Page 80 of One Night

"Because it was boring." She folds her arms over the table and lays her head on them.

"Then you pick the book," I tell her. "Next week you bring whatever you want me to read."

"Can't you just tell me a story instead?"

"The book is a story but you won't let me read it."

She pops upright again, her eyes wide with excitement. "Tell me about a pretty princess and how she meets a boy on a horse and finds out he's a prince and they fall in love and live happily ever after."

Why do we keep telling these stories to girls? Princesses meeting their prince? Living these fairy tale lives? I bought into all that back when I was Emily's age and part of me still believes it. It's not like I'm waiting around for a prince but I still believe in the fairy tale. But why? Was I so brainwashed by these stories as a kid that it makes me still believe that stuff?

"You know those stories aren't real, right?"

She shrugs. "Maybe they are." She smiles really wide. "My daddy was a prince. He had to leave to fight the bad guys."

Does she really think that? Did her mom tell her that? Or did she just make it up? Either way, I'm not going to break her heart and tell her her dad is a loser who took off. If she'd rather believe he's a prince, then so be it.

"Let's finish the story." I point to the book. "What's this say?"

She sighs, annoyed that I'm making her read. "The. Ma...man. Ssss..."

"Said," I say slowly.

"Said. To. The. Li..." She bounces in her chair, frustration on her face.

"You're almost there. Just sound it out."

"I don't want to." She pouts.

"But you almost had it."

"I said I don't want to!" She jumps up and runs out of the room.

I pushed her too far but that was the most she's ever read and I wanted her to keep going. Getting up to go find her, I stop when she runs back into the room.

"I'm sorry," she says, hugging my legs. She's short for her age, and tiny. She looks more like a five-year-old than a seven-year-old. "Please come back."

"Come back? What do you mean?"

"I got mad and now you won't come back."

I bend down to her level. "I'll come back. I promise."

She frowns and looks at the floor. "Daddy didn't come back. Mommy got mad and he didn't come back."

So that's what happened. Her parents fought and her dad took off and never came back. And she made up that story about him to make herself feel better.

I hug her. "I'm sorry your daddy left. But you need to know that getting mad doesn't mean people will leave you and not come back. Just because your daddy did doesn't mean everyone else will." I let her go. "I'll be back next week, just like always, okay?"

She nods, then smiles. "This week is Thanksgiving!"

"That's right. It's Thursday. Are you gonna have turkey?"

She nods again. "And stuffing and mashed potatoes."

"Sounds yummy." I hear the door open and see the teacher standing there. "Looks like our time is up. I'll see you next week."

"Bye!" She runs off.

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