Magic Within the Waves

Molly’s Own Magic Part 1 *** Molly’s Story Though I had only seen a mere glimpse of her, I knew exactly what she was. The long gold hair, the tiny bare feet skipping up the branch – there was no mistaking I had seen a tree nymph. She was the first nymph I had ever seen and now that I was so close, I had to at least try to touch her or talk to her, if she could talk. Carefully, I hooked my arm around the solid branch in front of me and hoisted myself higher along the towering bottlebrush tree. ‘Molly, Mum wants you back home,’ John called, his deepening voice sounding more like Daddy’s voice with every passing day. ‘Five more minutes, John. I nearly caught it,’ I replied, climbing higher again, following the path of disturbed leaves and whisps of red bottlebrush I was sure the tree nymph had left behind. ‘Don’t rip your dress, Miss Molly or Mum will ground you and I’ll be forced to chop wood again for not bringing you back in one piece.’ John’s round face appeared at the base of the tree, his bright red hair falling in long strands over his green eyes – our Sims’ family green eyes. Daddy’s eyes. ‘Miss Molly, get down now!’ Looking back at him, I shook my head, making my straight hair – a shade lighter than his, swing down my back. ‘No, I’m so close. I just saw her ... Please? Just a little bit higher…’ ‘Bloomin’ hell, Molly,’ he huffed, his face growing almost as crimson as the falling sunset just visible through the gaps in the tree. He folded his arms over his chest, making the muscles ripple under his flannelette shirt, and planted his feet firmly on the ground. ‘I’m not goin’ anywhere ’till you come down... So, hurry up!’ ‘John…’ Sighing, I slipped into a hollow space where two branches met and leant back against the peeling tree trunk. ‘What happened to you? You are no fun anymore, big brother.’ John had changed dramatically since Daddy left a few years ago. The playful boy I remembered from most of my childhood, had been replaced by a brooding, cold and distant stranger. Whatever our mum demanded of him he would obey without argument. That included never letting me get away with anything. And for a free spirit like me, rules were never easy to follow. And since Daddy’s leaving, Mum started to resent that imaginative part of me. So, in turn, John did too. In the wonderful days, when our family was whole – John, me, Daddy, and Mum, living the picture-perfect life in our log cabin farmhouse, on the outskirts of town, John and I would trek through our twenty acres of dry farmland, pretending he was Peter Pan, and I was Wendy. We would hide in hollowed-out trees, practise sword fighting, and pretend that we were flying. Magic was everywhere. I missed those days. John had grown in that time. His dashing smile was now legendary amongst the girls at my school, making them swoon at the mere sight of it. Even I would have to admit, for a brother, he was kind of attractive. He had strength in his arms and shoulders from the days of helping Dad bale hay and rustle the sheep into their pens during shearing season. A brown tan that would make a model jealous covered his face and back, while his eyes could penetrate your very soul. That was my brother – a heartbreaker to all women, and he enjoyed it. Now, just to see a glimmer of happiness in his eyes around girls was rare. He had adopted Mum’s new lease on love... ‘There’s no such thing as love. You meet and get along well enough not to kill each other – so you get married.’ My brother and I were as opposite as sugar and spice. I believed in fairytale romances, fantasies, and the existence of mythical creatures. And John, on the other hand, believed only in things he could see with his own two eyes. But he wasn’t the only one. ‘You are a strange girl, Molly,’ people would say when I explained to them, I had to be up early in the morning so I could watch the sun nymphs dance around the sunrise. But I took it all in my stride. Magic and daydreaming were a part of who I was. I dreamed of finding true love… One who would save me, swear his undying love, and carry me off into his castle in the clouds. ‘Good golly Miss Molly,’ John groaned, drawing my attention back down to him. ‘You’ve gone and dirtied your dress. Bloody hell, it won’t be just chopping wood now, it’ll be washing the dishes with a toothbrush… and probably the outside toilet!’ I glanced up at the place I had seen the tree nymph, but there was no sign of her. Disappointed, I hung my head. There was no use trying again today, she was long gone by now. ‘Alright, John, I’m climbing down now. And don’t worry, I will fix my dress before Mum sees it … everything will be fine.’ ‘Finally.’ His hands fell slackly by his sides and relief washed over his face. ‘You know, one day you’re gonna hurt yourself looking for those bloomin’ pixies.’ ‘Oh, big brother,’ I chuckled, as I began retracing my path back through the low branches, avoiding the dispersing leaves and the peeling aged bark. ‘They are called nymphs … or fairies. And besides, they would save me if I fell. If not, then I know my Prince Charming would magically appear and save me.’ ‘Sure, sure, if you think so.’ Shaking his head, he grabbed me by the waist and lifted me back onto solid ground. ‘Ah hell,’ his eyebrows pinched together so tightly they crinkled his good looks straight off his face. Holding my arm before my face, he prodded a finger at the tear in my sleeve. ‘Just great, Mum’s gonna kill me … and happily sprinkle my remains over the crops.’ ‘Relax John,’ I reached up and kissed his flustered cheek, tasting the salty beads of sweat. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. ‘I have a needle and thread hidden by the back door for these problems. Before we go inside I will grab it, sew the sleeve back together and she won’t even know.’ ‘We’ll see.’ He turned his back to me and headed for the fence separating our backyard from the surrounding paddocks. ‘You know, I’m surprised one of your unicorns can’t fix your dress for you.’ Smiling, I skipped through the ankle-high grass behind him, sending tufts of dry grass through the air. ‘Don’t be silly. Unicorns don’t have hands. How could they possibly fix my dress?’ Shaking his head, he stopped at the gate and waited for me to dance past before locking it. ‘Your head’s in the clouds all the time, Molly. One day you’re gonna come crashing down to earth and it’s gonna hurt.’ Swirling before him, I came to a dizzy stop by the old rope swing, dangling from the only tree in the rather desolate backyard. ‘What happened to you, John? I miss the days we would play together, pretending you were saving me from nasty pirates.’ I scrunched up my nose at him and then grinned. ‘Remember all the fun we had? Why can’t you be like that anymore?’ Not meeting my gaze, he marched towards the house in long straight strides, his arms swinging at his sides. ‘We’re no longer kids. It’s time to start growin’ up.’ ‘Oh, John, you can be grown up and still have fun,’ I concluded, stopping at the dusty back door to our little farmhouse. ‘Life would be utterly boring if you didn’t.’ ‘Growing up and putting childish behaviour behind is a part of life, Molly.’ He folded his arms across his chest again. ‘Fun is something we grow out of so we can merge into the normal world... The adult world.’ ‘Well, I will never give up on fun and,’ I lifted the nearby empty pot plant and uncovered my needle and thread, ‘I will never live in a normal adult world. Besides, normal is ... well normal is just that ... normal.’ John stood behind me, watching intently at the way I slid the needle through the cotton with ease. I had fixed my dress before he could blink. ‘See, easily done.’ I checked Mum wasn’t looking before I replaced my mending kit in its hiding spot. ‘Just like I said it would be.’ Sewing was one of the things I enjoyed. Originally, it began with mending rips or faults in our clothing so we could avoid one of Mum’s harsh punishments – cleaning the outdoor toilet with a toothbrush or mopping the floor to remove a stain only she could see. ‘John!’ Mum screeched, in a voice that had grown coarse from months of crying about Daddy leaving. ‘John, where the hell are you ...? There’s a spider in the kitchen. Quick, kill the damn thing!’ ‘Just bloomin’ great.’ Rolling his eyes, John pulled up his sleeves. ‘Spiders, I hate spiders.’ ‘John!’ ‘Coming Mum.’ He picked up an old shoe and followed after her shrieks.