I well remember the first time I saw her. She sat in the big comfortable chair in my office, her feet not quite touching the floor. She was small for her age and her large blue eyes made her look young and vulnerable. Her parents were cooling their heels, not to mention their tempers, in the lobby outside. I could faintly hear the muffled sounds of her father, who was continuing his arguments even though I was no longer there to argue with.

"I'm not the one that's going crazy," he had insisted. "she is. There's no way you're getting me to talk to a shrink when it's Laura who has all the problems. You just cure her, that's what I'm paying you for."

Her mother, a washed-out woman whose blond hair and blue eyes seemed to be faded compared to her husband's brooding vitality, or even her daughter's sunny nature, had said nothing. So between his money and temper and her timid silence I was now forced to try to cure what was really nothing more than a symptom, while the real cause went untreated.

But there was noting to be done about that, so I turned my attention to the symptom in question, the girl.

"Laura," I always called my patients by name, "do you know why you're here?"

"Because Dad thinks I'm nuts."

I smiled. A good sign that she hadn't said she thought she was crazy. "I wouldn't say 'nuts,' but he is worried that there's something wrong with you."

"Why not say nuts? That's what Dad said."

"Well Laura, 'nuts' is so imprecise." I smiled again, she was taking the whole situation very well. "I mean, I could say somebody who went out and howled at the moon every night was nuts, or I could say somebody who thought he was Abraham Lincoln was nuts, or I could say my neighbor who leaves the top down on his convertible every single day, even when it's raining, is nuts, but they're all totally different problems."

She giggled. "Does your neighbor really do that?"

"He really does."

"You're not just fibbing?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." I made the appropriate gesture.

"What about those other two, they guy who howls at the moon and the one that thinks he's Abraham Lincoln? Are they real too?"

"I've really met somebody who howls at the moon, though he's a nice guy and not at all 'nuts' except for that one thing. The man who thinks he's Abe Lincoln is totally fictional, as far as I know. I just thought him up."

"But if you don't say 'nuts,' what do you say?"

"In your case it's too early to tell. There are a whole bunch of long scientific words that we use to describe different things. But I have to know more about you and about the problem that made your dad think you were nuts before I can tell you which one of those words might describe you. And it might turn out that none of them describe you and you're as normal as they come."

"My friend Shelly, she's a little weird, but she says that there isn't any such thing as normal, that we're all weird in different ways."

"She has a good point. No two people are alike and what's normal for one is weird for another. But let's talk about what makes you weird. If your friend is right there must be something."

"There's lots of things, but I think I know the one you want to hear about. You want me to tell you about why my dad thinks I'm nuts, don't you?"

"You're a very bright girl, Laura. Your father has told me some of it, but I want to hear your side of the story."

She hesitated, I could see she didn't really want to talk about it, but she took a deep breath and started in. "I don't get an allowance, Dad says I ought to be able to earn my own money, though Mom sometimes gives me some. But I don't like that, because it's too sneaky and we have to hide it from Dad. So I thought I'd try to earn my own like Dad said. I like little kids, so I decided to try baby-sitting. That way I'd be doing work that was kind of like playing. I made a bunch of flyers, Dad even let me use his computer since I was doing like he'd told me, and I put them up all over town. I'd put my name and my phone number, and my address too because I couldn't baby sit for somebody far off unless they were willing to give me a ride over to their house."

I hadn't heard any of this from the parents, and it didn't seem to have much to do with what they'd told me, but it's usually best at first to let children tell their stories at their own pace, so I merely nodded my understanding at let Laura continue.

"I didn't get many people, I guess most of them already had baby sitters, but that was okay because I didn't really need the money, and I figured I'd get at least a few jobs eventually.

"Anyway, a week or two after that I was asleep when I woke up and found a light shining in my window. I was kind of puzzled because I'm on the second floor so how would a light get that high? I went over to the window and I could see that there were two lights, a bit apart, like headlights, except there was no way a car could be shining a light in my window. I opened the window and looked out and I was so surprised I nearly fell out."

She paused for a moment then explained, "I'd taken the screen out of my window a long time ago so that I could launch paper planes out of it. I put the screen under my bed and nobody ever noticed."

Then she continued the story. "I was so surprised because the lights were eyes. This is the part that Dad doesn't like, and you'll probably think it's crazy too, but I really did see eyes a big as car headlights two stories off the ground, really. I couldn't see what the rest of the thing with the eyes looked like, but it held up an absolutely huge clawed hand and it had one of my flyers. I don't know where it got it, but the monster, that's what I thought it was at first, could read it. It could speak too, because that's what it did next.

"It said 'You are the one this paper speaks of?' And I was, of course, so I said yes. Even back then I didn't like to fib. So then it said 'I need a baby sitter, come with me.'

"I didn't really want to, but I was too scared to say no to something that big. So I climbed up and sat on the window sill. It picked me up and put me on the ground. Without having those glowing eyes looking at me I could see what it looked like better. It was big and green and covered all over in scales. It had wings too, and a head that kind of reminded me of the velociraptors in Jurassic Park, all long nosed and toothy. That's when I figured out what it was, it was a dragon. Everybody I've asked told me they were just make-believe, or if there ever were any they died a long time ago, but I really did see a dragon. I don't fib, not anymore."

She looked at me with a kind of pleading expression. I knew that her parents had reacted to this story by ridiculing it and insisting on the truth. To continue that behavior wouldn't help at all, so I just nodded and said "Go on," in my most encouraging tone. She looked a bit relieved that I hadn't rejected her story out of hand and she flashed a hesitant smile before continuing.

"The dragon crouched down real low and told me to get up on its back, so I did. I grabbed on tight to one of the spiky things that went all along its back. The next thing I knew it had jumped up into the air and was flying! That was scary, but exciting too. We didn't fly for very long. Our house is kind of out on the edge of town, not to far from the hills. Out there somewhere that's a cave, and that's where the dragon took me. It landed outside and went in. When I followed it, I found another dragon, this one much bigger and with lots of horns and spikes and things on its head. The first dragon said that this was her mate, which I guess is like husband for dragons, because it turns out that the one that had carried me was a girl, and this other one was a boy.

"Anyway, after she introduced me to her mate, she took me into a smaller cave off of the big one, and there was a kind of nest with a bunch of tiny little lizardy looking things in it. They didn't have wings at all, and were kind of chubby, they way babies usually are. But they had the same dinosaur kind of heads, so I figured they were the big dragon's babies. She told me she needed me to watch them while she hunted, so I did. It was kind of hard not falling asleep, but the little dragons were cute and playful, so I had fun.

"After a bit their mother came back and took me home again. I didn't have a watch, but it hadn't been very long. I went back to bed and when I woke up I thought it must have been a dream. But I had to be sure, so I went outside before I left for school and looked at the lawn outside my window. There were big spots where some of the lawn was lower then others, and when I got back a bit, I could see they were in the shape of huge footprints, so I couldn't have been dreaming."

"Laura, did anyone else see these tracks?"

She nodded. "I showed Dad later on, when he found out about the dragon, but by then she'd been to pick me up so many times that that whole part of the lawn was sort of mushed down and the grass was dying a little bit. Dad said that something was wrong with the grass, or the sprinklers or something, but he didn't believe that it was because of the dragon."

"So you baby sat for this dragon more than once?"

"Oh yes, she said that I was a much better baby sitter than any of her friends, so she wanted me to come as often as I could. I couldn't stay up late every night though, I need sleep, so she didn't ask me too often. What she said about her friends got me curious though, so one time I asked if I could meet any of them. That's where all the trouble came from. The dragon introduced me to a bunch of different things, some of them kind of ordinary looking, like the wizard, who wears blue jeans and looks like a cowboy, or the elf, who you can't tell except if you look at his ears real close. But my favorites were the griffin and the unicorns."

"The griffin is really old, and she tells the best stories, not like the silly ones that Mom sometimes used to read me, but ones that teach something. They all have this thing at the end called a 'moral' that tells you the thing that the story teaches. Things about helping out others and stuff like that." She frowned for a moment. "She was always upset when I mentioned my parents though, she said that it was their duty to teach me those things and that if she could get at them she'd tear them to pieces. I didn't like that much. Mom and Dad aren't the greatest, but I don't want them torn to pieces."

She looked thoughtful. "You have to understand about Mom and Dad. They're rich, that's why they sent me to you, because Dad thinks that his money will do anything. They griffin explained about that in one of her stories. Money can't do everything, but when I tried to tell Dad that, he just got mad at me. He does that a lot. And Mom agrees with Dad about money, but she doesn't get mad about anything. She doesn't get happy about anything either. I wish they could talk to the griffin, but if I brought them to her, she probably would tear them to pieces like she said.

"The unicorns were the ones that got me into trouble though. I liked to talk to them, they're very nice, and one of the younger ones let me ride on his back for a bit, which was much better than those silly pony rides at the fair. But they like to eat roses, and they had asked me to get a few for them because they're scared to go into town where the gardens are, because of the people. They remember being hunted by men with dogs a long time ago, so they don't trust us.

"They also don't like us because we lie. They can smell lies and it makes them kind of sick. The only time I came near them after I'd lied they wouldn't talk to me. So when I asked people if I could pick a few roses, I couldn't lie about why I wanted them, because unicorns can't eat roses that have been lied over. Some of the people I asked made fun of me, but a lot of them thought it was cute, and they said I could have as many as I wanted, so that was okay. But then Dad asked me why I had all those roses in my room, and I couldn't spoil them for the unicorns by lying, so I had to tell him"

She looked sad. "That's when he called you. Mom didn't want him to, but he didn't want his daughter to be nuts, so he decided you could cure me. Only I don't want to be cured. I don't think I'm nuts, and even if I am, I'd rather be nuts than not be able to see the unicorns again."

"Don't worry Laura, the worst thing I see right now is that you have an overly vivid imagination. My advice to you for now is just keep living your life, and keep seeing the unicorns if you think you need to. I'll talk to your parents about some other things that might help."

Laura smiled again, less hesitant this time. "Thank you."

I ushered her to the door where my secretary was waiting. Her father immediately approached, wanting to hear my diagnosis. I ushered him into my office.

"I guess you believe me that she's crazy now?"

I repressed an urge to sigh deeply. "Your daughter has some delusional tendancies, yes."

The expression on his face was smug, as if "I told you so" would be the next words out of his mouth. I jumped back in before he could say it. "They're actually quite inventive, you should give her credit for an excellent imagination." The smug expression didn't waver, so I plunged on. "She has invented these imaginary friends of hers to serve as role models, most likely because she isn't getting much role modeling from you or your wife." The smug expression had vanished. "To be frank, I can counsel her all you want, but she will probably cling to those delusions until either your behavior changes or she finds some other real life role model."

"I see where you're going with this. How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not crazy, I don't need anything. My daughter is nuts and I expect you to cure her!" He didn't stay seated to listen to the rest of my explanations, but rose and stormed toward the door. He yelled back over his shoulder, "I'll keep sending her to you until she's cured!"

"Then you will be sending her to me for the rest of her life, sir."

"So what, I can afford it. But I'm not seeing a shrink when she's the crazy one." He stormed out into the office and, trailing wife and child, continued out the door. I was glad to see him go, but I would have liked to talk more with Laura.

I got that wish first thing the next month when her father made a second appointment for her and brought her by. Still looking small in the big chair in front of my desk, this time she looked less timid, and was examining her surroundings with interest.

We talked for a bit about her family, and about the dragon and her other imaginary friends, then she asked me about my butterflies.

I've collected them for years, often using my vacations to go in search of particularly rare specimens, and by this time the walls of my office were covered in brightly colored insects mounted on boards and protected by glass panes.

"Are those real butterflies, or are they pictures?"

"They're real, I caught them myself."

"That's sad."

I was startled. "Sad? Why do you think that?"

"They're all dead. I don't think you ought to hang dead things on your walls. Can't you just take pictures of them? They'd look just as pretty, but then they'd still be alive."

I had never thought of it like that. Butterflies were just bugs, valuable only because of their beauty. Most of the children I counseled loved my butterflies, though a few had reacted badly, but most of those reacted badly to almost everything, so I hadn't thought anything of it. Suddenly I realized the morbidity of it, that I had hung my walls with dead creatures. Beautiful ones, but still dead. My psychiatrist's mind made me wonder what that said about me, but I put it out of my head and continued with our discussion.

Laura clung stubbornly to the idea that the dragon was real. No matter what I said, no matter what explanations I tried out, she simply said. "I see what you mean, it would be easy to imagine things because of that, but the dragon is real." On every subject she was rational and intelligent. Her story-telling skills, both in repeating real life events and in making up stories about the dragon, were excellent, and other than that one topic she had no trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality, but in that one thing she was adamant. The dragon was real.

When she left that day I sighed in frustration. What was the point in trying to cure someone who had no problems other than a single harmless delusion? Thinking again about the butterflies, I thought that Laura might actually be saner than I.

She returned the next month, regular as clockwork, but this time when she walked into my office, she had her hands behind her back and a conspiratorial grin on her face. Standing in front of my desk, she took her hands out from behind her back to reveal a picture. It was a butterfly. A bit childish, obviously hand drawn, the wings a bit unequal, the edges a trifle uneven. But it wasn't just a random creation, it was recognizably a monarch butterfly, the black and orange patterns painstakingly duplicated, every spot in place.

"I saw this butterfly in the back yard, and I decided to draw it, only it flew off, so I had to look it up in the encyclopedia to finish the picture. I thought you ought to have one butterfly that was still alive."

I took the picture from her. "Thank you Laura, it's beautiful." Then, feeling the need for a gesture, I went to the wall and took down one of the glass fronted cases. Carefully I opened it and removed the delicate form of a monarch butterfly, a close twin to the one she'd drawn. Putting the case with the other butterflies away in a drawer in my desk, I hung her picture up in the spot it had occupied on the wall. Then I looked at the little dead thing in my hand. I'd made my gesture, but what to do with the dead monarch now?

Laura, the sensitive child that she is, noticed my hesitation and spoke up. "Could we bury it? You ought to bury things once they die."

I nodded. "You're right. We'll find someplace outside." I got up and led the way out, past my secretary, through the halls of the large building, down an elevator, and out the big glass doors in front. Together Laura and I went around the back of the building where there were a few flower beds. She chose a spot and we dug a shallow hole with our hands in the soft soil. I carefully placed the butterfly into the hole and covered it up. Laura smiled at me, and I smiled back. For some reason I was feeling much lighter, happier, more cheerful. More so than simply burying a butterfly should explain.

We went back inside and finished our session for that day. As always, Laura insisted that the dragon was real, but I didn't want to try and convince her otherwise. I had no other clients for an hour or two, so I went out and talked to my secretary. A gray-haired matron, she's been with me a long time and had often helped treated traumatized children, especially those whose experiences have left them wary of males.

"I feel bad about Laura. I can't really do anything for her. I don't want to "cure" her of what is nothing but a harmless fantasy, but what else can I do for her if her father refuses to listen to reason?"

She was quick with advice as always. "You can't do a thing except what you have been doing. Talk to the child and take her father's money, he can afford it. And frankly," here she paused and looked me over, "you're looking happier than you have in years. Lately you've been in a rut, and Laura's good for you. Keep seeing her, you can do her no harm and yourself a lot of good."

And that is exactly what I did. I'll never know for certain why Laura's father never decided to send her to someone who would have more effect. I suspect that he wanted to think he'd done all he could without actually having to do a thing. But whatever the reason, Laura kept coming until the day she turned eighteen and moved out on her own. Our conversations were always more therapy for me than for her, and we talked about every subject imaginable. I gave up entirely on curing her of her delusions and eventually I stopped asking about them. But Laura enjoyed telling me about her friends, and as far as I can tell she remained still absolutely convinced that "the dragon is real," as she always put it, until the day she left.

And now I can look around me and see the changes that have resulted. The walls are still covered with butterflies, but now they are all "still alive." I've taken up photography so that I can catch them that way. The excitement and challenge of learning a new hobby at my age was wonderful. But many of the ones hanging on my walls were drawn by Laura. From that first monarch to a much more recent specimen that looks so real I half expected it to fly off the paper the first time I saw it, each one a work of love and art.

The same art, in fact, that adorns the cover of the book I now hold in my hands. I keep opening it to look at the words on the first page and closing it again to look at the marvelous picture. A unicorn so real you want to reach out and touch it, with the title, Unicorn Truths, over its head. And inside these words: "To my long time friend, who was good enough to say I wasn't nuts for believing in unicorns." I had already read the book, and the stories were familiar ones. About a girl who baby sat for dragons and gathered roses for unicorns, who drew butterfly pictures and held butterfly funerals in the flower beds.

And about a man who learned photography to save butterflies. The illustrations were photographically clear, I recognized my own face, my own butterfly hung walls.

That's when I finally realized. I had thought I could cure Laura, but it was really she that cured me. I'm not sure if I can bring myself to believe the way she does, I've never seen them, the unicorn and the dragon, but looking at her pictures and reading those familiar stories I find myself starting to wonder.

Maybe she was right all along. Maybe the dragon is real.