This is a story about the kids. And me, of course; I was there. But it’s also about Farrah Bonnot, who is among the few people I’ve ever written about where I used her real name. Then again, she didn’t do anything terribly embarrassing in this story, except maybe start her own Cargo Cult without realizing it.
That would be MY fault. Although it’s at least partly Perfect Tommy’s, because he’s the reason I was in Miss Smallberries’ classroom in the first place.
Y’see, the Reading Assistance teacher was out that day... and she had a sub. And Perfect Tommy doesn’t handle subs very well. Perfect Tommy is one of MY kids, and I’m a Behavior Guy, and Perfect Tommy has certain behavior ISSUES, y’see. And one of them is that unfamiliar people, sprung on him suddenly, can set him off. Last time Miss Smallberries was out of the room, and Mrs. Priddy was there instead, he stood bolt upright suddenly, with a look on his face like his nuts were in a vise, stormed over to the puppet theatre, and began seizing the puppets and biting their eyes off while weeping hysterically.
So that morning, Miss Smallberries intercepts me and asks if I can sub for Reading Assistance, because she doesn’t want anything like that to happen again. And I certainly don’t want it to, either; I was the one who had to get him out of the room, LAST time, still weeping hysterically, away from a rather shocking scene of puppet carnage amidst a roomful of horrified third graders. And we never did find all the eyes afterwards.
“Uh, yeah, I can do that,” I said. “Ten thirty, right?” And it was a date.
And at that time, I began working with a group of ten kids on one of Miss Smallberries’ reading lessons. I love lessons like this. No prep, no lesson plans, just dive in there and start teachin’. And we read about pirates, and we held a group discussion and we answered questions about the book, and we talked about the unfamiliar words, and we did a little worksheet...
...and that’s how I discovered that the lesson in question was about fifteen minutes too short. I was left with a mob of third graders... and no more material to cover. What to do? I glanced up at Smallberries, who was doing a center based thing across the room; there was no way I could turn this mob loose without being disruptive. Crap. What did I have that I could use to entertain ten third graders for fifteen minutes?
I pulled out my phone.
I make a habit out of carrying a LOT of weird things in my pockets for moments like this. A magic trick or a strange shiny thing or a cute kitty picture has WAY too often taken an escalated child straight from “HULK SMAAAAASH!” to “
.... do that again?” and it’s just too durn useful a technique. Only flaw is that the same trick seldom works twice. So I carry plenty of tools with me, and my first line of defense is my phone.
Y’see, my phone arranges pictures into albums, and I have a LOT of albums, and many of them are nothing but weird inexplicable stuff... that I can use as the basis for a tall tale. Hell, sometimes I use them for writing prompts. “How did this get into Doc Bedlam’s basement?”
And as long as I keep locked the album with the pictures of the bales of heroin in my garage that I sell to make ends meet on my tiny education paycheck, hey, it’s all good, right?
So I clicked PHOTOS, and opened one of several albums that I knew contained harmless innocuous photos that would hold a child’s interest, and promptly took it from there...
...and somewhere in the discussion, Emilio reached out, touched my phone’s screen, and it switched albums. He touched it again, and one photo in particular expanded and filled the screen. And everyone goggled at this new and unexpected development.
“Who’s THAT?” asked Pinky.
“Emilio, it’s quite rude to play with someone else’s phone without asking permission,” I said in my best Cross Mary Poppins. There’s nothing on my phone that I’d have to worry about the class seeing, but I didn’t care for his grabby fingers. He looked appropriately crestfallen, and apologized properly. But the damage was done. He’d swiped sideways a few times, and several pictures of the Winged Lady had been seen.
And there all my troubles began.
“Who IS that?” repeated Pinky.
“Is she REAL?” asked Sandra.
Everyone leaned over to look at the wonderment.
“Ah,” I said, thinking fast. “No. She’s not real. She’s completely imaginary. Now, let’s--”
“She is TOO real,” said Pinky.
“Why does she have wings?” asked John.
“Do you KNOW this lady?” asked Reno.
“If she’s imaginary, why do you have a picture of her?” asked Scooter.
Sigh. “She’s a lady I knew when I lived in Texas,” I said. “And she has wings because she WANTED to have wings. That’s how she rolls.”
Pinky looked up at me, and in her eyes was an expression I couldn’t QUITE pin down. And I’m lying. I knew damn good and well what she was thinking. And she said, “Seriously. Is this REAL?” And what she MEANT was “DOC, TELL ME THIS IS REAL! TELL ME YOU CAN GET WINGS BY WANTING TO HAVE WINGS!”
...and durned if I didn’t get caught flatfooted by a little girl with big blue eyes, dammit.
“Well,” I said, “Let’s make this a Critical Thinking Exercise. Let’s look at the picture, and consider it, and discuss it, and make some decisions.” Because I’m too chickenshit to shatter a little girl’s desire to believe, and I feel about three inches tall... dammit, I shouldn’t even BE here today...
We wound up doing a writing prompt. “Is the winged lady real or not, and why do you think so?” and when Miss Smallberries came over to take over, she was pleasantly surprised to see that we’d finished the whole Pirates thing, and were industriously working on a writing prompt! “How do you get them to do this with no griping?” she asked me as I headed for the door.
“Haven’t the slightest,” I said. “Guess they’re just motivated today.”
And I forgot all about it. Until lunch. When I was ushering the sixth graders out of the cafeteria and off to Specials, and the third graders were on their way in ... and Pinky ambushed me.
“Dr. Bedlam,” she asked me, with a slightly worried look on her face, “Can she fly?”
Dammit.
I glanced around. No one else was looking. The cafeteria was its usual pandemonium. And I was tired, and I wanted MY lunch, and I really didn’t feel like stepping on anyone’s dreams.
“No,” I replied.
Pinky’s face fell. Agonizingly.
And at that point, I made a snap decision.
“Her wings are too small, and the muscles aren’t strong enough to lift her body mass,” I continued. “However, her trim figure and hollow bones mean she can ride air currents like crazy, especially when it’s windy. And you ought to see her jump!”
Pinky’s mouth fell open, and her eyes got HUGE.
“Gotta go,” I winked, and made my escape to the teacher’s lounge...
INTERMISSION*************************************************************
Now at this point, I’m gonna interrupt myself. The lady in the picture is Farrah Bonnot, who is a real person. I met her years ago at a convention. We still see each other periodically when I venture back into Texas from time to time. She lives there with her husband and family. Last I heard, she was workin' on a doctorate. She’s a Maker, and crafts many splendid and clever things, and is a delightful person. Beyond that? Go look her up on my Friends list and ask her yourself.
In the photos, she’s cosplaying as Sophie the Succubus, the Reaper Miniatures company mascot; Sophie can be seen in the banner at the top of the picture.
...and on my phone, she happened to inhabit the folder REAPERCON GREATEST HITS, a selection of bizarre photos chosen for the purposes described above. I simply hadn’t expected it to surface yet, and hadn’t cooked up a narrative to go with it yet.
Little did I know that I didn’t NEED to build a narrative. One was happening already, largely outside my control...
******************************************************************************
And because I don’t regularly work with third grade, I didn’t see the third graders for several days after that. It wasn’t until the following week that the next thing caught my attention: Mrs. Grandafundo, the art teacher, had put up a flurry of student artwork, drawings of angels,on the outer windows of her class.
I happened to walk past it three different times before I noticed that all the angels had
bat wings.
I stopped and looked closer. The angels all seemed remarkably pleased about something, showing big happy smiles. Most of them seemed to be in flight, with clouds in the background. Their wardrobe seemed fairly consistent -- T shirt, shorts, and a strap across the collarbones...
... aww,
crap.
I asked Mrs. Grandafundo about it, and yup, it was Smallberries’ third grade class. Apparently, what with Halloween coming up, everyone wanted to draw vampire ladies, but they weren’t SCARY vampire ladies... they were all smiling and happy... wasn’t it cute? One of them said that the lady was part dragon!
I agreed that it was indeed cute, and inwardly, I began to think. Y’know, the whole Slender Man thing started out as a gag on the Something Awful forums, until a couple of little girls tried to bump off one of their classmates because of it. This was going to take some thought.
On Thursday, I had to monitor Perfect Tommy for an hour again, and the third graders took full advantage of it. Sure enough, Smallberries gave ‘em a five minute break and I spent that five minutes being interrogated by a swarm of avid children.
Is she really real?
Well, actually, I’d meant to talk about--
Where does she live?
She lives in Texas, with her family.
What’s her favorite color?
Um... I have no idea, actually...
What does she DO?
Well, she’s a grad student in psychology, and she’s a mom...
She’s a MOM? She has KIDS?
Well, women DO that, sometimes...
Are there OTHER things in Texas? Like UNICORNS?
Ummm.... depends on who you ask...
Is she your wife?
Ah, no. Not even close. Just friends.
Do her kids have wings, too?
No, but I understand her son hunts zombies sometimes...
And when class was done, and I had to move on, I hadn’t really addressed the situation. Pinky in particular was utterly in love with the idea of the pretty lady who sailed, smiling, among the clouds on her mighty wings, looking down upon the vast herds of unicorns and fluffy teddy bears that inhabited the plains and jungles of the magical land of Texas...
And so, in my best proactive fashion, I sat tight and waited for their little attention spans to run out, and for their attention and enthusiasm to pass on to something else... like Fortnite, My Little Pony, or whatever cereal and toy based cartoon show is hot on Cartoon Network these days.
And for most of them, this is exactly what happened, and the next flock of artwork to go up on the glass walls of the Art Room were based on Fall imagery; pumpkins, red and gold leaves, full moons...
...and one soaring dragon lady, with one wing picked out against the moon. I didn’t even have to look at it to know it was Pinky.
Another week went by. I noticed that the core of believers seemed down to three: Pinky, Sandy, and Penny, with a few stinky boys along for the ride. More than once, I saw Pinky soaring around the playground with her hands spread wide into bat wings. But it seemed harmless enough...
...until Miss Smallberries called me in to hear a dispute.
Sure enough, there had been a fight. Not a serious fight, not more than a few swats back and forth, but a fight nevertheless, and apparently, the reasoning behind this fight was a bit more than Miss Smallberries felt qualified to tackle.
“I’ve seen them have fights about Santa Claus,” she said. “We get scuffles about THAT nearly every year. Someone believes in Santa, and someone ELSE makes it their life’s work to snuff out their candle. But THIS is something new. Perhaps you know something about the Lady with Wings?”
Awwww,
crap.
“I believe I know what the trouble is,” I said. “Bring me the combatants in the book room. We’ll get this sorted out.”
And at the table in the book room, I held the Speaking Wand, and handed it to Penny and asked her to explain to me precisely what the malfunction was.
And both Reno and Pinky began shouting--
“
Uht! Uht! Uht! Kroykah!” I raised my voice slightly. The room went silent. “Penny has the Speaking Wand; only SHE has the right to speak. You’ll get your chance. Penny, you were saying?”
And Penny explained how half the people in the room were loyal believers in and disciples of the Lady with Wings Who Lives In Texas, and how the other half were vile heretics, who would not cease in their efforts to eradicate joy and rainbows forever.
And when Reno got the Speaking Wand, he explained how half the people in the room were simply trying to correct the idiot beliefs of those stupid girls who believed in rainbows and unicorns, and what’s wrong with that?
Sigh. Politics gets ‘em young these days, don’t it? I knew what I was gonna have to DO, of course; I just needed to figure out a way to do it without kicking Pinky’s gentle illusions to pieces, and without quite telling Reno what an asshole he was being. He was quite firmly in the right, in his own lights.
Why don’t they have education classes in THIS stuff, instead of all that redundant math and history?
“Reno,” I asked, “Why does it matter to you what anyone else believes?”
“Well,” he answered, “They’re WRONG.”
“And how do you know this?”
“Because people don’t have wings! The whole thing is stupid!”
And the believers across the table seethed.
I took out my phone, pulled up the pictures. “And yet, this lady has wings.”
“Well, they’re FAKE wings! It’s STUPID!”
“
ARE YOU CALLING MY FRIEND STUPID?” I didn’t quite snarl.
Reno jerked, taken aback. “Uh...” he said, aware he was dancing on quicksand.
“Is this a girl? A teenager? A grown lady? Look at the pictures, and think before you speak,” I said evenly.
“Um... she looks like a grown lady.”
“So. We have established that Ms. Farrah is a grown lady. Now, either she has real wings... or fake wings. Why would a grown woman put on a pair of fake wings? Examine the picture, and support your answers.”
Reno looked at me, quite uncertainly. He hadn’t thought about that. Why the hell WOULD a grown adult lady romp around in a pair of wings? He examined the pictures, swiped back and forth, looked at several. “Um,” he said, “Well... is it a costume party?”
“Is anyone else wearing costumes in the pictures?” I said. He had to admit they were not. Meanwhile across the table, the girls grinned smugly. Teach THAT rotten boy to question the One True Wing Lady...
And I took the Speaking Wand, and passed it to Pinky. “Your turn,” I said. “Examine the picture, and support your answers with evidence. Real wings, or fake wings?”
“REAL wings!” snapped Pinky, without even looking at the pictures.
“Reno was smart enough and civil enough to look at the pictures and think,” I said. “Are you refusing to do the same?”
Pinky gave Reno a look that could have crumbled wallboard, and looked at my phone. “Think carefully,” I said. “Think critically.”
“They COULD be fake,” she admitted, “But that’s none of Reno’s business. He didn’t have to be mean like that.”
“Excellent point,” I said, passing the wand back. “Reno, are you trying to think critically, or are you just being mean? You didn’t have to give the girls a hard time like that.”
“But people don’t have wings,” insisted Reno.
“True, to some extent,” I agreed. “But I knew a girl down Laredo way who had a tail. And no, I don’t have a picture. Do we agree that until you’ve seen everything, you don’t KNOW for sure? And more importantly, how does it hurt YOU if they want to go flapping around the playground like duckie dragons or whatever?”
Giggles all around. “All right, I’m sorry.”
Pinky looked smug.
“Not so fast, kid,” I said, and handed her the stick. “Reno was kind enough to apologize. Now I have a hard question for YOU. True, Reno was being a bit of a
pa’Takh out there, trying to FORCE you to admit something. He’s stopped. But now I want to know what YOU think about whether or not Farrah’s wings are real or not.”
She thought about it, and looked at the Speaking Wand. “Well,” she said, “MOST people don’t have wings. And YOU said she GOT her wings, she wasn’t BORN with them...”
Scooter’s head jerked up. “Where do you get WINGS?”
“Uht!” I said. “Pinky, you were saying...”
“Well, maybe they aren’t real. But I WANT them to be real. Unicorns aren’t REALLY real, but they’re FUN! And I LIKE unicorns! And I LIKE the Lady With Wings! And if a grown lady can run around with wings, why can’t I?”
I could have kissed the little moppet. She ran right into the Big Point.
“And there you go,” I said. “I’m not gonna WORRY about whether they’re real or not. Instead, I’m just gonna let you look at the pictures, and think about it, and go wherever you want to with it. You want stories? I can tell stories all day long. And maybe a story is true. Maybe it isn’t. But is it worth fighting about? Reno, do you HAVE to squash the joy out of it? Life is short enough on fun without being the guy who stomps on someone else’s butterflies.”
Reno looked downcast. “IS she real?”
“She’s as real as that picture.”
“And her wings?”
“You tell me.”
“Why would a grown woman put on fake wings?”
“You tell me.”
He looked at my phone. “She looks like she’s having fun.”
“She was havin’ a ball. I was there; I should know. I was havin’ a pretty good time myself.”
Pinky took on a rather somber look. “So... do I have to decide if she’s fake or not?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you?”
“I don’t know either,” she said. “When do I have to decide?”
I grinned. That was an easy one. “When do you have to grow up?” I asked.
She looked a little worried.
“See Ms. Farrah, in the picture?” I said. “If she was all completely grown up, do you think she’d be running around with wings on?”
Pinky considered this.
“And I’m the oldest thing in the building, I think,” I said, “And if I was all completely grown up, would I have all those pictures of dragons on my phone?”
“So we don’t EVER have to grow up?” asked Scooter, confused. “You can just believe whatever you want, FOREVER?”
“Well, they’re going to want you to pay
taxes, at some point,” I said. “No escaping that. But I’ve known plenty of grownups who believed some pretty bizarre stuff. No, the key is learning when someone’s lying to you, for one thing... and believing in what makes you happy. And doesn’t hurt anyone. Including you, for believing it.”
Sandy spoke up for the first time. “So it’s okay to believe in unicorns TODAY, if I want to, and think about it later when I grow up?”
“I think that’s how MOST of us do it, Sandy,” I said.
“I wanna believe in the Dragon Lady today!” said Penny.
Pinky looked accusingly at Reno. “And you can’t tell us not to!” And Reno held up his hands; he certainly didn’t want any more hassle.
“Are we done here?” I asked. Everyone’s little head nodded. “Then we’re done. Now go chase all the dratted dragons off the playground!”
And they scampered off, into today, and tomorrow, and eventual adulthood... but not too soon, we all hoped.
UPDATE: 09/17/18
You ever meet anyone who wants to show you their vacation pictures?
I do not much care for other people’s vacation pictures. Partly because of my youth. My father was of the firm opinion that pictures needed to be TAKEN, but that they were utterly pointless without PEOPLE in them. If I was to show you my family’s vacation pictures from when I was a kid? You’d see lovely pictures of various national monuments and natural wonders... obscured by my mother, my sister, and me, standing in front of them. Squinting, because my old man never figured out how to use a camera, and assumed it’d be underlit unless the sun was behind him as he shot, so we all had to stare into the sun.
If we’re all crying in the picture, that means he forgot to advance the film, or left a flashcube attached, or had to monkey with the dratted Instamatic in such a way as to make it work, but didn’t want us to stop staring into the dratted sun, it’d only take a moment to fix...
All my family vacation pictures from before I left home? We all looked miserable.
And when I left home, I swore I’d never take a picture of a miserable person again. Specially if I was the one what made ‘em miserable.
I’ve got pictures of various national monuments and natural wonders... without any people in the picture. And I’ve got pictures of people I care about, without worrying about what’s behind them. And I’ve got a LOT of pictures I’ve taken at Reapercon over the years. And generally, at Reapercon, folks are having fun. And yes, I have used these folks as teaching tools and useful distractions, a thing that perhaps I should apologize for. Or at least inform them that I’m doin’ it.
If you’ve read this essay, and the thread following it, you’ll note that there’s a lot of folks what seemed to be having fun at Reapercon. Including Lauren Cowles. Who is also a lady with wings. I didn’t get to SEE her wings, as this is only the second Reapercon I’ve skipped since I heard it existed, and thus I didn’t get to shoot any new pictures. Sigh.
Well, ever since I wrote this thing to begin with, I’ve been hearing about OTHER pictures that could delight, amuse, titillate, stun, confuse, and terrify the little nippers. And Lauren reminded me that she TOO had wings, and what would the little boogers think of THAT?
She was right. I nosed over to the Reaper boards and lifted some pictures. And Stacy Hawkins kindly provided me with some mermaid pictures to go along with them.
This was all fine by ME. More grist for the mill, and a new album (see ALBUMS, back in part one) would be a useful addition. So I loaded everything up to my phone, arranged a new album, and promptly forgot about the whole thing.
Until third period.
When Miss Smallberries asked me if I could swing by. Seems Perfect Tommy had a kink in his routine, and he’s one of them who does not adjust well to kinks in the routine. As in “He might not notice, he might notice and become upset, but get over himself, or he might go sailing off the trolley with a big swan dive and the laughing serenity of one who has ceased to give a shit what anyone else on the planet thinks, much less about ChooChoo Points for a draw out of the Big Treasure Box at the end of the day.”
And so I swung by and observed. And Perfect Tommy did indeed become pensive and upset, but got over it by attacking his handwriting project with vigor; today was making cursive W’s and L’s, uppercase and lower. His handwriting was lovely, by the way.
Which led to Pinky and Penny ambushing me when I wasn’t looking. That’s what paying attention to penmanship gets you. And they very coyly and sweetly asked if they could see the lady with wings again. And I obliged. Thing is? The very nearest part of my carousel was loaded with the pictures I pulled off Facebook over the weekend.
Penny and Pinky looked... and were confused. These weren’t the same pictures they’d seen before. One appeared to be a figurine of some sort, and another, a beach towel.
...and when they got to the first Lauren picture, they did NOT react well. Whuh oh. Did I err?
Pinky said, “Is that the same lady?”
Almost simultaneously, Penny said, “That is NOT the same lady.”
And both of them jerked their heads to point at ME, like machine gun sponsons on a very angry little tank.
“Well, no,” I said. “The first lady was Ms. Farrah, I told you about her. This is Ms.
Lauren.”
The looks on their faces went from alarmed and frustrated to utter outrage. Their mouths dropped open. They looked back and forth from me to the picture, repeatedly. And after a moment’s gasping, Pinky found her voice.
“
YOU MEAN THERE’S MORE THAN ONE OF THEM?!?” screamed Pinky, and heads bobbed up all over the room. Miss Smallberries jerked up from what she was doing.
Wuh oh.
It was like a psychic communication shot across the room at a height of four feet. Every child in the room, INSTANTLY and REFLEXIVELY realized what Pinky meant, and they all leaped to their feet and prepared to stampede me. Meanwhile, Miss Smallberries’ mouth dropped open. What the HELL was happening?
“
Yugh Vl’SOP!!!” I snapped sharply. Everyone froze in their tracks. A couple of them guiltily dropped back into their seats. See, this is why a working knowledge of Klingon vocabulary comes in handy; the very politest endearments sound like I’m threatening to eviscerate your mother. Particularly if you’re careful about the accent and pronunciation.
“I was speaking with Pinky and Penny,” I said, “And Pinky, we do
not scream in class.” I put the phone back into my pocket. “If you’re going to do this, perhaps I need to stop with the pictures. I expect better than this in class. Now Miss Smallberries isn’t going to want me to come back.”
Pinky and Penny were in agony. They did NOT want to lose access to the phone, much less the stories. But they knew what to do. “Sorry,” said Pinky, who looked like she was about to cry.
“I’m sorry,” said Penny, who had not actually screamed, but apparently felt sort of responsible.
I looked up. Miss Smallberries was policing everyone back into their seats and redirecting to the assignment. “I’m sorry, too, Miss Smallberries,” I said. “I seem to have gotten some of us a tad overexcited. I’m going to head back to where I belong, now.”
Pinky and Penny looked at me like I was the last chocolate that would ever exist on earth.
“But I’ll be on the playground during recess,” I commented. “And if anyone has any questions, perhaps that would be the time to ask them, in a place where screaming is permitted.”
And there was much reaction among the horde that recess.
Scooter, upon seeing the above picture, began a recitation of how P.T. Barnum created the Feejee Mermaid by sewing the upper half of a dead monkey to the lower half of a dead fish, thus convincing many that mermaids were indeed real.
I believe it was Sandy who replied that upon examination of the picture, she was fairly sure that the specimen in question did not much resemble a monkey, dead or alive.
The questions flew hard and fast. I’m not sure why one of the standard questions is “what’s her favorite color?” but I heard it a lot. Pinky, on the other hand, was still wrapping her head around the idea that there was more than one lady with wings. “How many of them ARE there?”
“Women? Well, the planetary population is approaching seven billion, so dividing by two and rounding up slightly, I’m guessing somewhere around three and a half billion, give or ta--”
“No, NO! Where WAS this? How many women with WINGS?”
“Where? I told you already; Texas. As to the exact number of women with WINGS, well, I can’t say I ever stopped to COUNT; I only took pictures of the ones I’m friends with. But there was certainly more than one, yet fewer than the vast herds of unicorns over which they soar...”
And the bell rang, far too soon, and there was much groaning and disappointment amongst the third graders, even the ones who remained firm in their belief that these were simply women in costumes, for class must begin again, and there would be no more pictures for a while.
But I saw in Pinky a strange expression, and metaphorically, I could see the smoke cooking out of her ears as the wheels spun furiously. A fire had been set, a conflagration of imagination, and it was burning out of control.
“Do you know if you can get wings in the Halloween section at Target?” she asked. “Or do I have to find a witch on Facebook?”
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