CHAPTER FOUR: Hello
Tinker Bell became more wary of this new place, but her curiosity remained, so now she made her observations from a safe distance, keeping herself well-hidden from other eyes. For many days she listened and looked, and learned even more of the place which she came to know as London.
But in time she began to miss her home, especially whenever she became hungry, for the few wild berries and nuts she found in the park were usually small and sometimes even wormy, and she remembered with a pang in her heart and in her stomach that the berries from her jungle were numerous and plump and sweet.
Tinker Bell, however, had one problem. She did not know how to get back home. Yes, she tried many times flying straight up into the heavens, looking for that line or point or curve where the sky and sea were one, but this world was ruled by too much logic that it was almost impossible for anything to be simultaneously a line and a point and a curve, or the sea and the sky at the same time. Almost, but not completely impossible, for as long as little children dreamed of magic and believed in it, magic was alive.
She was getting desperate about her situation that she became careless about staying hidden, and one afternoon, after countless failed attempts, she fluttered defeated down to the nest that had become her home in this strange land, mindless of anything else around her save for the dull ache she felt inside her chest, which she had no name for, but which we can all recognize as loneliness and homesickness.
-------
He did not know what it was that fell from the heavens; he only knew that it was something one does not see everyday. He wondered if that shining thing was a star that the heavens had let go of, but dismissed the idea, seeing that it was simply too early in the day for stars to fall. It was not even four o'clock in the afternoon!
He covertly passed his gaze to where his older sister stood talking with two of her friends. He hated it when Mother was not the one who took him for a walk, because that meant that he would have to be stuck with his older sister and her friends an entire afternoon. While he loved his sister dearly, he despised their silly gossiping about what this girl had worn at that party or if that boy really did say this outrageous thing.
His mother had not been feeling very well that day; she was not even up to the task of going to work. She had the symptoms of a bad cold, but insisted that it was nothing to worry about too much. His older sister had instantly volunteered to take him for a walk, if only to get away from having to take care of a sneezy mother.
The thing that he did not like most about these afternoons was that there would be no story to hear. Except, of course, if he wanted to listen to accounts of the latest love matches or high fashions that were the rage of the moment. While he loved reading from the books his mother brought home, nothing can quite match his mother's stories, especially when her eyes twinkle with that special light as she tells them. He knew that he would soon outgrow these stories, in the same manner that he was outgrowing his breeches. But for the present, those stories felt as comfortingly real as his old baby blanket that was still his nightly companion whenever he slept. Comfortingly real, but potently magical.
And so he lay by himself near the roots of a willow tree that he particularly favored. He was looking up with half-closed eyes at the leaves of the tree, the fingers of sunlight dancing among them and beneath his own lids. At first he did not see that thing falling from high up because of those shafts of sunlight, but when he did see it, he shot up into a sitting position and squinted his eyes for a better view.
No, he was not seeing things. There really was a strange something that was falling from the heavens. When he saw that his sister was not looking, he scrambled up into the tree's lower branches and proceeded to climb higher. When he looked up again, he saw that the thing was not actually falling, but flying down. Right down into his tree, that willow tree that he particularly favored. With a sudden movement, he outstretched his hand and caught the thing as it approached.
The thing in his hand was definitely no star, for though it was warm against the skin of his palm, it did not look hot enough to be something that could shine so patiently all night. His mother had once told him that starlight never goes out, not like a candle that would only last as long as its tallow does, and not even when the day was bright and they disappear from view. He knew that such a light would indeed be very hot, for he had once touched a curious finger to the flame of the candle that stood on the table by his bed, and got a nasty burn for the effort. How much more can starlight burn a little finger, if its light can outlast that of a thousand candles?
Another thing that made him sure that this thing was no star was that it wiggled impatiently from his grasp, squeaking and tinkling wildly in outrage. Stars twinkled, but never wiggled, else one would find the night sky difficult to stare at for longer than a few seconds at a time.
He knew of only one thing that behaved like the something in his hand, but he had only seen it in his dreams. When he saw its minuscule fists pounding uselessly against his fingers and the wings that were still fluttering delicately, he was certain.
The something in his hand was a Fairy.
-------
"Let go of me! Let go of me, you Crazy Boy! Aieeek!"
Tinker Bell struggled to be free, but her efforts seemed to have no effect. She remembered the technique she had used on that other boy, the one with the grubby hand. She had almost applied her sharp little teeth on the fingers of this boy with the relatively cleaner digits, but then the boy spoke.
"Do not be afraid, Little Fairy." The voice instantly soothed away her fear, and for some reason reminded her more of home. "I will not harm you."
"You will not set fire to my tail?" Tinker Bell asked, still not completely convinced.
"But Fairy, you have no tail to set fire to!" the boy replied with a delighted laugh. Slowly he opened his hand until the fairy was sitting in the curve of his cupped palm. She did not know that it was a very amazing thing to have a boy understand her language.
"What is your name, Little Fairy?" the boy asked, his voice ever gentle.
"I am Tinker Bell."
"Hmm… I have heard of you, Tinker Bell. I am very pleased to meet you." The boy offered a finger for shaking, but the fairy just stared at it, for she was yet unacquainted with the practice of shaking hands. He gingerly took her hand with his forefinger and his thumb and took care not to shake it too hard, lest he injure that delicate appendage. He told her his name in return so that they may be properly introduced, but he need not have bothered, for henceforth she addressed him only as "Boy."
And so, like the Football, her initial opinion of boys was forever changed by this very gentlemanly little soul.
"Why are you so sad, Tinker Bell?"
Her wings drooped forlornly behind her with the question, and she told him why. The boy did not reply to her sad admission, but instead asked what her home was like. She told him with a lot of animated gestures about her tree, about her jungle, about the sea and the sky and the pirates and the mermaids and all the other beings which walked that land. He nodded thoughtfully at each description, now and then murmuring politely that her home indeed sounded like a marvellous place. Of course he already knew about it, for he was quite familiar with many of That Wonderful Place's nooks and crannies.
In return, he graciously described to her the many places and things in London as best as he could, and in return she nodded thoughtfully at each description, now and then murmuring politely that his London indeed sounded like a marvellous place. Of course she already knew about it, for she had listened before to those flighty winds and then to those people who strolled through the park, and learned much.
After quite a long time, the boy heard his sister calling his name. He reluctantly bade the fairy goodbye, saying that he could not take her with him because his family would not understand. But he promised her that he would be back next Saturday, so they could talk again.
"And Tinker Bell, don't let other people see you. They will not understand either. Stay hidden!" And then he scrambled down the tree in much the same way as that squirrel did many days ago. And then he was gone.
Tinker Bell felt even sadder than before. Her loneliness had disappeared when she met the boy, and her homesickness was relieved when she saw that special light in his eyes that reminded her of home for reasons which she could not understand. But now both emotions returned with a vengeance. It seemed that Next Saturday could not come quickly enough.