***
“People, it’s time to indulge your creativity,” announces Fairweather upon meeting us in the corridor.
“What’s going on?” I ask Elzmerelda.
She explains that every day after group we attend one of three workshops: “Enchanted Arts & Crafts” with Fairweather, “Sew-La-Ti-Do” with Flossie, or “The Magic of Cooking” with Fanta.
“The Good Fairies believe creativity nourishes the soul and builds self-esteem,” she says.
What dragon dung! There’s only one thing I want to create. An escape plan.
***
I end up in the cooking workshop with Winifred. It takes place in the castle’s kitchen, which is surprisingly well equipped and elaborate compared to the rest of this rundown dump. Fanta tells us that today’s project is to make a “delicious crusty bread.”
“I’m going to leave you two girls on your own. I’ll come back in a little while.” She stops short at the door. “Jane, please make sure that Winifred doesn’t eat the dough before you bake it.” And then she’s gone.
Great! A chance to escape.
“I love making bread,” says Winifred, already gathering pans, bowls, and utensils. “It’s so therapeutic. It lets you take out all your hurt and anger on the dough, but still the bread turns out delicious.”
She’s obviously made bread before. Good. I’ll let her do all the work. When she’s not looking, I’ll split. With a little luck, I’ll be able to sneak a piece for my journey home.
Luck is not in my cards. Winifred immediately puts me to work.
“Jane, we need water, yeast, butter, and flour,” she says with authority.
How am I supposed to know where they are? I’ve never been in this kitchen. In fact, I haven’t been in a kitchen for years. When I was Queen, I had cooks.
“Hurry, Jane. We don’t have all day!”
Maybe it’s time to remind her that I’m still a Queen and don’t take orders from anyone.
With her hands planted on her wide hips, she taps her foot as though she’s counting down to an attack. The thought of her two hundred-pound body tackling mine motivates me. I’m not ready to die. I have a future ahead of me. A title to recapture.
I manage to find all the ingredients. Winifred mixes them together in a large earthenware bowl.
“Now we have our dough,” she says.
She sprinkles our butcher-block worktable with some of the flour and places the mixture on the surface. “Now, comes the fun part. We get to knead it.”
We? I want nothing to do with this big glob of goo.
“Watch.” She plunges her hands into the dough and starts to push, pull, and fold it. “Kneading is great for releasing stress. Try it.”
Cautiously, I put my hands into the dough and copy her motions. It’s soft and warm. And you know what? It does feel good!
“I used to think that making bread was like making love,” says Winifred, her voice wistful.
A spark of interest kindles inside me.
“When I first got married, I would caress the dough and stretch it gently. Over time, I started to whack and squeeze it hard.”
Something in her relationship changed. Despite my curiosity, I let it go.
“Think about someone you hate and pretend he or she is the dough,” she tells me.
Shrink! Grimm! This fat chick and the rest of those pathetic loonies! I hate them all! To my surprise, I find myself tugging at the dough and bashing it. I break into a sweat as I work the dough harder and harder.
“Good job, Jane.” Winifred takes the dough from me and forms it into a round shape. Still flat as a board, it hardly resembles a loaf of bread.
“Do we bake it now?” I ask.
“No.” She places a towel over the dough. “We have to wait a half-hour for it to rise.”
What! Now, I have to hang out with her?
“Would you care for some chamomile tea?” she asks.
A cup of coffee would be more like it. Strong and black.
“Sure,” I tell her.
She boils some water in the cauldron and then returns with a tray holding two cups of tea and a plate full of biscuits. “Have one,” she says. “They must be left over from yesterday’s class.”
I bite into a tasty biscuit and notice she’s not eating one. She stares at me, salivating with envy.
“You’re so lucky you’re so thin. I bet you can eat anything you want and never gain a pound.”
I feel a tinge of pity. It must be awful to be that fat.
“My husband won’t make love to me anymore,” she says forlornly.
I wonder why she would ever want to make love to the creep who sent her here.
“So, what’s your husband like?” she asks.
This is getting way too personal. I wish the damn dough would rise.
“He’s dead,” I say.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was a lot older than me.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Of course!” What a big fat liar I am! Why would I miss him? Our brief marriage was a joke. Old King Cold spent all his time doting on his daughter Snow White. Little Miss Perfect. I was almost happy when he died. Except I got stuck with taking care of the imp.
Winifred returns her attention to the dough. She removes the towel. I’m shocked. The dough has risen. It’s double its size!
She gently runs her fingers across the top. “Touch it. It’s like the skin of a baby.”
Hesitantly, I stroke the dough. It is like the skin of a baby. Smooth and silky. So new to the world. The memory of the infant I never got a chance to know fills my head. Trembling, I pull my hand away.
“Are you okay?” Winifred asks.
“I’m fine,” I stammer. The painful memory fades.
“Good. One last thing before we put it into the hearth,” says Winifred. “I’m going to let you do the honors.”
“Now, what do I have to do?” I ask, not really wanting to know.
“Imagine your worst enemy and punch it as hard as you can.”
Is she serious? Okay. Here goes. I look down at the perfect white mound, and to my astonishment, it comes alive. Oh my God! It’s Snow White! Hatred shoots through my veins.
With my right hand curled into a tight fist, I punch the dough with a force I never knew I had. But as I strike the mound, it’s no longer Snow White. The dough has morphed. It’s turned into the one person I’ve dreaded ever seeing again. Nelle Yvel. My mother! I shriek. The dough deflates. I shriek again.
“Perfect!” Winifred places the dough in the hearth. “Now, we have to wait until it bakes.”
More waiting? The image of my mother has knocked me for a loop. I’m drained and shaken.
In no time, a delicious aroma wafts through the air. It gets my mind off my mother. My heartbeat returns to normal.
“What’s the point of all this hard work?” I ask. “I mean, the bread’s just going to get eaten or turn moldy.”
“Look on the bright side. You’ve created something that will nourish others,” replies Winifred. “When I bake delicious bread for my family, it’s my way of telling them I love them.”
Her eyes grow watery.
“So, in other words, you’re baking love?” I say with uncertainty.
“I never thought about it that way.” She takes a sip of tea.
“Once my children got lost in the woods and scattered pieces of my bread to help them find their way back home.” A tear spills into her tea. “I miss them.”
Our conversation comes to a dead end, and we drink our tea in silence. The tantalizing smell of the baking bread grows stronger. It’s making me hungry. Finally, Winifred removes the dough from the hearth. To my amazement, it’s a big crusty loaf of bread. Winifred must be some kind of magician.
“Have some,” she says.
I tear off a piece of the warm bread and stuff it in my mouth. My eyes light up. It’s so good! Winifred bites into a chunk and moans with pleasure. Within minute
s, we devour the entire loaf.
Winifred’s face falls. Why is she suddenly so glum?
“When Fanta finds out that I’ve eaten so much bread, she’ll ban me from dinner.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell her I ate the entire loaf.”
“Thanks, Jane. I owe you.” A cheek-to-cheek smile spreads across her chubby face.
I’ve made a decision. I’m taking Winifred off my hate list.
***
“Jane, how did it go today?” asks Elzmerelda.
We’re back in our room, freshening up for dinner. I say nothing.
“It was awful for me at first too. Don’t worry. It gets better. Honestly.”
Honestly? There’s no way I’m hanging around this dump to find out.
“Well, got to go. I have Dinner Prep tonight. See you later.” She skitters out the door.
Good. She’s gone. I can use this free time alone to plot my escape. Except I’m too exhausted to think. I plunk down on my bed and close my eyes.
When I re-open them, it’s pitch-black. For a second, I have no idea where I am. Elzmerelda’s singsong voice regrettably reminds me.
“I brought you back some dinner.” After lighting a candle, she lays a tray on my bed.
“What time is it?” I ask groggily, raising myself to a sitting position.
“It’s after nine. You fell asleep. When I came back to get you, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
I gulp down my soup and wipe the bowl clean with the bread. Shit! I missed clean-up. One of those Badass Fairies will probably give me one hundred lashes.
As if reading my mind, Elzmerelda says, “Don’t worry. I covered clean-up for you.”
Why is she so nice to me? I don’t get it. If it’s because she wants me to be nice to her, she can forget it. I don’t do nice.
Elzmerelda clears the tray, then slips into her nightgown. She crawls into bed and blows out the candle.
“Sweet dreams, Jane.”
No one has ever said that to me before. I shut my eyes again, but sleep betrays me. I can’t get the image of my mother out of my head.
CHAPTER 7
My next day at Faraway begins no better than the first. The chirpy birds wake me up too early; the sun attacks me; my caffeine deprivation gives me a headache, and Elzmerelda’s cheerfulness drives me nuts.
At breakfast, we gather fresh eggs in addition to berries. In a nearby shed, Winifred shows me how easy it is take an egg from one of the nesting hens. Trust me, it’s not. The nasty chickens are in constant attack mode. I narrowly escape being their breakfast.
I’m happy to go back to berry picking. I’ve actually gotten better at it. As I’m counting my haul, someone screams in the distance.
It’s Sasperilla, and she’s running toward us faster than any Gingerbread Man can. “Help! A wild beast is after me!”
Out of the clearing leaps a beautiful spotted fawn.
Elzmerelda makes a squinty face. “He’s lost!”
“The poor baby,” says Winifred. “I bet he’s trying to find his mother.”
The animal prances up to us. I admire his lithe body and long, graceful legs.
“Get him away from me!” shrieks Sasperilla, flailing her stick-thin arms.
Elzmerelda tries to calm down her sister. “Sassy, he’s not going to bite you.”
For some reason, the animal is attracted to me. It nuzzles its head up against my body and helps itself to the berries in my basket.
“The poor thing must be starving,” says Winifred. She orders Sasperilla to find some nuts and acorns. More than happy to oblige, Miss Scared and Skinny scurries off.
Watching this gentle creature, I’m transported to my childhood again. I’m dancing barefoot in the street. Passersby notice I have no shoes and throw an extra coin into my tin. I don’t dare tell them that my mother forbid me to wear shoes so they would feel sorry for me and be generous with their alms.
A kind-looking man dressed in regal clothes watches me dance. He must be from a faraway land because he uses words I don’t know. “Bambina, you are destined for greatness.” He tosses a gold coin into my tin. I smile. My mother will be pleased.
Not long after the man strolls away, I feel a warm, wet tickling sensation on my toes. I glance down. At my feet is an adorable brown and white spotted puppy that won’t stop licking me. When he gazes up at me with his big take-me-home eyes, I know he’s mine. I name him Bambi.
Wagging his tail, he follows me home. He’s so cute and smart. When I call out to him, he knows his name and runs up to me. I’m sure my mother will let me keep him because of the gold coin. I’m wrong.
“Jane, how dare you bring home this flea-ridden beast?” she shrieks. “The last thing we need is another mouth to feed!”
To my horror, she kicks the little dog. It whimpers. My poor little Bambi! As I fall to my knees to shield him with my body, a fiery pain rips across my back. I look up only to receive another lashing from my mother, gripping a frayed leather belt laced with my blood. “He’d better be gone when I come back,” she hisses. Emptying the tin with the gold coin, she stomps toward the front door, slamming it behind her as she leaves.
I scoop Bambi up in my arms. He licks my hot, salty tears. I can’t part with him. I cry myself to sleep, with the little pup hidden under my thin woolen blanket, curled up in the crook of my knees.
When I open my eyes in the morning, Bambi’s gone. “He ran away,” says my smirking mother.
Fresh tears sprinkle down my face. Grabbing my tin, I race to the village square where I dance, hoping he’ll be there. I dance all day until my feet bleed. The pup never shows up. Night falls. Hobbling from street to street, I shout out his name until I’m hoarse and cannot take another step. “Bambi! Bambi! Bambi!”
“Do you know someone named Bambi?” asks Elzmerelda, snapping me back to reality.
“Where is he?” I ask.
Winifred eyes me strangely. “Do you mean the deer? Sasperilla came back and scared him off. Remember?”
She must think I’m delusional. Maybe I am losing it.
***
We begin our morning meditation standing, with our arms raised to the sky.
“Draw in the sunshine,” instructs Fanta.
So, now they’re going to fry our insides. When I die from all this sunshine, they’ll probably find sunspots on my bones.
Surprisingly, the posture brightens my spirits. It makes me stronger. Energized.
Flossie leads us through a series of movements she calls “sun salutations.” They’re a bunch of weird poses that require a lot of flexibility. I can’t believe how flexible the Badass Fairy is. Fluidly moving from one pose to the next, she’s like a dancer.
Following along, I glance at the others. Elzmerelda is as graceful as a gazelle. Even maimed What’s-His-Name and super-plus size Winifred move with ease. Distracted, Sasperilla shoots me a what-are-you-staring-at look. Right back at you, bitch. She loses her balance and falls. She grimaces; I smile. Wickedly.
I focus my attention back on Fanta. She chants, “Om ravaye namah.”
Gulp! She’s casting a spell on us! She’s going to turn us all into frogs!
“Let it all go,” she says. “And say OMmmmm.”
Reluctantly, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and prepare for the worse. When I open them, I’m surprised. I’m not some ugly ribitting frog princess. Oddly, I’m at peace with myself.
***
So relaxed, I’m not looking forward to my second session with Shrink, especially after all the insults she threw in my face yesterday. The nerve of her! She’ll be sorry if she pulls that stuff on me today. I’ll have her on her knees, begging for forgiveness. Then I’ll stomp on her and turn her into pixie juice.
“Hello, Jane,” says Shrink in her no-nonsense voice as she flies into her office.
Lying on the velvet chaise, I tilt my head up slightly and gaze at her with disdain.
“Jane is an interesting name,” she begins. “It rhy
mes with both ‘plain’ and ‘vain.’ Which one are you--a plain Jane or a vain Jane?”
Plain Jane. The two words send a chill down my spine. It’s been so long since I’ve heard them, yet I can still hear my mother’s deprecating voice as if it were only yesterday. “You waste of human space. You’re nothing but a plain Jane.”
“Well, Jane, which one are you?” Shrink’s words hurl me back to the moment.
“I’m not answering that question.”
“Well, then I’ll answer it for you. You’re a vain Jane. That’s why your best friend was a mirror.”
How does she know that my best friend was a mirror? Of course, she read my “admissions form.” Some enrollment application! It was just a bunch of trick questions to reveal my secrets. Sasperilla was right; they’re all spies around this place.
“What did you use to ask your mirror?”
“None of your business.”
“Jane, that’s not what you used to say to your mirror. Now, tell me, what you really asked it.”
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest one of all?” I blurt out, unable to control myself.
“And why did you ask your mirror this question?”
“Because it told me I was the fairest.”
“And why did you need to hear this?”
“B-because…” I squirm.
“Because you needed instant gratification,” steps in Shrink. “Instant gratification is a fundamental part of an addict’s personality.”
“I am not an addict!” I shout, straightening up.
“And what happened when your mirror told you someone else was the fairest one of all?”
“I tried to kill her!” Wait! Why am I telling her all these things? What’s wrong with me?
“Yes, your addiction to beauty drove you to evil.”
“Stop it!” I grip the arms of the chaise. “You think you know everything about me, but you don’t!”
“Jane, you are here because you have a problem. And I am here to help you overcome your problem.”
“The only problem I have is that I’m stuck in this nuthouse. I didn’t ask to come here!”
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