This is the prologue to a potentially long piece I'm working on going by the title of "Hide and Seek". Once it gets reasonably close to being done, I will post more sections, but that is probably a long way off.
It was raining, but not storming. George always lived watching storms, but on gray days like this he kept the heavy curtains of his office closed to hide every reminder of the gray, smudged air outside. At least storms had energy, had style – the gray days felt old, moribund, and George hated anything that felt that way. Sure, he was getting close to fifty, but he was determined to push back old age by sheer force of will for as long as possible. If he thought like he was thirty, the man hoped, he'd stay as healthy as he was at thirty.
The buzzer sounded at the office door. “Come in.” George called, precisely loud enough to be heard by someone leaning against that door but not loud enough to be audible from the first row of desks beyond.
At his request, Marybeth, his secretary, opened the door and stepped in halfway. “George, your wife is here to see you.” Her manner was slightly more upbeat than would be her norm for the day's dreariness, so George guessed that his wife had not come alone. After all, there was only one person George knew that could brighten anyone's outlook in moments.
A slight smile coming to his face, George got up from his desk and stepped toward the door. “Thank you, Marybeth. See her in please.”
Caroline, who George couldn't believe was already six, rushed in moments later with a cry of “Daddy!”, and George scooped her up in an embrace. Lauren, George's wife, wasn't far behind her overeager daughter, and though she was smiling at her husband and youngest child, George could tell something was on her mind.
Setting Caroline down, George directed the girl toward the small stack of coloring books and markers in his lowest desk drawer. “Lauren, something wrong?”
“It's Caroline...” Lauren dropped her voice, and leaned in to her husband, almost whispering. “The school won't have her anymore.”
George frowned, and glanced back to where his daughter was happily scribbling away with the markers. “The same thing?” He asked, returning his gaze to his wife. “She still - ”
“Yes. The teachers are afraid for her. They say she smiles and nods to a wall for minutes on end, as if listening to someone, and that she - ” Lauren shook her head.
“Lauren, all kids have active imaginations. You remember the boys.” George put an arm on his wife's shoulder, and she nodded, trying to maintain composure. “Caroline just has more than usual. If a teacher can't handle a few fantasies that a six-year-old can come up with, I don't want them teaching my daughter.”
Again, Lauren nodded. “We'll need to find another school, then.”
George shrugged. “I'll make some calls this afternoon. In the meantime, go, relax, I'll watch her for a few hours.”
Lauren nodded, and after saying goodbye to Caroline, she left. George closed the office door behind her, and turned to face his daughter. Sensing his attention, she looked up and smiled.
“Carrie, you scared your teacher.” George smiled to make sure she didn't think he was particularly angry.
“I didn't scare her daddy. She did it all by herself.” Those last few words were spoken in the same singsong that a child uses to flout their newest feat of independence.
George chuckled. “That's one way to say it.” He stepped over to the corner where his daughter was sprawled on the office floor, and sat down in front of her.
“Daddy, why did she get scared?” Caroline put down the marker in her hand.
“Carrie, she doesn't understand you. People fear things they don't understand.” George knew very well that his daughter might be described as having an overactive imagination, even for a child. He empathized – she had got it from him, he suspected. “Don't worry about people like that, sweetie.”
“Rozzie said that too.”
George smiled, knowing what his daughter was talking about. ‘Rozzie’ was a fictional girl of about Caroline’s age that his imaginative daughter often spoke of, usually in terms of the things that ‘Rozzie’ told her.
“Then Rozzie is very smart. I’m happy my daughter has such a smart person giving her advice.” George played along, as he always did, with Caroline’s imagination. Lauren had always frowned on him doing that with the kids, especially Caroline. She’d always said they didn’t need the encouragement. George remembered being a kid, though, and hating how his parents ignored his imagination, his little games.
Caroline turned her head to one side, as if looking at something in the space to her left, then looked back to George. “Rozzie says you don’t believe in her, daddy.” George marveled that his daughter could read him so well at six years old.
“I can’t see Rozzie, sweetie. but I know that any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”
Carrie smiled at her father, and George let her return to the coloring book, sitting at his desk and thumbing through the phone book he kept in the drawer. After all, his daughter would need a new school.
Carrie distractedly filled in pictures in the recycled-paper book with fantastic colors that almost never stayed inside the lines. That daddy didn’t believe Rozzie was real wan’t a surprise - grown-ups always seemed so terribly dense. Daddy was better than most, at least, and Carrie was grateful for it. Even Mommy didn’t like it when Carrie tried to tell her about Rozzie or the others like her.
Mark was better than Daddy, though. Mark was eleven, but he still tried to find time to play pretend with his kid sister. Sure, Carrie knew Mark didn’t see things like she did, but he desperately wanted to. With the twins off at college, Mark and Carrie were the only children around anymore.
With a glance, Carrie saw that Rozzie was intently watching what Daddy was doing. The six-year-old had the vague sense that whatever it was would affect her at some point, but hadn't paid enough attention to her parents' boring conversation to know what. In the meantime, though, Carrie had more pressing matters to attend to - the picture of the castle on the next page of the coloring book needed a good dose of purple and orange.
