I called her Fairy, because I’ve never liked the name Fay. The first time I saw her — on my second day there — and realized what had happened to her, I sat on the floor and sobbed for about 45 seconds, before I pulled my shit together, and she happily licked my hands while I cried.
Everyone always felt so sorry for her, but she was a rock star. She had no idea that she was disfigured, and she never seemed to be in any pain. She just knew that everyone gave her kisses and peanut butter and loved her. If you sat on the floor in front of her, she’d keep licking your face until the sun cooled, given the opportunity. They called her Smiley Cyrus.
No matter which section I worked in, I always went to say good morning and good night to my Fairy, and steal my kisses. Brave little girl. I was looking forward to the day I’d see her at a fundraiser and get to hold her on my lap and hug her again.
Good night, Fay. Rest well. I hope I’m wrong, and I see you and many of your fellow former fighters again. It was an honor to know you.