My daughter is an escape artist. I was talking this through with a friend the other day and between bouts of hysterical laughter she informed me that she would have ‘nowt but grey ‘airs’ and ‘ave gone barmey’ by now if my daughter had been her child by now (yes, I live in the north of England, what gave it away by gum?). Although each instance was incredibly stressful at the time, I can look back and laugh, because what doesn’t kill you leaves you with unhealthy coping strategies and a lifelong dependence on anti-anxiety medication. As such, here are my fae’s top 5 greatest escapes in no particular order.
- When she was 18 months old I had her in a nursery for two mornings a week. This nursery was for all children and babies, and were under the impression that I was a typical hysterical first time mother. They therefore did not take me seriously when I told them they needed to watch her like a hawk or she would climb on everything and find interesting ways to get into trouble. Within the first month of being there, I had cause to issue written complaints when she came home ‘tired’ they said. Only she wasn’t tired, she was unresponsive, with a head injury that they hadn’t recorded and I had no idea when she had received. I emailed and got no response, I took her to be checked out and fortunately it wasn’t serious. The managers had to accept they had failed on that. A week later they told me that she had managed to escape outside. This was a more impressive feat than it first sounds: she had to build a ‘little’ step so she could reach the keyhole, get the “supervised at all times” keys to the back door, unlock it and get out. Where were the staff while she was doing this? They were on the other side of the nursery, dealing with the multiple chldren tantruming. Something my daughter had caused as a distraction so she could get out in the first place. I would love to say this was out of character for her, but it wasn’t. She didn’t speak until she was 5, but she was excellent at figuring out other kids’ buttons, and using it to her advantage. She also didn’t return to the nursery.
- When she was around 3 she was taken by her childminder to a soft play centre. She was still non-verbal but by this time had been diagnosed with ASD and had a sunflower lanyard – to wear in spaces where people may have been confused by a fae child that mutely appeared and seemed to think she owned the space. She didn’t do well with loud noise, so took herself off to find a quiet area. The area she found was the kitchen, which was supposedly out of bounds to customers and doubly out of bounds to kids. The chef tried growling at her to make her leave, but she just blinked at him. To the centre’s credit, he recognised her lanyard and, realising that he couldn’t shoo her out, and that she couldn’t verbalise the issue, he sat her on a safe table with a glass of milk (which she ignored) and a cookie (which she devoured). During this time, her best friend, who was also a little blonde thing of about 3, ran in and explained – in a stream of consciousness that only small children can manage – that this fae creature didn’t speak, they were best friends, he couldn’t be mad at them and she would like a cookie as well. So he sat them together with milk and cookies and went to find out who they belonged to. The Childminder at this point was frantic, having misplaced two of her charges.
- While in a willow maze, she legged it from me and found her way out. By the time I got out, she was nowhere to be seen. It was maybe a 5 second gap and she had completely vanished. We were on a Leisure farm and I started calling for her, but she was at this point still non-verbal and didn’t normally respond to her name – but what else could I do? It turned out she had run off, up the stairs to the offices. One of the grumpy staff members brought her back down. It was at this point we got her the lanyard with my phone number and explanation of what to do if she was found alone clearly written on it.
- My husband and I took her to a museum. It’s reasonably local and she loves it, so we go there a lot. This time, she walked out of an exhibit hall two steps ahead of us. That was all it took for her to pull a vanishing act. The building was three stories high, and we ran round it like roadrunners on speed for the next 10 minutes without finding her. The only reason we didn’t also man the entrance was, fortunately, one of her school teachers was also there that day, and graciously agreed to do that for us. I found her in a corridor looking for us on the ceiling (why the F**k we would be on the ceiling I have no idea). After realised she had lost us, nature had called, so she had dutifully taken herself off to relieve herself.
- Finally: her school assured me when I went to their induction day that there was absolutely no way for her to escape. There were three security doors between any classroom and the exit, and you needed a card fob to open them, and only staff had them. Famous last words. In her second year there, when she was just about 6 years old she was given a staff key fob to ‘help’ a teacher with her friend. Said friend was wheelchair bound, so the idea was that she would fob the door open, so the teacher could open the heavy door and push the wheelchair through. The problem was another student appeared and needed immediate help, so the teacher stopped. My daughter fobbed the door, saw myself and her friend’s grandfather waiting for them, and decided that they could leave. So she heaved open the heavy security door and hauled the wheelchair through. Her friend is now giggling as they make their escape. The door swings shut, so now my daughter, her wheelchair bound friend and the key fob are on one side of the first security door. The teacher is on the other, without her pass – trapped. She banged on the door to try and get my daughter to open it, but the kids have decided they are off on an adventure. So, despite the fact that my 6 year old fae can not see over the top of the wheelchair, they are off down the corridor, her friend yelling commands when they are about to hit walls. It doesn’t stop them hitting, but does slow the impact. So, they make their way like a demented ball bearing down the corridor to door 2 and repeat the process: she fobs the door, hauls it open and drags the wheelchair through. By this time, the teacher has alerted a colleague to the great escape in progress, but much to her chagrin, instead of helping, said colleague has doubled over laughing. They make it through the second door. The third door and freedom is in sight, but there is a good 10 metres of straight line corridor between them and it. This may have taken hours at the rate they were making progress. Myself and the grandfather have been watching from outside the third door and taking bets on how far they will make it. Eventually, the teacher that nearly herniated themselves laughing crawls off the floor and fobs the door open, so the original staff member can retrieve her keys – and her students – before they make it out. My fae child looks somewhat disheartened that she didn’t make it all the way, but I have a feeling that she will try again another time. After all, if she had gone on her own she would have made it, but she will never leave a man behind. They opened the door and I couldn’t resist the ‘I told you she would try and escape’ when they get to me.
So she can and will escape from anywhere, it’s not that she necessarily doesn’t like where she is (she loves school and cries when it’s a holiday) but more the challenge of getting where she shouldn’t be, I think. I hope this need to break out/into places will fade as she gets older or she will end up in prison.
Briefly.
Until she breaks out.
Raising the Modern Fae 