath. “Okay… So, sometimes through a shiny portal in the woods, there is a far-off, magical place…”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Brianna Suazo writes in Boulder, Colorado. She has been published in Spider Mirror Literary Journal, is a featured writer for Memoir Mixtape‘s song recommendation column, and is a staff reader for E&GJ Little Press. She was also the recipient of the CU Libraries Frankenstein Bicentennial Creative Award and The Jovanovich Imaginative Writing Award. In addition to writing, she enjoys exploring bookstores, hiking, and annoying her friends and family with trivia and fun facts.

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