4

I was four when I first met you.

I don’t remember much from when I was four, but I do remember the first time I met you.

It was summer and I was playing in the soft sand at the back of the house. I can’t imagine that my parents left me alone so close to the beach where a four-year-old could easily drown, but I guess my memory is incomplete. Maybe they were there. Maybe it was a simpler time when parents weren’t so concerned about child-proofing the world.

But there I was, playing in the sand by myself, when I looked up and saw you. My first thought was that you were a fairy. I believed in my mother’s simple fairy tales then, of fairies and spirits and princes and princesses. You looked like you walked out of one of her stories.

She told me never to give my name to fairies. She said they use names to steal people away. That was why I didn’t tell you my name when you came to say hello to me. It didn’t bother you, though. You just invited yourself to my playground and started building sandcastles with me. I liked your voice, even if I didn't trust you at first. And then I liked your smile. I asked you whether you were going to live in the sandcastle. I cannot remember your answer but I remember thinking that I must build a really nice and sturdy one for you because you were a nice fairy and you weren't here to steal me away.

It was only when your parents came to take you home that I realised you were just a boy like me.