Why I Let My Hair Grow Out by Maryrose Wood Page A

anymore.
    â€œThey call it a faery mound,” he said, shifting into drive.
    â€œWhat?” I couldn’t believe I’d heard him right. “What’s a fae—”
    â€œBest be quiet and rest. Hospital’s about twenty minutes from here,” he said, cutting me off.
    He sounded very annoyed.
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maybe it Was because colin said the f-word—faery, that is—but as soon as the van started bouncing along the road, I felt like I was on Samhain’s back again, and the whole vivid dream or coma-induced hallucination or whatever it was about me and Fergus and Erin and the enchantments and my long storybook-princess hair came rushing back into my head.
    â€œI speak now of Cúchulainn. . . .” If I listened hard I could still hear Fergus’s voice. If I inhaled deeply I could smell the nearby animal presence of Samhain.
    â€œYou say something, Mor?” Colin asked.
    â€œNo.” I wanted to shush him so I could hear the voice in my head better. “Greatest of the heroes of Ulster . . .”
    â€œI’m itching to scold you but I won’t,” Colin said, after a moment. “Never mind that, I will scold you.” Colin drummed his fingers on the wheel as he drove. “Wear your helmet, stay with your buddy, carry the phone, follow the map. What are those?”
    â€œThe safety rules,” I said obediently, but I was still listening: “ The Guard-Dog of our people, the Hound who is fated to save and defend us all . . .”
    â€œJust a warning, then,” Colin said, drowning out that hypnotic inward voice. “If you don’t follow the safety rules, they’ll pack you up and send you home, never fear. So if that’s what you want, might as well call your ma and da and be done with it. I’ll drive you to the airport tonight. No need to give yourself a concussion just because you’d rather be elsewhere.”
    I thought about what he was saying.
    Did I want to be in Ireland? Not really. Did I want to go home? No way.
    â€œI don’t know what I want,” I said.
    There was a sign with a hospital symbol by the roadside, and Colin made the turn.
    â€œAh, who does, Mor?” he said after a bit, just like we were friends again. “But I’m glad you can tell the truth when you’ve a mind to. Here we are!”
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this hospital Was smaller than the Ones i’d visited at home, and there wasn’t anybody waiting to be seen but me. Otherwise the whole experience of seeing a doctor was completely familiar.
    I’d been to the ER in Connecticut twice. The first time was when I was maybe four and my mother thought I was having an allergic reaction to a bee sting. I wasn’t. It was just that I couldn’t stop crying because I loved bees and I was upset that one had stung me because I thought they were my friends. I was goofy that way when I was little, always chatting with the bugs and flowers and stuff like Tammy still does. Anyway, Mom panicked because she thought I was hyperventilating and she rushed me to the ER. They gave me a lollipop and I think Mom ended up with some Ativan.
    The other time was when I was on the freshman girls’ field hockey team and I twisted my ankle during a game. The whole time I was on crutches the coach had me act as her assistant, making up the team roster and keeping score and all that. I used to like playing field hockey but being forced into a leadership position soured me on the whole game, frankly. I was no “gifted leader of tomorrow,” that’s for sure.
    Other than prescribing more ice for my head, Bactine and Band-Aids for the scrapes and Advil for the headache, the doctor said I was fine. She made the obligatory joke about how nicely you could see the bump on my head because of my buzz cut.
    She also referred to Colin as “your boyfriend” once. He pretended to be insulted because obviously he was my husband; in fact we were coming up on