The Importance of Undergarments at a Science Fiction Convention-Part XI (11) The Conclusion

Part XI (11) The Conclusion

Previously: “Well, I began in my best James Bond voice, “how about you come back to bed and—”
“We can’t honey, the fourth floor no longer exists,” she said matter of fact like.


“And it did last night?” I asked.

“Of course it did. Don’t you remember?”

“Trista I don’t remember anything passed the elevator,” I said as my frustration peaked to new heights. “I really want to understand all this—what happened last night—who the hell you are—and what is really going on here!”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Sorry about that—it’s all part of the process honey.”

“The process?” I asked. “I thought it was about you and experiencing the con?”

“Well sort of Mike,” she started hesitantly. “I don’t think you quite understand what is happening here.”

“Well, that’s an understatement,” I agreed.

“You see Mike— I’m your con fairy.”

“My what?”

“I’m your convention fairy and I am here for your convention experience—not mine.”

“Whoa…back up Trista my head is spinning!”

And it really was spinning. The room felt as if it was going 80 miles per hour and the G-forces were pinning me to the walls but in this the case the walls weren’t just drywall and plaster but a new reality of some sort.

“How can I explain this,” she began. “You see Mike, this is a new program that was initiated by the Fairies Customer Service Branch for the Betterment of all Mankind FCSBM, to show our appreciation to those like you that go to conventions. You keep us alive and vivid in the imaginations of thousands. So to show our appreciation in a way for all that you people do, we thought it would be appropriate to thank you in a way by giving YOU a real life fantasy for a change.”

“This is a joke right? Someone at the convention is puting you up to this? Either that or one of us is suffering delusions from consuming too much Nth degree tea at the party which I also do not remember attending.”

“No Mike, no tea—no party—this is as real as it gets considering it still fantasy.”

“Okay,” I began, “then if that is the case, why can’t I remember anything from last night?”

“Well you will, but not yet.”

“Huh?”

“I am a fairy Mike. I live in your dreams—not in the real world. So when we were on the fourth floor, which is really the area between the fantasy world and real life, what we experienced there will come to you in your dreams.”

“But you are physically here. I remember your grip on me—that wasn’t fantasy.”

“You’re correct. This physical shape you see before you is real, but only a mere shell of life with a very limited span of time. My real essence lies in that realm…”

“On the fourth floor..." I said as my voice trailed off and my thoughts beckoned to the dream part of my mind for answers.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And it was very special Mike I assure you. As a fairy I can experience not only physically but also your emotional psyche. “You’re a very special guy Mike, in another world or dimension I think I could easily fall in love with you.”

“I wish I could…understand what happened,” I said.

She stepped to within a few feet of me and placed her hand upon my forehead.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

I closed them and within a few seconds I was overcome by a warmth and sensation that I could only describe as an emotional bliss. She was there and I could feel her touch on me which both comforted and excited me. I had never known such feeling or emotional contact with anyone else. Was this how love felt—I don’t now. All I knew was that it was a feeling I did not want to part from. I stroked her face with my hands and bathed in the luxurious feel of her flesh. I kissed her fingers and held them to my own face feeling their softness in such stark contrast to my own.

I felt her remove her hand from my forehead and the euphoria I experienced dissipated immediately leaving me feeling empty.

“In your dreams I will come to you…” she said.

“But I don’t know if that will be enough,” I answered. “This is too wonderful to just leave to my dreams. There must be something else that can be done.”

“There will be other conventions,” she said and then smiled that grin that was somewhere between evil and innocence. “You never know…”

“But…suppose…” I grappled to find the words to ask the right question to get the answer I wanted. “Suppose I want to give you a rose or something…(at this point for some reason I don’t think I will ever comprehend, the Meatloaf song of “You took the words right out of my mouth,” came into my thoughts and ever since has been imbedded there.) I continued my line of thought “…you know just for GP, that’s general purpose, how would I get it to you?”

“Just leave them where you will and I will find them,” she said. Then she kissed me and finished getting dressed.

I watched her dress, not out of any sexual gratification, but out of the sheer enjoyment of watching her every movement. We didn’t talk for those few moments, it was as if we had telepathically agreed to not talk as we sorted everything into its place—or at least some form of temporary holding cell for later contemplation.
When she had finished dressing she said: “I must be on my way and you must drive me,” she said.

“To where,” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “my time is almost done,” and offered nothing more.

From the time we left the hotel and on the drive home, we talked about everything as if we had known each other for a long period of time. We held hands; we kissed and just simply enjoyed the moment. I felt like asking the clichéd question, “Is this heaven?” but the thought that someone would say, “No, and that it was Iowa,” encouraged me to leave well enough alone.

So this brings us back to the beginning of this story. As I said, I was driving down the road and she had placed her head in my lap. She had fallen asleep, as evidenced by the snoring that emanated from her. I have to admit that the fact that fairies snore was a little disturbing but it was also a fact that I think I could easily overlook in this instance.

As she slept, I looked at the souvenir she had given me earlier which hung from my rearview mirror, the black bra. I couldn’t help but snicker about the whole affair. As I did so, I actually experienced a dream flashback to what I had experienced earlier in the hotel when she had touched my forehead. The euphoria was momentary but oh so gratifying and any attempt to place into words would be meaningless. But emotions and feelings may be transformed into words and I heard her words clearly…as well as the words that softly crept across my lips…I love you too…

This euphoria was quickly replaced by the sound of a siren and the flashing of blue lights in my rearview mirror—a State Trooper. A quick glance at the speedometer confirmed I was going about ten miles over the speed limit. I began to decelerate and pull off onto the shoulder.

“Trista,” I said as I gently shook her, “Wake up.”

She looked up at me with those blue eyes. Her eyes were the brightest blue I had ever seen. As I looked at her they grew brighter and brighter until the front seat of the car was encompassed in a blue-white light. Then it suddenly went dark leaving my vision full of those white spots you see when a flash goes off directly in your line of sight.

“Sir, can I see your license and registration,” the officer’s voice boomed into my consciousness.

I ignored the voice as my eyes cleared and saw that Trista was no longer here with me. My eyes told me she was gone but my mind refused to accept the fact because it simply did not want to.

“Sir, can I see your license and registration,” the officer repeated.

“She’s gone,” I said.

“Who is gone sir?” the officer asked.

“Trista,” I answered. “She’s gone.”

The officer shined his light into the interior of my car. The beam stopped on the bra.

“Sir, can you step out of the vehicle,” the officer said in a more authoritative voice. “Do you want to tell me what “that” (referring to the bra) is about?”

In moments of despair or anguish, we take much comfort in strangers. I relayed the entire story to the police officer. After I had finished I was asked to sit in the police car and was later transported to the police station. After retelling the story again, I was evaluated by the police psychiatrist on duty. He placed me on an overnight hold due to possible suicidal tendencies due to an emotional breakdown. I was released the next day into the custody of my parents and court ordered to seek professional assistance in dealing with an undetermined trauma.

That was about nine months ago. Since that time I have had many sessions with a psychiatrist and have been deemed no risk to society. Talking with the shrink the goal was for me to rationalize what happened with Trista, the shrink’s answer was that it was all a fantasy that I had played out in my mind.

“So what about the bra?" I asked? "It is physical evidence that proves her existence?”

“It is much more probable,” the shrink began, “that you went out and bought it subconsciously as part of your fantasy and somehow managed to block it from your mind. It’s the only reasonable and plausible answer.”

This seemed to be a sticking point so I thought it best to just agree with him and move along. Once I did, I was deemed fit to return to my meager existence of life as I knew it. I agreed readily with the shrink because he could not touch those dreams that were locked up in my head. Those were mine and I kept and cherished them.

I still go to conventions and I haven’t changed my routine very much while there. I go to panels, talk with friends, and just hang out. I sit in the bar and have a drink. I will grab a table that has two chairs and make sure that the other chair is left unoccupied. I leave a rose at the front desk at each hotel for Trista. I don’t know if they are ever picked up or not but I leave them anyway. If the shrink knew I was doing this he probably bring me in for my counseling so let’s just keep this between us...okay?

As to my own theory as to what happened that weekend…I keep it in my heart and my dreams. As to what is real and what is not—well when it comes to a matter of the heart, those things are best left alone and you just follow them where they lead you in life.

As to the bra—well I still have it…and the assortment of colors it comes in.


THE END

I hope you have enjoyed the short story.