Enchanted Forest

After my father left, before Hazel came, while my mother, sister and I were living with my aunt and uncle, there were times when the floor in my world would quake. When that happened, I would drop to my knees and crawl to the safest place I could find: behind a couch, under a bed, in a closet.

This sudden breach in normal and calm was terrifying to a toddler, and it was during these times when I found safety in an imaginary world, my enchanted forest. I was too little to comprehend what was happening, but as time went on I came to understand that it had to do with my mother’s difficulty in accepting my father was gone and was never coming back.

Before Hazel came, when I was five, and took Mother, Judy, and me away from our safe haven with Aunt Gracie and Uncle Jimmy, my fantasy world complemented my real world. Life was good for me on Walcott Street. My aunt and uncle couldn't have children so my sister and I filled that void for them, and they provided a loving, affectionate, and stable environment for us. All of that changed with the move. Stability remained but love was hard to find and affection came with conditions.

It was my first deliberate memory. I was six. I willed myself to always remember this time and I have. I took off my shoes and sat down in a sandbox. Since the move, it had become one of my "go to" places to escape from one of those scary moments I mentioned above.  I used a bucket and shovel to transfer sand from one spot to another, but I wasn't building anything.  I was hiding in plain sight, yet deep inside an enchanted place of my own making, surrounded by those who were concerned about my wellbeing. I needed reassurance that I was a good girl and confirmation that I would be protected against any harm that might come from a moment. As I played in the sand, a peace came over me. Of course, I was good; of course, I would be okay. I just had to believe it and it would be true.

Even though Prince Charming was hanging out in my future waiting to rescue me, I didn't give him much notice when I was very young. I was just trying to get past six, seven, and eight without too much damage to my body and my mental and emotional health. I was just ducking for cover in a fantasy world that was designed to save me.

Another one of my deliberate memories happened was when I was nine, and we were living at 16th and Broadway in downtown Indianapolis. My addiction to fairy tales had altered my enchanted forest a little bit. I moved all the fairies to storage and brought in Prince Charming and his horse. The trees were moved--I didn't cut them down; no, really, I didn't--and a meadow took their place. The prince was on his white mount and waiting at the end of the meadow for his princess to make an appearance. Once he saw her--say, maybe she was in distress and needed to be rescued--he would race to her aid. He would fall in love with her instantly, and they would live happily ever after.

Deliberate memory No. 2 was prearranged in fantasy, but occurred in reality.

The prince was sitting at the end of the street on his brand new Schwinn bicycle. He was waiting for the sidewalk to clear so he could race as fast as his legs would allow to the other end of the street. But wait. What was that thing sitting in the middle of the sidewalk that was messing with his plans? Would he see that it was his princess in distress and in need of rescuing? Once he realized it was his precious beloved, he would race as fast as his big, strong legs would permit to help her, right? He would stop right before reaching her, jump off his bike to see what had happened to his love, right? Surely, he would not hit her, run over her, yell at her for being stupid, and then leave the scene, right?

WRONG! Only in a delusional world would anyone think that. And therein lies the problem with spending way too much time in the enchanted forest.