The Troll Meisje

Z. called me today to say she was back from the hospital. She fell a week ago, twisted her ankle and had plaster put on it. She spent all her school holidays at home, nursing her foot. Now the plaster is gone, but there's a wound, and she's afraid she can't yet walk.

I listen carefully to her tiny voice on my mobile.
Her Dutch is 300 times better than mine and she's only five years old.

After a few seconds, she passes the phone to her mother. She says Z. really wanted to call the Troll Meisje and let her know about what happened.
Something very beautiful and very sad breaks inside me. I turn off the phone and stare at the person I was having a meeting with. My eyes are so full of something else that I can hardly see the pictures on the table, let alone discuss them.

Two weeks ago I was a Troll Meisje (Troll Girl) on Z.'s birthday party. My job was to pretend I was sleeping under a tree, and wait for the group of kids to come and wake me up, putting a magic potion on my outstretched hand. I was wearing a bright orange wig and fake troll ears. It was Sunday morning and the park was full of people. It was difficult to find a clean place to lay down. The park is beautiful in general, but when you look carefully it's full of (dog?) shit and condoms. I felt grumpy and slightly claustrophobic. It was cold. The right ear kept on falling off. The wig was itchy.

When we got home, one of the guests, an actress, said to me when she learned I had been the Troll Meisje: "Ah, it was the role of your life!" I know it was not intended, but I felt quite hurt. On my acting pretensions, mainly.

But today, the Troll Meisje is happy.
Z. called to inform of her misfortune.
To me and nobody else.
(Maybe she believes in my magical powers? It could not be such a bad acting after all!)
True affection from a five year old is a very important addition to my life in Amsterdam. In some strange way, it makes me feel alive. It's like I'm less transparent now.