Bite

“WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON?” these four words boomed ferociously out across the kitchen. Emanating as it did from about waist height, the retort was most disconcerting. Not a scream, not a question, more a command, no, a demand. A demand of purest outrage. All the more penetrating, not just because of the sheer volume of it, but more so because of the timbre of the voice in which it travelled.

My daughter Jessica was seven years old, nearly eight. With a Shirley Temple face framed by a tangle of blond, loosely waving hair, she generally looked a sweet little girl, if somewhat tomboyish in accouterment. But she was not exactly sweet now. Her fury was palpable. She had an incredibly developed sense of duty and obligation for one so young.

“What is the matter Betty?” I always called her Betty for her middle name Elizabeth, although nobody else did, nor does to this day.

“THIS!” She roared, holding up a tiny little something between her thumb and forefinger in an accusation of biblical proportion. It is quite astounding the sheer power of the sound that such a small person can deliver.

The little something turned out to be her most recently shed baby tooth. It had come out, with some dedicated assistance on her part, late yesterday afternoon and had been placed with all due diligence on a bed of cotton wool, in the sparkly and fairy wing decorated matchbox that was itself, secured under her pillow.

Late last night, after Jessica had fallen asleep, the Tooth Fairy had snuck into her room and carefully removed the tooth from it’s box. Unfortunately the Tooth Fairy then realised that he did not have the requisite two dollar coin in his pocket so he went out to the kitchen to find one.

As you are most likely aware, misfortune loves to compound and confound, and being distracted somehow, for the life of me I cannot remember by what, the Tooth Fairy placed the tooth momentarily on the kitchen table, where due to the unfortunate failure in the completion a binding transaction, Jessica found it the next morning. After first failing to find the requisite coin of the realm in it’s place.

“She must have put it down for a moment and then got distracted.” I suggested, “Perhaps Percy had barked at her.” Percy was our springer spaniel. “I bet the Tooth Fairy was pretty upset when she got home and found she was missing a tooth. She might even got in trouble from her boss.” I stumbled on. In for a penny, in for a pound.

That struck a chord with her. Her rage subsided markedly, being replaced in equal parts by introspection and suspicion. “Perhaps if you replace it in the box, she will come back tonight, looking for it.” I continued, I was on a roll now. “Oh.” was Betty’s one word response. At least she was now speaking in a civil tone. Apparently a rational explanation swiftly delivered, along with a reasonable course of action, seemed to have made an impression on her. “I will.” she responded slowly, with a slightly quizzical expression on her face.

A provisional ‘benefit of the doubt’ had been offered, but I got the feeling that eyes would be watching. She duly placed the tooth into the matchbox and the matchbox back under her pillow. I did notice that she checked it and it’s contents several times through the course of that afternoon and evening.

Betty took a long time to fall asleep that night, and for the longest time seemed to be feigning it, perhaps waiting to trap and question the errant fairy for an explanation. Around about midnight Jessica had finally and totally yielded to sleep and so the Tooth Fairy, properly prepared this time, snuck back into her room and finally completed the traditional transaction.

The following morning Jessica emerged from her room with a look of adult satisfaction on her face. She was very happy with the world and her handling of it. It seems that not only had the Tooth Fairy taken the tooth and exchanged it for a shiny two dollar coin, she had also left a fairy sized note of explanation and apology.

Betty presented the matchbox to me. “Have a look at what the Tooth Fairy left for me.” she said. “You were right Dad, read what she said.”

On a strip of white paper about two centimetres wide and about three centimetres long, rolled up into a tiny scroll, as if it had been painstakingly wound tightly around a tooth pick which had then been withdrawn, and tied with a fairy sized golden ribbon, remarkably like the gold thread Jessica might find in her father’s old Miller shirt, was the following message, written in a perfect hand, surprisingly reminiscent of three point Gothic script, the smallest print available from a laser printer and a Macintosh computer at that time.

It read:

Dear Jessica,

Thank you so much for finding the tooth

and putting it back in your special box.

That was so thoughtful of you.

I lost it last night. I think it might have

been when your doggie scared me.

I noticed it was missing when I got home.

I rushed back tonight to see if I could find it.

Sorry if I upset you.

Yours sincerely, TF.

In due order, over the next couple of years, Betty’s remaining baby teeth proceeded, one by one to fall out, and the Tooth Fairy managed her job with the appropriate level of professionalism.

I am reliably informed that the currently twenty four year old Jessica still has that scroll to this day. She told me she keeps it in that self same tooth box. It is not out of any illusions as to the truth about the Tooth Fairy that she still has the note, it is out of a fond memory of the trouble that he went through to fulfil his magical duty.