I was horrified. “Get me out of here,” I said.
“You’re the boss,” he replied. “Where to?”
My mother was screaming her head off in between fits of Lamaze breathing. She exhaled, “Hee hee, who who,” contorting her wide-eyed face to disturbing proportions. It was creepy. We’re talking clown creepy.
“Where to?” the fairy asked again.
“I don’t care!” I screamed. “Anywhere.”
And poof! Just like that, we were sitting in a church. My mother and father were standing next to a priest.
“Is this my parents’ wedding?” I asked.
The fairy shook his head. “You wouldn’t have been alive for that, now would you?” He shot me a condescending look.
“Are all time fairies smart asses?” I asked.
Before he could answer, we were interrupted by a baby crying. My mother was holding the child, attempting to calm it down by whispering to it and making mother faces.
The fairy buzzed in my ear. “Guess who that is.”
“This is my baptism!”
“Who’s the smart ass now?” he said.
The priest was droning on and on about “the sacraments” and “efficacious signs of worship” and “bearing fruit.” I turned to the fairy. “Look, why did you bring me here?”
“You’re the one who wanted to leave the hospital.”
“I didn’t want to come here.”
“I thought this was an important moment for you people.”
“Well, yeah, I don’t know,” I stuttered. “You’ve seen one of these things and you’ve seen them all, you know?”
“Alright,” he said. “Your call. You got two places left.”