She heard the key slide into the lock with a familiar muted clicking noise, and the knob wiggle. There was a muffled exclamation, a small thump, the door swung open quickly, and a skinny girl of about eleven years of age tumbled inside. Her delicate porcelain features still held a slight annoyed scowl over her trouble with the fickle door lock that kept their small apartment safe, her cheeks tinted a soft pink, a ridge forming between her dark eyebrows. The jeans she wore were slightly too small and too short for her - half an inch of pink sock was visible, and the bulky red sweatshirt she wore just a shade too large. The dark brown eyes that were framed by thick lashes were half-closed in thought, her small lips pressed together in a firm line. Then she saw her mother and all the tension went out of her narrow shoulders.

"Hey, Mom." the girl sighed, slumping onto a chair and sliding her scuffed blue backpack off her shoulders. She hung it on the chair lopsidedly, and buried her face in her hands. Her dark brown hair was pulled tightly back in a French braid, but a few curls had come loose, and framed her small face prettily.

Her mother, an auburn haired woman with striking cobalt eyes, was washing dishes. The hiss of the hot water and the muffled clink of dishes being brought together lightly soothed the young girl, and she lifted her head from her hands. Her mother was still wearing her work uniform, which meant she had only just come home and was still tired from her long, thankless shift at a local diner. The young woman who had raised her half turned, a small, weary smile twitching one corner of her mouth.

"Hey, kiddo." she said. Her short-cropped red hair barely touched her collar, and she ran a soapy hand through her hair and tucked an invisible lock of hair behind her ear automatically. It was a gesture the girl knew well, as her mother repeated it several times a day. "How was school?" she questioned, turning back to the dishes. She asked this every day, and her daughter always gave her the same answer.

"School sucks." the girl complained, dropping her head back onto the gray Formica countertop again. In a voice that was muffled by her small hands, she kept talking. "Jeanie made fun of my clothes again today."

The subtle tightening of her mother's shoulders and the way her jaw clenched slightly did not go unnoticed by the girl. "It's okay, though. I told her to go away and I said that I wear them because I want to and because I'm trying to start a new trend."

Her shoulders relaxed, and her jaw loosened. "Good girl, Alex! Next time, don't let her get to you, okay? Jeanie has no fashion sense at all; I mean, what girl wears forty dollar shoes and a gallon of hairspray when they're only twelve?"

Despite herself, Alex let a giggle slip past her lips. Her bangs formed upside down Vs on her creamy forehead as she raised her head again, and her dark eyes smiled at her pretty mother. "Yeah, I guess." she said, getting off the kitchen stool and going over to the cabinet. She opened several cabinets and threw them shut again like she always did, and exhaled a huff of warm air that tousled her bangs. "What's for dinner?"

Her mother wiped her hands on the lacquered red apron that she was still wearing and opened the oven. A tantalizing smell of cornbread and some kind of spice that tickled in inside of Alex's nose wafted out, and Alex's eyes lit up. "Tex Mex? Awesome!" she said happily. Her mother's trademark grin - the kind that pushed the side of her mouth into a dimple and made her cobalt blue eyes crinkle merrily - flashed brightly at her.

"It's Friday, hon. Paycheck day." she said, slipping two patched oven mitts onto her hands and taking out a small casserole dish. "I thought I'd splurge and get us a nice dinner for once. Can you set the table?" she asked, setting the cracked yellow crockery down on the countertop.

Alex went over to the silverware drawer and opened it gingerly - the bottom was falling out in one corner, which caused it to be stuck quite a bit. It was one of the many things on a seemingly endless list of menial tasks that needed to be fixed around the small apartment. She dug through the mismatched silverware and found two forks and two knives that matched, and set them on the kitchen table, which slanted slightly to the left. In lee of the usual cloth placemats, she unrolled a red checkered tablecloth and draped it over the lopsided table, stepping backwards to eye it critically. She adjusted the length of it to be sure it was even, then set two plates and two glasses down on the slanted surface. Her mother ducked under the sink and withdrew a stump of a candle and a scorched wooden trivet for the casserole dish. She lit the waxy stub with a flourish and flicked the lights off.

"Are we in Gordinions, Mom?" Alex asked in a ceremonial whisper. There was another quick, dimpled smile from her mother, who took off her red apron, slung it over the back of a chair, and sat down. Now she was wearing her tan work uniform, with the cheerful yellow rooster embroidered on the sleeve.

"Yes, and the waiter just served us a square of our favorite dish." her mother said seriously. This was their favorite game - to pretend they were in a fancy restaurant, eating a dish they both loved, and dressed in fancy, sumptuous clothes. When a square of Tex Mex (which was a kind of chili topped with a thick wedge of cornbread) was perched innocently on each plate, Alex and her mother clinked their glasses together.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle." her mother said cheerfully. "Alex, say grace."

Alex ducked her head obediently, her dark hair falling over her eyes and rippling over one shoulder. Her black lashes met and they curled sweetly against each cheek. "Thank you Father God for providing us for the delicious meal, and thank you that you gave Mom her paycheck today so we can have Tex Mex. Thank you for not making me be mad at Jeanie today. In Jesus' name, Amen."

They dug into the hot food, steam wreathing the plates and causing the candle flame to flicker. After a minute of devouring the steamy food, Alex got up and opened the dented refrigerator. She took out a plastic jug of apple juice and poured a small bit into her mother's glass. "More champagne, madam?" she asked with a clumsy English accent. Her mother didn't bat an eye, just sipped her apple juice and graced her daughter with a royal smile.

"It's a very good year, waiter." she said, and then her composure shattered as the two of them burst out laughing. Alex sat down again and cut off a triangle of cornbread with the edge of her fork.

"So how did work go?" Alex asked. Her mother sighed and rubbed the back of her neck unconsciously.

"Oh, you know how it is. Mr. Meyer told me I didn't serve the customers fast enough because I was too busy flirting, yadda yadda yadda." Her mother said. Alex's heart swelled with pride. Her mom was by far the coolest mom at school. She was single, unlike most of the other moms, and Alex had once caught one of the eleventh graders calling her mom "hot". Which was utterly true - and unlike most of the rich girl's trophy wives, her mother was cool. She texted and used Facebook and went out to clubs on the weekends.

"That sucks." Alex said glumly, swigging down another gulp of her apple juice. "I got a B on my history today." Alex added brightly. "Mrs. Grunder said I'm showing improvement."

"Good," her mother said, then lifted her twinkling gaze to her daughter. "But you still have homework, okay? Don't let your good grades slip past you over summer vacation."

Alex nodded, then both she and her mother rose simultaneously to bring their dishes to the sink. As Alex scraped the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, her mother swept the floors and folded the tablecloth again neatly. When the dishwasher was thumping erratically - it was a very old model - Alex was sent off to her room to do homework and her mother went to her bedroom to take a shower.

She stripped out of the uncomfortable tan skirt and sensible beige button down blouse that she was forced to wear every day and threw them haphazardly on the floor. Thus exposed to the chill air of the miniscule apartment - they couldn't afford to keep the heat higher then fifty-seven - she wrapped a towel around her scantily dressed body and hurried into the bathroom. Their bathroom was the size of a large closet, and a huge slipper tub dominated the room. She let the towel drop and examined her lithe body in the full length mirror that decorated one wall.

She liked her body, unlike most women - she was slim and petite, with "adorable" curves, or so her ex-boyfriend once said. With her dark blue eyes and short red hair, she could pass off for a model, except she was too short. With an expert twist of her wrist, she jiggled the shower knob and thumped the tap appropriately - it was another thing that had to be fixed - hot water surged forward reluctantly. She kicked off her boring white underwear and plain white bra and left them in a pile on the floor, then stepped into the hot spray that coughed reluctantly over her freckled skin. It felt good to wash the cigarette smoke out of her hair and the sweat off of her body. Working at the Backdoor Kitchen was basically without perks - her boss was grumpy, the uniform was uncomfortable, and the men there thought they had the right to leer at her when she bent over to pick up dropped spoons.

Unfortunately, their water bill was too high to merit a long, soothing shower, so just when her muscles were starting to relax, she shut the hot water off and climbed out of the tub, droplets of water beading on her smooth body. She toweled herself off briskly, then hurried back to her room, anxious to get her sweat pants and t shirt on before the cool air chilled her damp skin. The gray sweat pants she tugged on were baggy and rather too large for her, but she didn't care. And the yellow "Pony Express" t shirt that she had slept in for the past five years had two holes in it, and was beginning to get dingy around the cuffs, but there simply was no money for her to be going out and buying a new set of pajamas. Every extra drop of her already meager paycheck went into buying Alex school supplies and clothes; the bill collectors sucked up every last drop they had.

The cable was on the fritz again (it had probably been knocked out of alignment by the wind on the rooftop), so she fired up her clunky old desktop computer and waited patiently for her excruciatingly slow AOL connection to form. When it did, she logged onto the internet and checked her Facebook page. Nothing, as usual. This didn't bother her - she posted on Facebook to talk to herself more then anything.

She had only been typing for about a half an hour when she heard Alex creaking down the hallway. Alex poked her head around the doorway, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Her mother looked up and smiled at her. In Alex's arms was a faded blue book, and without even her saying so, she knew what it was. "Fellowship of the Ring? Again?" her mother said, feigning exasperation. "Whenever are you going to grow out of it, hon?"

"Never." Alex said decisively, snuggling underneath her mother's blankets and setting the battered book on her lap expectantly. "I'm always going to love it." Her mother shut down the computer and climbed into bed, cuddling close to her daughter, and switched on her bedside light. The small rectangular glasses that she settled on her nose gave her the elegant look of a writer, which she was. The old book let out a slight crack as it was opened.

She opened the book and licked her finger, flipping through the pages. "Where should we start?" her mother asked. Alex closed her eyes, waiting for the fantastic images to appear in her head.

"Start where Frodo meets Strider." Alex commanded, and her mother began to read. Her voice, which was normally unaccented, acquired a gentle English tilt to her words when she read aloud, and Alex loved how she gave each character a different voice. Frodo's voice was smooth and chirrupy, whilst Strider's voice was gruff and businesslike. Gandalf was a kindly old voice that cracked in places and conjured up foggy images of Alex's grandfather. Merry and Pippin both had Irish accents, with Pippin's being a touch higher-pitched then Merry's. Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

Her mother dropped a kiss on her forehead when the chapter ended, seeing that her daughter was asleep. Alex twisted suddenly as her mother shut off the bedside light. "Would you like to live in Middle Earth, Mom?" Alex asked sleepily. Her mother stopped for a moment, her azure eyes far away and slightly preoccupied. How nice it would be, to live in Rivendell, with no debts, no cranky bosses, no upset customers.

"I would like to." her mother said slowly. "But I don't think we can get there." she added softly. Alex turned over on her side, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, we can get there." Alex mumbled drowsily. "If we wish hard enough."

Her mother waited for a moment, watching her daughter sleep in the dim light. After a moment, her eyes adjusted, and she could see the rhythmic rising and falling of her daughter's chest, and heard the soft sighs that Alex always made when she was sleeping. Taking great care not to wake her, she crept out of bed and went over to her desktop, which she fired up. Sitting in the chilly bedroom, quivering inside because it was so cold, she rubbed her hands together briskly to warm them. When the connection had been established, she flexed her fingers experimentally, her blue eyes going blank and unfocused as she began to write.

Dear Readers.

I came home from work today, tired, cold, and hungry, and was greeted by my daughter. Because she has always had an optimistic view on life, she filled me in on her entire day, while I was left washing dishes, wondering what to say to the pretty young woman who my little girl had become. She is my pride and joy, and I often wonder what I would do without her in my life. Her father was a passing comfort, but he left as soon as responsibility settled itself heavily on his shoulders.

So here I am, thirty two, unmarried, and with no status other then "single". My prospects have shrank to nothing over the few years since we've lived in Boston, and now, looking back, I chide myself for ever coming to this scummy city. Oh, it's beautiful in the autumn, and the Roger William's Zoo is cherished dearly by my little girl, but I miss the country all the same. I miss the wild, open spaces, the sweet little streams and the babbling birds.

This evening my daughter asked me a peculiar question. "Mom," she asked, her conscious still hovering in slumber. "Would you live in Middle Earth?"

I think I have already explained my daughter's almost-unreasonable infatuation for the series. She loves them with a passion she shows only to me and books in general, and this I cannot understand. But the question shook me, and I truly gave it thought for a moment. How nice it would be, to go to bed to the sound of running water again, to not worry about debts or bills or anything. The men there were more chivalrous then they are here, and I cannot help but wonder if I could find a husband there. I highly doubt it, but one can dream.

So, my answer was a "Yes" to my daughter. I still wonder if I said the right thing. But then she said the queerest thing: "We can get there if we wish hard enough."

Was she sleep talking, hovering between the fine layers of sleep and awareness? Or was she coherent enough to believe in what she was saying? I still do not know.

Signing off,

Eoin

She closed the browser window and sighed, rubbing her temples. She hadn't noticed the time; it was nearly eleven o'clock. She had to get to be if she was to wake up at seven so she could see Alex to school. Sighing deeply, she crawled into bed next to her daughter, and thought about the words she had said. "If we wish hard enough."

She hung to those words, coated as they were with magical layers of mysticism and romance. Scolding herself for being such a silly woman, she rolled over and fell asleep.

A/N: I figured I might as well start another story to keep myself busy since I'm taking time off of "Most Unwillingly Given". Tell me what you think - and no flames, please. They ruin my day.