My Name is Rapunzel

by K. C. Hilton

  But how could I be sure that telling my story would make things any better? There was no way to know. It might be worse, much worse, after the word was out. What if I spent the remainder of my days running from a legend? After watching human nature over generations, it was clear that people railed against the unknown and the unusual. Maybe they would try to kill me. Then again, maybe they would be successful. No matter. I had to do it.

  I wanted a life. It was time.

  It was time to tell the truth.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  We are born, and then we grow up. We get married, and then we have a family. We grow old, and then we die. These were the facts. It was how nature worked. One thing followed on the heels of another. Father told me this before he sent me away…before he died. And I've seen those truths lived out, generation upon generation. But, after my eighteenth year, these truths no longer applied to me.

  I was the exception. I was a special case. I would never grow old, nor would I die. Some might find that to be a treasured gift, but trust me when I say it was a horrible curse.

  As I considered how I would undertake the task of writing my life story, I decided to start from the moment I was born.

  Mother said giving birth to a child was easier than deciding on a name. Having no experience in that area, I assumed she must be right. When I was born, she said my eyes were the color of the blue bellflowers on the rosette leaves, which sprouted from the rapunzel root. Father said my golden hair was a gift directly from the summer sun. But finally my parents agreed to grace me with the name Rapunzel, after that tasty root. Truth be known, I'd much rather be named after mother's favorite salad ingredient than be called Goldie, like my father had suggested.

  I once knew a Goldie several lifetimes ago, with flowing golden locks that bounced each time she skipped off into the forest on an impromptu adventure. That innocent spirit was endearing and drew people to her. Unfortunately, Goldie's naiveté only led to her demise. But that was an entirely different story, which I would have to save for another day.

  How I came to possess my name might have also been a suitable opening to my story. But the illustrious John Jenkins probably wouldn't give a whit why my parents named me Rapunzel. Personally, I had always loved hearing mother tell me the origin of my name. But I think listening to her soft, soothing voice is what I loved the most. It was angelic, ethereal. What I'd give to have her speak to me once more.

  My story should also mention I grew up in a small town. A place I could only ever think of as my one true home. A place that was more like a person, whose streets I walked each night as I lay in my bed. Could it be that the place of my dreams remained untouched from the beatings of time? Or had it become a bustling metropolis of commerce? I would probably never know. We’d left much too long ago for me to remember my way back, especially since the world looked so different now. And there's no way Gretta would tell me. I would have to be content with my ponderings and my memories. It was probably best, anyway. Revisiting the past often opened the door to disappointment.

  So, no, knowing that we lived in a cottage just outside of town with flowering dogwood trees surrounding it probably wouldn't interest Mr. Jenkins much. But I did miss seeing spring come, bringing with it the pink-and-white flowers that bloomed from the dogwood branches. The slightest of breezes wafted their wonderfully intoxicating essence, filling the air. I used to dance under the trees when the blooms began to detach themselves and flutter toward the ground in a light shower of petals.

  But there was one thing from those early days that would interest Mr. Jenkins. And perhaps I would start there.

  Mr. Jenkins, She was our neighbor. Gretta. Actually, Old Gretta, as my friends and I called her…

  Old Gretta was not just old; she was ancient. Her back hunched over until she appeared bent in half. The skin on her face and hands looked as though it had come unattached through the years. Her wrinkles and age spots darkened the appearance of her skin. She allowed her fingernails to grow in gnarled points, yellowed with age, which she used to stab the air whenever she spoke. The stick she used to walk looked more like a staff in her hands.

  Mother shuddered every time Old Gretta came around. “Nothing but a snoop.” She never bothered to disguise her disdain for the old woman. She said that Gretta asked too many questions and wanted to know things that were none of her business. Mother also said that Gretta's house was positioned so close to ours that Father had to build a small fence to keep her out of our garden. I'd always thought Mother was hiding the truth. That Father had built the fence to keep me out of Gretta's garden. I tended to overstep my boundaries at that age. I was always getting into something. Besides, I assumed that Gretta would appreciate the company. Not once, in all my years, had I ever seen a single visitor.

  So, against mother's wishes, I decided to befriend the old woman and spoke to her as much as I could. Gretta was kind to me and she used to give me vegetables for helping her in her garden. Sometimes she would even make a soup from her homegrown produce and invite me for a midday meal. How could I have known then, as a small child, that I would live to regret that friendship with every fiber of my being?

  I learned quite a lot about Gretta. Interested in apothecary and herbal concoctions, she grew a large herb garden and had shelves, jars, and cans of strange salves and powders. Her healing medicines and ointments would have been like gold to the local physicians and midwives, but a female apothecary was unheard of, so she had to keep quiet about it. Her secret was safe with me.

  One year, before the winter months arrived, I had helped Gretta brew a thick salve to help with breathing ailments. She explained life and death to me, and told me of sick and dying people who needed her help. I was enthralled with the idea of being able to help someone who wasn’t feeling well live longer, so I watched closely. One day, Gretta explained to me that she had a recipe for ageless beauty, but she needed waves of beautiful blonde hair from a young maiden to concoct this miracle brew that would stop time and make people happy.

  Gretta said she would always protect me and be my friend if I would agree to give her my lovely hair. I didn't understand business deals at that young age, but as much as I knew Gretta had been kind to me, I believed she would do me no harm. So I agreed.

  My hair was long for a thirteen-year-old girl. It brushed the back of my waist, but it wasn't enough. Gretta gave me a potion that made my hair grow even faster. I remember to this day how it smelled—a mixture of anise, ginger, and rapunzel root. I foolishly promised not to cut my hair, even the slightest bit. We had a mutual understanding, Gretta and I.

  One day she said it was time. I perched on a stool in Gretta's house as she used a razor to shave off my beautiful locks. When I reached a hand behind my head and felt nothing but stubble where the hair had once been, I grew terrified at what Mother would say. I decided in that instant that I would never tell her Gretta had been involved in the cutting of my hair. If I had, Gretta might not have seen another sunrise. As it was, I suffered the stinging end of the paddle myself.

  At least my deal with Gretta had been satisfied. Or so I thought.

  Often times, curiosity got the best of me and I roamed into places I shouldn't have. In an attempt to remedy this, Mother gave me the daily task of fetching pails of water from the stream to distract me. I can recall many years after that where I did nothing except this task. Thousands of times, over and over, each time as uneventful as the last. But, there was an instant when I was fresh to the age of seventeen that I found a hidden sanctuary near the stream.

  Low-hanging branches from the leaning willow tree concealed the entrance. I almost missed it. I'd walked the same path day after day, but on that particular day it was blazing hot. The only escape from the heat was beneath the shade of a tree. One could only hope for a breeze. As I walked on the rocky path, a subtle breeze caressed my face and neck, cooling me down. My hair had grown to a good length at the time, and it brushed the back of my knees, so the coolness was very much welcom
ed. Instinctively, I moved closer to the breeze, wanting both to revel in all it had to offer and curious as to where the mysterious wind was coming from.

  I found a dark cave on the other side of the branches. I wondered how long that mysterious cave had been hidden behind the veil, waiting for the day someone would slip through and find it. Its entrance may have been small, but inside it was roomy and easily the size of a small cottage, which is what I imagined it to be. My refuge.

  One day, as I walked along the bank on my way to my cave, I noticed a man and his horse near the water’s edge. He was handsome—I could tell just from the glimpse I'd caught before ducking behind a tree and peeking over from the edge. Then again, I'd never seen another man—aside from Father, of course—this close before. He was exotic to me—foreign, intriguing, and pleasant on the eyes.

  His deep windblown hair, with a hint of an unruly wave, framed the carved features of his face. As he rolled up his sleeves to take a drink, I caught sight of the muscles that hid beneath the fabric. This unexpected attraction was dangerous, but it was also intriguing.

  Out of habit, my lip got a good biting as I continued to watch him. I hoped he'd leave soon so I could get to my cave, but also wished he'd stay for reasons even I didn’t understand. I didn't know what I wanted from him. The whole scene felt so strange.

  Then, at the sound of a handful of crisp leaves crunching underneath my foot, he turned and our eyes caught. I never much believed in love at first sight. I’d only heard about it, wished for it every night, and when it never came, I gave up and went on thinking it was all just a hoax of some sort. However, in that instant, I felt something. A magnetic pull I couldn't quite understand. An attraction…a sense of being found even though I hadn’t known I was lost. Could this stranger be my true love? Could he be the one I would spend my life with? All I knew was that was what I wanted.

  I wanted him.

  We soon became friends, and before I knew it, he was courting me. Henry and I would meet by the stream as often as we could, and I spent less and less time with my friend Gretta. I did miss her, but rumors had started to spread through town that she was a witch—though I didn’t believe them. My parents, however, weren’t so trusting. They forbade me to go around her, which gave me more time for Henry.

  Ah. My Henry. My heart skipped a beat every time we met. Soon, my days were filled with only him and thoughts of Gretta slipped to the back of my mind just like when a young woman goes off to college and leaves the past behind her.

  The fondness Henry and I shared for each other grew stronger over the next year and eventually it matured to love.

  By then, my hair had grown to a beautiful length and it brushed the sides of my ankles. I wore it in a long braid and gathered most of it at the nape of my neck.

  “Promise me you'll never cut your beautiful hair.” Henry stroked my cheek as his eyes lingered on my hair. “I love you and that love includes every strand of your long hair.”

  Of course I promised. Anything for Henry.

  Henry asked Father for my hand in marriage. Father gave his blessing, but Henry's parents—the King and Queen—did not. It didn't matter that my parents were among the richest people in town. Father was, and always would be, a merchant. A working man. Successful though he was, I was a merchant's daughter and beneath Henry's royal position. That's what mattered to Henry's parents.

  We made our plans to be together and leave our town far behind. Henry had his own source of income and didn't care for his inheritance, or his title, and neither did I. Money could never take the place of true love. We were going to be together, regardless of what anyone thought. My parents had given their blessing and wished us all the happiness in the world. That was enough for us.

  We planned to make our departure on the night of my eighteenth birthday. It was going to be a full moon and the light would help me find my way to the stream. Henry's parents didn’t know of our plan, so we had to leave at night. Henry was going to bring two extra horses, one for me to ride and the other to carry our belongings. We were going to be together forever. I was the happiest girl alive.

  I turned eighteen years old the next day.

  That was nearly 250 years ago.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  In the year of 1763, Mr. Jenkins, I set the valise and small satchel I had been carrying on a large rock next to the stream, and waited for Henry to arrive.

  My heart pounded from excitement. The occasional fluttering of birds and crickets comforted me, knowing I wasn't truly alone. I was going to be Henry's wife and we were going to have children and live happily ever after. In the distance I heard the hooves of several horses and knew it must be Henry. I was right.

  Letting the horses free for a drink, he came to me.I could see his broad smile and the happiness in his eyes. He held my hands close to his chest and he gazed into my eyes, not saying a word. In that moment, I could see our future together. It was bright and brought the promise of only great things.

  “Before we leave, I need to ask you a question,” Henry said. “I know I've asked before, but I want to do it properly, if you don't mind.” He knelt down on one knee, and then drew something from his pocket. I knew what was coming, of course. What young lady wouldn’t know? But my breath caught in my chest nonetheless.

  Holding my left hand he asked, “Rapunzel, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and making me the happiest man on this earth?” As he said those final words, he slid a ring decorated with jewels onto my finger and looked up, still holding my hand, patiently awaiting my answer.

  “Yes, I'll marry you, Henry. Yes!” I loved Henry and he loved me. We were meant to be together forever. I had never been as happy as I was at that moment.

  Henry stood up and our eyes met. I saw only the deep longing in his sweet eyes as he leaned in toward me. I parted my lips to speak, too nervous to let the silence go on, but the gentle crushing of his lips against mine silenced me. I closed my eyes and the sounds of the forest disappeared.

  I was weightless. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. I never expected our first kiss to be so powerful, so full of emotion, or so full of love. In all these long years, I have never forgotten the details of that kiss.

  Henry slowly pulled away, still cupping my face to whisper, “A happy life is having you as my wife. If I die today, I'll die a happy man.” How could I not have smiled at that? “Nothing could take this feeling from me, not now, not ever. I'll always remember this moment for as long as I live.” As if that wasn't enough to make me melt away, he added, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I whispered back. “This is the best day of my life.” I smiled again. It was the best eighteenth birthday a girl could ever want.

  “Shall we leave then?” he asked me.

  I was so happy. I nodded and slid my hand into his. The sooner we left that place, putting distance between Henry's parents and us, the better off we'd be. We loved each other. Why would they ever want to keep us apart?

  Henry bent down and picked up my bag. “Are you sure about this? Leaving this way?”

  “Yes, I'm positive,” I said. With my answer, Henry's concern disappeared and widened into a smile across his face. We were finally leaving. We would begin our lives together as husband and wife…blissfully happy. I was positive it was our destiny.

  If only, oh, if only it could have been that easy.

  A loud cackle from a woman erupted near the edge of the forest. I narrowed my eyes and scanned the area. I saw only the dark shadows of the creatures that had taken flight or scurried away in fright.

  As the fluttering wings of birds and small animals cleared, I finally found the source of the laugh I wished had belonged to another. Gretta… She stood at the other end of the clearing. Her wicked glare revealed an unknown tragedy was about to unfold.

  “How could you dare try to leave me? I thought we had an understanding, Rapunzel? I think it's time our agreement was satisfied,” she said. With another eerie cackle, she raised
her outstretched hands above her shoulders, pointed them toward the sky, and started chanting strange words. The slow rhythm of her words increased after each pause.

  “Run!” Henry screamed, his eyes widened, “Run!” When I didn't move, confusion washed over his face. He couldn't hide his emotions. The moon made sure of it.

  The witch's chanting had grown louder and louder. An unexpected storm began to brew and whistling winds howled through the trees. Dark and haunting thunder roared in the distance, growing closer by the second. Broken branches, twigs, and leaves began swirling through the air. This wasn't a typical storm. It was a witch's brew.

  I couldn't move.

  My mouth opened slightly. I tried to speak, but the words remained trapped in my throat, unable to spill from a mouth that could find no voice.

  I wanted nothing more than to run. I truly did. It wasn't because I didn't want to leave, because I did. I wanted to do exactly what Henry told me to do. Run! We needed to leave this place fast. Go somewhere—anywhere, but here. But still…I couldn't move.

  Henry grasped my shoulders then yelled again, “Run!” His words cracked with urgency, “Run!” He tried to shake me out of my stupor, but it was to no avail. I couldn't move and I didn't know what was wrong.

  I heard him, but I didn't respond. I didn't move. I didn't run. I was frozen like a lifeless statue in a cold museum. With only the movement of my eyes, I pleaded with him to help me. A tear escaped one of my eyes then rolled down my cheek. That single tear managed to do what my heart could not. Escape. Henry didn't understand my tearful plea, and statues can’t speak.

  “Run!” he yelled again, “I said, run!” His nostrils flared and a bead of sweat slid down his temple. Henry shook me again. This time fiercely, determined to get me to follow. I had never heard him bark orders at anyone, let alone me. I had only known him to be kind and gentle to everyone.