Slaying Dragons

I don’t normally sit in a lousy bar and drink some cheap Chardonnay at 10 in the morning. This morning I do, cause this morning, I woke up, went to court and got divorced.

It could be the wine but I’m sitting here, wondering what Maisy would have to say about all this. Maisy, my sister, my friend, my saviour…

Funny, how some memories remain crystal clear, no matter how much you had to drink.

It was one of those nights my mom was working late and the babysitter was making out on the couch with her boyfriend. I was 5 and I remember standing in the bathroom, across the big old mirror and looking at myself, asking why I have this black mess of hair sitting on top of my head, eating away all my hairclips while girls like Alexa have a pile of smooth strawberry blonde curles, tied up with an always neat, always red ribbon.

Girls like Alexa, were the type of girls I never could become. Every neighborhood needs a misfit kid. I guess I was that kid, one with a strange fascination for dragons.

When the girls wanted to play house, there was no place for dragons in a house and Barbie’s clothes would not fit my stuffed purple dragon. The boys were another problem, cause me roaring like a dragon while they played ball, made them laugh.

I was a little girl who was never quite pink for the girls but not enough blue for the boys either.

That night, amongst all that angst and identity crises, that would have been more appropriate around puberty, I met Maisy for the first time when she winked at me from the mirror and said: “Hey!”

She looked like me really. She had my clothes, my hair, my height. She was almost me but not quite. I couldn’t really put my finger on what made her so different.

“Why are you looking at me?” she said.
“You are the one looking at me!” I said, still staring at her with wide eyes.
“You’re still looking, silly!”
“You are the one who’s silly!”

I was never the chattiest of little girls but I wasn’t what you’d call shy either. And I did posses that quality every girl from 4 till 14 possessed, that little I-know-everything-and-you-don’t-know-shit-you-silly-piece-of-dog-poop attitude. But she knocked me out, she rendered me speechless, made me lose all my words and smart comebacks.

“What now? Cat caught your tongue?” she said.
“I don’t have a cat, so there you go! You are the silly one.”
“Will you soon be done with the ‘you are the one’ bullshit?” she said, touching her hair, my hair, like a grown-up.

Bullshit? Did she really say that word?

“What now? Are you going to cry? Bullshit bullshit bullshit!” she yelled.

Wow, as much as she pissed me off, I also admired her for the guts to say bullshit. She could probably even say the f-word if she wanted. And she looked so confident, so strong as if no Princess Alexas could ever make her cry.

“Yeah, fuck Alexa and for God’s sake, stop calling her fucking princess!”

Oh okay, she could also read my mind. Another bonus. And yes, she could say the f-word outloud. She was quickly becoming my superhero, this girl, this doppelganger of mine who came to me at a time when I didn’t know what doppelganger meant.

“Do you need a formal introduction, Daisy?” she snorted, “Well… There you go, my name is Maisy and it’s nice to meet you!”
“There is no such name as Maisy!”
“You have an obsession with meaningless details! My name is Maisy, so obviously there is a name like that. Duuh!”

With that, every thing suddenly made perfect sense. So what, if she was talking to me from the mirror, if she was a version of me with crazy eyes or if she had a weird name? She could very well be my cool twin sister, who could say the f-word outloud and that should be enough. With her by my side, all Alexas of the world could f-word off!

“I think you might want to say ‘All Alexas of the world could fuck off!” said Maisy and she chuckled.

“Fuck fuck fuck! Fuckity fucking fucker!” I yelled back and threw myself deep in the laughter.

The word ‘fuck’ created an instant bond between us, a kind of connection only kids can form through laughing senselessly to swearing. From that point on, we immerged into a universe that was completely ours.

In that universe, we played house. But ours had dragons and moms who slayed them in order to protect their babies: “Fuck you, you dirty dragon! You are not going to kill me or my baby, you fucking shit!”

Story by Daisy, dialogue by Maisy of course.

I didn’t worry about Alexa or the boys making fun of me, any longer. I had Maisy and we kicked some serious dragon ass!

It was Daisy and Maisy, the dragon slayers all the way, until that summer my boobs started to ache and my mom talked to me about flowers and bees. That summer, slaying dragons started to seem less important than Marc from my class and his blue eyes. With me needing her less and less, Maisy, slowly disappeared from my life.

Tonight though, I wonder if she was ever hurt, if she ever felt betrayed when I let her go. It can’t be easy to accept being disposable, even if you are imaginary. It certainly wasn’t easy for me, when my husband of 17 years, decided he’s better off with a 21 year old.

“I guess you wanted to say, my ‘fucking’ husband Daze!”

Maisy! Maisy in that blurry reflection on the mirror behind the bar. Maisy, almost me but not quite, still with the crazy eyes. Maisy, my sister, my friend, my saviour…

Maisy, back for slaying dragons, one more time.

Not: Efendim, işte bu hikaye bir ders için yazdığım bir hikaye olup, İngilizce olmasının sebebi özentilik değil, dersin İngilizce olmasıdır. Fena hikaye olmadığından, şurdan kamuoyuna açayım dedim, olayları tabii tamamen atıyorum takdir edersiniz ki.

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