You’ve Got To Be Kidding

by Laura Stamps

“There’s no easy way to tell

you this,” Dante says. He

isn’t lounging on the floor

anymore, stargazing with me.

Now he’s sitting, his legs

crossed, leaning up against

the sofa. “No bad news,”

I say. “Not allowed. I’ve

had too much lately.” He

can sit if he likes, but not

me. I’m happy flat on my

back, lying on the floor of

his heated porch, a thick

quilt beneath me, the wisp

of a moon and a zillion stars

overhead. “How do you

feel about faeries?” he asks.

I love faeries. I always have.

I’ve never told anyone, but

I’ve seen and heard the Fey

since I was a child. “Faeries

are fine,” I say, closing my

eyes. I’m so relaxed I could

melt on this quilt and nap.

I wonder if he ever slips

into the sweet river of sleep

on cold nights like this,

watching stars glitter the

sky. I would. “Good,” he

says. “What do you think

about Otherkin Fey?”

Another faery question. I

open one eye and stare at

him to see if he’s serious.

He is. A few of my Pagan

friends are Otherkin Fey

(part human, part faery).

They appear years younger

than their age. Positive,

joyous, spontaneous beings.

Nothing seems to bother

them. “I think it’s cool,”

I say. “Why?” He crawls

across the quilt until he’s

next to me. I turn over on

my side, but refuse to sit up.

It’s too soon. “Because

I’m Otherkin Fey,” he says.

“I’m surprised you’ve never

noticed.” He looks at me

with those wild blue eyes

of his, sometimes sapphire,

sometimes peacock. Often

a mix of both. “Really?”

I ask, tilting my head like

a cat to scan his aura from

different angles: his long

flaxen hair, his neat goatee,

the whorl of playful energy

dancing around him. He’s

right. He is Otherkin. How

come I’ve never noticed?

“Really,” he says. Sitting

up, I arrange my legs in a

soothing yoga pose. His

revelation has chased the

laziness from my limbs.

Dante squeezes my hand,

the crescent moon a sliver

of light glued to the sky.

“Don’t freak, Anna,” he

says, “but you are, too.”


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