Young Writers Society

     Bob malarkey was what most people would call a troubled teen. One second he would be doing something very average and dull and then all of a sudden strange things would start to happen around him always pointing to him as the culprit. He would blame it on fairies and everyone else would blame it on him.

     It was a warm sunny day in the middle of July and Bob was in a car driving trough the countryside with his father. It was a Wednesday, Bobs father Rob had come from work to take Bob to his therapists appointment. Bob firmly believed that fairies and ghosts existed and would recount many detailed stories about how they had pantsed the teacher not him, or how they knocked over the quarter backs lunch trey. But no one ever believed him as they had done for years so Bob had to see a therapist every Wednesday at four o’clock.

     They pulled up to a large building on the edge of a lake and a forest obviously meant to look like a kind and welcoming home. As they got out of the car Bobs father gave him the usual lecture

     “I don’t understand why you must insist on all this rubbish and for so many years. Why can’t you just let go of these things and be a normal boy?” he pleaded as they walked across the crunching gravel of the parking lot. And as he did every Wednesday Bob turned to say to him “I think its funny how everyone tells me that lying is bad but then turns around and demands I lie.” His father gave him a stern look as usual and they proceeded up the steps and trough the front door.

     The waiting room was very calming. A nice light shade of green on the walls, a carpet patterned with fall leaves, and many well cushioned chairs. The chairs were spaced casually around the room. Three or four around a coffee table, two by a fake fireplace, and 4 more arranged in a square off to the side. Everything was just going as usual when Waxie decided to wake up. Waxie was a small blue tinted albino winged fairy who had moved into Bob’s ear last year. She can grow and shrink to any size on command. Waxie flew around Bobs head energetically as Bob very purposefully ignored her.

     “Hiya Bob! What’s shakin?” She asked enthusiastically as he landed on Bob’s nose no bigger than two inches tall.

     “Perfect timing” Bob sarcastically remarked under his breath. He flicked Waxie off of his nose and scratched the itch she had left there.

     “What was that?” His father asked turning to him.

     “There’s a Leprechaun up your nose.” Bob said with as serious a face as he could.

     “Damn it Bobby! It’s bad enough when you’re not joking about this stuff.” He said chided as he approached the receptionist. Her desk was across the room from the door and was made out of what looked like mahogany. She had a computer on her right and a small shaded portion of the desk where she would work on private documents without having to worry about wandering eye, and a flower pot filled with purple carnations.

     “Sorry.” Bob grumbled

     Waxie poked her head out of the receptionists flower pot where she landed and glared at Bob.

     “Well that was rude.” She sneered flying up and over to land on Bobs shoulder roughly as big as a kitten bringing many of the receptionists’ flowers with her.

     “How can I be rude to something that doesn’t exist?” He asked mockingly

     “Oh come on Bob are you blind or something?!”

     “Are they?”

     “YES!” She shouted “How many more times do we have to go over this?!” Fairies have quick tempers; it was one of the few things Bob loved about them.

     “At least once more” He chuckled

     “No, no way Bob. Seriously, I can understand not getting it the first ten or fifteen times that’s natural but after a hundred and thirteen times I am starting to wonder if your heads screwed on right” She said in an almost motherly tone. Were it not for the fairy’s inability to read human body language because it is “Slower than the erosion of the grand canyon” such a tone would have infuriated Bob, as it stands he was simply amused.

     “What are you gonna do? Get a wrench and tighten it back on?” He jaded.

     “Should I?” She asked seriously almost as if she thought it might actually work.

     “BOB! What do you think you are doing?!” His father roared turning around.

     “I am not doing anything!” Bob insisted confused as to what was going on while Waxie shrunk and flew up his ear. He put his hand to his head to try and stop her and felt the receptionists’ flowers in his hair.

     “You like your new hairdo?” Waxie asked popping up in his eye.

     A moment of boiling infernal rage later and Bob calmed down and turned to his father trying to keep his face from turning red. “What? You don’t think it’s fabulous?” he asked trying to pass it off as a joke.

     “This is neither the time nor place for any of your antics boy.” He growled

     “Please sir it’s fine” The receptionist said with a calm smile trying to diffuse the tension. “The flowers are fake anyway otherwise I would have to replant them three times a day.”

     “Just give them back and sit down.” Rob said sternly as he left to go sit in an empty chair by the coffee table and picked up a newspaper.

     Bob hurriedly removed the fake flowers from his hair as his face turned a nice shade of cherry red, and gave them back to the receptionist who politely smiled as thanked him as he went over and sat down directly across from his father. Waxie was laughing the entire time watching from within his eye ball. Fairies may not always seem that bright but they are cunning and can be and vengeful to boot.

     “Awwwwww.” Waxie said in a mock tone “But you looked so, what was the word you used? Fabulous!” And the fairy flew away down Bobs sinuses.

     “Achoo!” Bob sneezed shooting Waxie out of his nose to land on the coffee table. Rob glanced over from his newspaper for a second and then went back to reading.

     “What was that?!” Waxie demanded sitting on the coffee table and growing to roughly bobs size to glare at him more effectively.

     “Bob Malarkey, Mrs. Armona will see you now.” The receptionist called softly from across the room.

     Bob rose and headed to the door whispering furiously to Waxie who had shrunk and taken refuge in his hair. “We have been over this Waxie; I am allergic to fairy dust!”

     “Yeah right Bob.” She said patronizingly “If people could be allergic to fairy dust then everyone would have a permanent cold”

     “Remember Christmas six months ago when you thought it would be a good idea to move into my nose? I had a cold for 3 months after that and now I am probably gonna have one for two weeks!”

     “Oh well, humans get colds all the time.” She said dismissively

     “Not in the middle of summer.” Bob growled as he reached the door to Mrs. Armonas’ office.

     “Whatever.” Waxie said rolling her tiny little eye.

     Bob took a second to calm down before he went in to see Dr. Armona. The last thing he needed was to be screaming at Waxie in front of his therapist. Dr. Armonas room was much like the rest of the building. It had a slightly darker shade of green around the walls with a blue ceiling. The wall with the door was bare while the wall directly across had a large window, and the walls to either side were lined with books shelves that held all kinds of books from Dr. Seuss to college level books on psychology including one writen by the good Doctor herself. In the center of the room was a couch and table where bob sat every Wednesday for a grueling hour while Dr. Armona questioned him.

     “Good afternoon Bob.” Dr. Armona said from her desk near the right wall as he entered.

     “Hi” bob replied taking a seat on the couch. He tried to keep his usual flat boring tone and to keep his mind off the fairy that decided to wake up on a Wednesday. Fairies have strange sleeping schedules each one more bizarre then the last. Waxies was as follows. She would be wide awake for 48 hours starting at midnight Sunday night she would then take what she called a “quick” 24 hour nap sleeping trough Wednesday and then wake up at midnight again for Thursday and Friday and then sleep through the weekend. She had followed that schedule like clockwork the entire time she had lived in Bob’s ear except for today when she decided at the worst of all possible times to just wake up out of the blue for no reason.

     “How are you today?” She asked in her well practiced calm serene voice.

     “He’s doing sunshiny with a dash of watermelon.” Waxie interjected as she flew onto the clipboard.

     “Again with the voice doc?" Bob found Dr. Armonas professional voice patronizing.

     "What do you think I am, a fragile six year old who’s afraid of rocks? Please, for the thousandth time, cut the crap.” Bob believed therapists were supposed to get to know their patients and establish a relationship and trust with them not put up walls by hiding themselves behind a fake voice.

     “It’s my job bob.” She said in her professional voice as she looked down at Bobs folder which got bigger and bigger each week with documentation of Bobs so called incidents. “Besides, it does help keep my patients calm so we can get to work figuring out how to help them.”

     “You’re the one that needs help lady!” Waxie chided as she picked up the pen. “You need to get your eyes fixed.” She wrote something down and then flew away to a random bookshelf and started rearranging the books. Bob did his best to ignore her and stay still figuring that if the security cameras showed him on the couch the whole time it might lend some credence to his story.

     Mrs. Armona looked up seeing writing on the clip board. “Waxie was here.” She read “I thought Waxie didn’t wake up on Wednesdays.” She said as if she believed Bob.

     “And I thought people only went to church on Sunday.” Bob remarked sourly.

     “Seriously Bob?” Waxie asked as she landed on the table in front of him. “who could sleep through their birthday?!” Waxie froze as if she had just remembered the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. “It’s my birthday.” She said eyes wide

     “oh shit” Bob thought. He hurriedly grabbed the cup of water and flipped it over on top of Waxie without bothering to dump the water.

     “What are you doing?” Dr. Armona asked

     Bob did not hear this question on account of Waxie screaming at the top of her lungs “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!! OH MY GOD IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!! YAY!!!!!! IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!” Waxie suddenly grew in size and flew up with all her might taking the glass out of bobs hands to crash into the ceiling fan raining shards of glass from the cup and the light bulbs down on Bob and Dr. Armona. The lights flickered and there was a thump that only bob heard when Waxie fell unconscious to the coffee table about the size of a full grown cat. She had soot all over her and her hair was standing on end from the shock when she hit the light fixtures. She laid there very still for a second. Then all at once her eyes shot open and she exploded in a mass of fairy dust as she flew around the room making towers of books, juggling glass shards and writing “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!” on everything constantly shrieking about her birthday along the way. Bob sneezed violently for about half a minute from all the fairy dust and looked up to see Dr. Armonas stunned horrified face as she tried to take in the sheer destruction one excited invisible fairy could cause.

     Bob accepting that he was royally screwed simply shrugged and said “It’s her Birthday.”