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With a heaving gasp, Skye pulled herself out of the icy depths and into the warmth of her dark bedroom, her heart pounding. Trembling, she switched on her bedside lamp and slipped out of bed. That made two nights in a row. They were back. After ten years, her nightmares were back. She dug her toes into the fuzzy carpet pile and drew in deep breaths of dry air, willing her racing heartbeat to settle. She couldn’t shake the sense that something was closing in on her.
To distract herself from dark water, she considered watching TV. Four in the morning was not optimum viewing time. Reading, however, was good anywhere, anytime.
There was a stack of part-way-throughs and to-be-reads on top of the small bookshelf in her room. She had packed its shelves with definite will-be-read-agains. She was too tired for anything new, and too tense to read anything exciting. It needed to be familiar and comforting. Kneeling, she ran her finger along the spines, slowing at her collection of old illustrated fairy tale books. At a very familiar worn dark blue volume, she stopped. It was an old Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale book that had been her mother’s.
Skye worked it carefully out of the shelf, trying not to damage the old book, and smiled as it fell open in her hand to The Little Mermaid. No surprises there. It was her mother’s favourite, now one of Skye’s because of that. She’d only read it about a hundred times. Gruesome and heart-rending as it was, it was filled with love and hope. Perfect for distraction. And perfect for... Suddenly excited, she skimmed the first couple of pages for the description of the Little Mermaid’s underwater world and smiled widely: she had just found a new literature reference for Miss Ellison.
The next morning, she brushed her unruly blonde hair for school the next morning and eyed her reflection in the mirror. Pale washed out skin and shadows beneath her eyes betrayed two sleepless nights in a row. Her eyes, the colour of which usually hovered between light green and blue, looked darker than usual. And too solemn for seventeen.
Despite her efforts with the hairbrush, would look dishevelled by the time she got to school. She envied girls that had the patience and skill to control their hair at will. Tossing the brush onto her dressing table, she scooped up the Hans Andersen’s fairy tale book. However rough she looked, she felt great about today now that she had this story up her sleeve.
Her confidence wavered as she entered Miss Ellison’s classroom. She’d already said it was her mother’s own story that had inspired the painting. Maybe this assignment would be an F? But her teacher smiled in delight at the old book as Skye explained and pored over the illustrated colour plates scattered throughout.
“I love this idea, Skye! You could focus on similarities. There are references in your painting to this: fish that fly like birds, and the luminous colours. If this was a favourite of your mother’s, then it isn’t an enormous leap to assume that it influenced her own story, right?”
“Sure.” Skye was happy to agree with anything. Besides, it made sense.
“This adds a really nice layer about the way literature influences not just art but other literature. Include a sentence or two about that in your written portion.”
“Written portion?” She’d clearly tuned out half of the assignment instructions.
Amy, a girl at the opposite workstation who’d been listening, chimed in, “You have to do a page about your influence. Mine’s Twilight – that was my mum’s favourite. I’ve got her copy.” She smiled at Skye, perhaps pleased to find someone else using their mother’s book. Skye returned her smile, noting the sparkly glitter on Amy’s hands.
“Can I see it?” another girl next to Miss Ellison was eyeing Skye’s fairy tale book. The teacher raised her eyebrows at Skye for permission. With a twinge of anxiety over its safety, Skye nodded her agreement.
“Be very careful with this,” Miss Ellison commanded as she handed it to the waiting girl, “It’s old and valuable.” A couple of others crowded around to look, one asking if it was too late to change her story influence. Even Brent showed an interest, crossing the room to peer over the girls’ shoulders at the colour plates.
Skye shyly listened to their discussion about the stories, The Little Mermaid in particular. She even offered a few humorous observations when the tamed Disney version versus the original became hotly debated until Miss Ellison sent everyone back to their workstations.
Skye collected her book and returned to her painting, amazed. No one had got her sense of humour, but still. She felt – well – normal. Somehow, her mother’s fairy tale book had made her a proper part of the class for at least a period.
