I was sitting at the kitchen table with that little girl, who had scraped her knee after a nasty spill from her bicycle. She was eyeballing the eyedropper in my hand. "Is it going to hurt?"
"A little. Not as much as when you fell though."
I applied the iodine. Her eyes widened a bit, but she didn't make a sound.
"Brave girl! Now why were you going so fast on your bike?"
"I had to catch the dragon."
Now my eyes widened. "And? Did you?"
"No." A little pout. "So now I'll never get to ask the dragon my question." A bigger pout.
"What do you mean?" I said.
I got the look, the one that a child gives an adult at a time like this. "You know! When you catch a genie, you get three wishes. But when you catch a dragon, you get to ask a question."
"Really? What's the question?"
"I can't ask you," she said. "You're not a dragon!"
I leaned in towards her and whispered, "ahh, but I am!"
She giggled. "You're not a dragon!"
"Oh, but I am. I was born in the Year of the Wood Dragon. So go ahead. Ask me your question. But you'll have to whisper it in my ear."
Her eyes sparkled. She held her hand up to the side of her mouth and breathed out her question. I smiled, because I was a child once, and I knew the answer.
27 January 2010
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4 comments:
So what question would I ask a dragon? None, I would have to refrain. St George, patron saint of England, is supposed to have slain a dragon (You never kill a dragon, you always slay it.) and I doubt whether that's still seen by other dragons as a minor diplomatic incident.
That particular nasty little dragon (plaque-bearing, princess-eating) couldn't have been too popular with the larger dragon community, BB.
I have to ask, for I cannot find her name, who is 'that little girl?'
She's my shy little (not so little anymore) godchild who revels in anonymity. I figured that, instead of giving her a false name, I'd use "that little girl" in our episodes.
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