Dragons and Forts

I have never stopped believing that dragons exist, even though everyone tells me I’m getting too old for such things. This is because I know a secret they don’t; a dragon will only reveal itself to those who have never doubted their existence. Year after year, I wait eagerly for the day it comes true.

The sky is so intensely blue, it’s hard not to smile. I hop across the lava stones, daydreaming about riding through that sky on a dragon’s back. My heart races with excitement. I can’t wait.

I spot the old, white truck wobbling down the dirt road. I race across the porous, black rocks and through the dry weeds to greet my dad as he climbs out of the truck.

“Welcome home!” I exclaim.

He hugs me. “Hello Princess, are you having a good day?”

“Yup,” I agree. “Are you?”

“Yes,” He decides. “It will be even better once I get these boots off.”

“I love you, Dad!” I say, following him towards the house.

  He smiles, “Love you, too.”

I spend my free time before bed sketching ideas for forts. I really want a tree house but we live in a desert so there aren’t any trees big enough. But my dad says he will build me a little play fort, just like he built the chicken coop and the rabbit hutch. Although I really want a grand castle, I try to keep my design simple. I don’t want to overwhelm him with so many details and I don’t want it to take too long to make. We can always add on, I decide. So, I make two final sketches – one for the simple fort I will ask for now and a second of the castle it will eventually become.

A year later, I still don’t have my fort. I hide from the heat in the shadow of the house, trying not to listen to the angry, screeching voices inside. It’s too hot to play, but I can’t stand to be inside. My heart is racing. It has been almost an hour. I try to not feel completely overwhelmed and I try not to cry.

I pray that a dragon will come soon, so that I can fly far, far away and be somewhere peaceful and happy.

Eventually, the screaming stops.

Eventually, my dad moves out. I didn’t want him to leave, but I tell myself that this is the solution, and now life can go back to normal. But my parents can’t look at each other without that anger. They can’t even think about each other without that anger. They have separated their lives -except they can’t completely escape. I am still here. I’m the connection left between them. Since they can no longer scream at each other, they scream at me like that anger can somehow leak through to hurt the other.

I want to stop it but there’s nothing I can do. I shrivel, helpless before all those angry words. I pray that the dragons will take me to wherever they’re hiding away because I want to be able to hide away, too. Somewhere to emerge from only once someone has proven themselves worthy of my presence.

The dragons don’t come.  

Instead, I build my own fort, a hiding place inside of myself. It has thick, steel walls and iron bars across the door. It has moats of quicksand and lava, just for good measure. That way when the anger comes I can curl up inside and it won’t hurt me. I wait there until the moments its safe to come out.

I thought that I had crafted my solution and I could hide in my fort until the storm was over. But the storm grows worse.

“I love you, Dad,” I pipe from the seat of the truck, one day. I always say such things aloud in the moment I feel them, thinking even if people seem to think the random timing is odd it’s better than keeping it to myself.

“Yeah, right,” He mutters. I see how his eyes are fixated out the window. I tell myself he didn’t hear me right, that he was busy thinking about something else. But even then, my heart hurts sharply and I have to hold my breath to keep from crying.

              It was a mistake. It was a mistake. It was a mistake. I assure myself a hundred times that it’s all in my head, that he’s not pulling away from me. But time proves me wrong.

              Eventually, he won’t ever say, ‘I love you’.

              Eventually, he won’t ever hug me.

              Eventually, he won’t even ask ‘how are you’ or any sort of question that might imply he cares.

              I try to fix it. I do whatever I can to be good. I never argue, I am helpful, I keep straight A’s. I do my best, but still I am not easy to love. I know if I say it out loud, everyone will reject this thought just to spare my feelings. But it’s true, it’s easier for him to retreat from my life than to love me.

              Another year passes. The dragons never came.

Anchoring with my heel, I sway in a creaky, old swing. The sky is so intensely blue it feels sharp and painful. As I stare up and hurt, I finally know the truth for certain – there are no such thing as dragons.

              “You’re such an idiot,” I murmur. I’ve clung to that stupid belief for far too long, by eleven I should know better but I longed for that idea of a magical sanctuary too much and for too long to let it go easily. As I accept this fact, it hurts but I don’t cry. I have locked myself up in my fort before the brunt of it hits me.

              More and more, I curl up inside my inner castle of iron and steel and refuse to come out. When I’m in my fort things can’t hurt me and since I can no longer be certain when I need to protect my heart it seems the safest thing is to just stay put.

              Good things can’t reach me either. From that inner fort, affection only feels like annoying intrusions into my space. Kind words bounce off the steel walls, just like the angry ones. The feeling become locked inside there with me. I can’t cry very often anymore, which doesn’t bother me so much. But then there are times when everyone is happy and I’m still just as numb because I can’t feel the happy anymore than I can feel the hurt.

Over the years, my dad becomes nothing more than a cold voice on the telephone and the occasional birthday card in which I spend hours analyzing the handwritten ‘Dad’ signed at the bottom to try to determine if he actually wrote it or if someone else is making an effort to fill the void.

              I don’t quite know how to leave the fort anymore. I try, again and again, but everything is so numbed that when I emerge it feels far too harsh. Loud noises or angry voices instantly make my heart seize and that cold dread wash through my veins. A hug that felt too rushed or insincere makes me feel like the world is crashing down on top of me. I sit in my bed and cry and try to assure myself that they won’t abandon me, too. I crawl back behind those iron bars and remind myself that I knew when I left that I would just wind up hurting again.

              So for years I wait. I wait for someone to believe for long enough that I exist beneath the simple, empty façade. I wait for someone who will say ‘I love you’ every moment they think it and feel it. I will wait for someone who can hug me and to not let go until I’m ready, no matter how long.

              Like those dragons I once believed existed, I wait for someone to be worthy of my presence so that I can finally, safely emerge from my fortress and know for certain I am loved.