It was on the wall of her
bedroom, five feet tall. The
lithest legs and daintiest waist,
one like I have never had and
especially now, could not. He
had painted her posed with a
slight bend, making her look like
a backwards seven.
“How did you get the sparkle on
her wings?” I ask.
“Won’t that flake off? What if
she finds it on the floor and eats
“Our kid is not going to be a
cigarette butt eating retard,” he
spits, arms crossed.
“Just asking…” I trail off, my
hands lost. Unable to cross my
arms effectively, I put my hands
on my hips, so far apart now.
The crib is situated just below
and to the right, perfectly
positioned underneath the
protective gaze of the fairy, the
wand raised and ready over the
place she will sleep every night.
He wanted her to feel safe, I
“But why does it have to have
my face?” I ask.
He uncrosses his arms and his
voice darkens, raises. “What
other fucking face do you want
on it Gina? For Christ’s sake!”
I wince, staring at my fairy-self.
The juxtaposition of the delicate
beauty that are fairies with my
face so plain and human reduces
the mural to mockery. Part of
me wonders if this was his
I don’t answer him. I know if I
say anything more, he’ll
threaten to paint over it
entirely; maybe with the
lavender and pink theme I had
fought for and lost. I know that
if that happens, I’ll still see the
fairy underneath the paint. And
I know he will too. He’s not one
to let others forget.
It’s fine,” I say. “It’s fine.”
I twine my fingers together over
my belly; there is a kick and a
It’s fine, I think.
xTx is a writer living in Southern California.
You can find her writing in places like PANK,
SmokeLong, Dogzplot, elimae, decomP and
Thieves Jargon. Her free e-book, Nobody Trusts
a Black Magician, is available at nonpress. She
says nothing at notimetosayit.com