by Boyd Brent
“Imminent?”
“Any second now.”
“Did you swallow a dictionary? Imminent? I don't think…” And there he was, a hunky prince riding a white stallion. He looked me up and down, smiled and said, “Reports of your beauty have not been exaggerated. You are indeed the fairest in the land.” Prince Charming isn't the only one who can look a person up and down. And once I'd made a point of doing just that – minus the smile, of course – I said, “What are you doing here? You're over a century early. Please. Leave me alone. I'm not ready to live happily ever after yet.”
“Nonsense!” said he. “One so perfect on the outside must also be perfect on the inside. And ready for any challenge. What have you to say to that?”
“That you should never judge a book by its cover,” said I firmly.
As Prince Charming rode away on his horse, he called out, “I intend to win you over, Snow.”
“But why ever would you want to?”
“So we can live happily ever after.”
“Really? No pressure, then!”
The next day as I swept the porch, the little lamb saw me crying. It hopped about in a circle and bleated, “Whatever is your problem?” I rested my chin on the broom handle, and my eyes went up and down as they followed its cute bounce. “My problem? At least I can do stationary. What's with all the bouncing, anyway?”
“I was just written this way: always on the move, and quite unable to slow down.”
“Really? Well, I was just written this way.”
“What way?” asked the little lamb.
“I suppose I'm insecure. And at times such as these, quite inconsolable.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, now you come to mention it, I'm awkward and not particularly hopeful.”
“About what?”
“About living happily ever after with the prince.”
“Why? Is the prince not charming by name and by nature?”
“I presume so. But he doesn't understand me at all.”
“Then introduce the prince to your dwarves. The clues are in their names,” said the wise little lamb.
I began sweeping the porch again and said, “First of all, they aren't my dwarves, and secondly the prince is already well acquainted with them.”
“Then he's been blinded by your beauty?”
I nodded mournfully, then shook my head. “He must need his eyes tested. I have seen a three-headed toad fairer than I.”
Saturday
Today my evil stepmother invited me to tea. Yes, that's right, the same evil stepmother who has hated me ever since she asked her mirror, “Who's the fairest in the land?” and it lied and told her that I was. And ever since that day, she's been trying to poison me with apples. She's quite the one-trick pony in that way: apples, apples, always apples. My friend Cinderella said I should count my blessings.
“Blessings?” said I.
“Yes. That your stepmother has absolutely no imagination when it comes to poisoning you.” Cinders also pointed out that I'm related to my stepmother. And that when it comes to our relatives, we must make allowances, even if they do hate us enough to poison us with fruit. Then she reminded me of what she has to put up with with her sisters. Poor Cinders. They give her a dreadful time.
My stepmother sent a sparrow with a message this morning. In between tweets, the sparrow read the following to me: 'I'm so excited about your early engagement! You must come for tea! And a slice of apple pie! I baked it myself only this morning! Especially for you!” As you can see, my stepmother is fond of exclamation marks. In my experience, the more exclamation marks a person uses, the crazier they are. It's really no different from someone shouting all the time for no apparent reason.
I stepped onto the porch, and whistled for Barry the boar. Barry runs a taxi service, and is the fastest boar in the land (ask any mirror). He also has the longest tusks, and they're perfect to hang on to. “Mind that hanging branch, Barry!” said I, lowering my head.
“I see it.”
“Appreciate the ride, Baz.”
“No problem, Snow. Happy to help out. How are the dwarves? Still whistling while they work?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. It helps to keep their spirits up. It's hard work down that mine.”
“If I could, I'd whistle while I worked too.”
“Then why don't you?”
“I can't on account of my piggy lips. Whenever I try, I blow raspberries instead.”
Barry dropped me off outside the palace, and then trotted off, blowing raspberries (at least, I assume he was trying to whistle). And so it was with a heavy heart that I turned and knocked on the door. The palace is very large and the butler very small. The sun had gone down by the time he let me in... and had risen again by the time we reached the parlour, where my stepmother stood over an apple pie, pastry knife in hand. “Pie?” she asked.
“I'll take a rain check on the pie, thank you.”
“Nonsense,” said she, cutting an ample slice. “You're such a waif of a thing. You need fattening up.”
“Oh,” I said, looking at my reflection in one of the parlour's many mirrors. “I'm quite fat enough already, thank you.”
My stepmother slammed the knife down on the table. “Fat, are you? If you're fat, then what does that make me?” She turned yellow and green with envy (she does that a lot around me), then she remembered her charm offensive and assumed a more plausible colour. “No matter,” said she. “How lovely it is to see you! I so look forward to your visits. Come and sit beside me. Tell me all about Prince Charming. He must be awfully keen. Why else would he turn up so early?”
I sat down, and she placed a piece of pie before me on a plate. I watched as apple oozed from its sides.
“Whatever is the matter? It won't bite,” she said.
I pushed the plate away. “I'm too bloated for pie. And what's more, I don't want to marry Prince Charming. Not yet.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I'm not ready to live happily ever after.”
My stepmother rang a little bell on the table to summon a servant. “We'll skip the apple pie,” she told her servant, “and have apple strudel instead.”
I rolled my eyes.
My stepmother did the same, then she lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “Trust me. If you have a slice of my apple strudel, you won't have to marry the prince.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because it's an enchanted strudel,” she whispered, like she was confiding a secret. You mean because it's a poisoned strudel, I thought. I straightened my back and said, “I'm in no need of enchantment at the moment, thank you very much.”
“Ungrateful girl!”
“Is my father home?”
“The king is away on state business.”
“Will he be back soon?”
“Just as soon as you eat some strudel.”
“I won't do it,” said I.
“How about a nice bowl of fruit salad?”
“Are there apples in it?”
“Just the one.”
“No, thank you.”
“Toffee apple?”
“No.”
“Apple fritter?”
“No.”
“Tart, then.”
“Excuse me?”
“Apple tart?”
“No way.”
“Perhaps I can tempt you with a delicious glass of apple cider? Seventy percent proof. Promise I won't tell your father.”
I couldn't take any more apple offers, I simply couldn't. So I left.
It was cold and dark, and a long walk back to my cottage. I felt a pang of guilt at not being home to make the dwarves their supper. After all, they had taken me in and befriended me in my hour of need. It seems like only yesterday when my stepmother asked her mirror that question, and it lied to her. She told the woodcutter to take me into the woods and make sure that I never came back. I promised the woodcutter that if he let me go, I would leave the land for go
od. And that way, my stepmother's mirror would tell her that she was the fairest in all the land. The woodcutter must have been a kindly fellow, for he let me go. I walked for many days looking everywhere for the exit to the land, but the land seemed to go on forever. I grew downcast, and that's when I came upon the dwarves. They were on their way home after a hard day down the mine. “Excuse me,” I said. “I have been walking for days, and I'm very tired. I'm looking for an exit to the land. Is it close by?”
Not Particularly Hopeful shook his head (I've since discovered that Not Particularly Hopeful shakes his head a lot), then Inconsolable began to cry. I put my arm around the little fellow, doing my best to console him, but it was quite useless. Awkward went bright red and snorted... awkwardly. He looked at Insecure, who said not to ask him anything because he didn't know anything. Not Particularly Hopeful spoke up again, and he said that as far he knew, there was no exit to the land. Not anywhere. That everywhere you went, you found more land. And there you had it. Or didn't. Not if you were looking for an exit, anyway.
I sat down on a tree stump and rested my heavy head in my hands. “Do you mean to say that I've spent all this time looking for something that doesn't exist?”
Inconsolable blew his nose, and said it wasn't like it had stopped anybody before. So why should it stop me? Then he pointed in no direction in particular and said the exit was probably that way.
“It can't be. Not if it doesn't exist. Oh, whatever I shall I do! I promised the woodcutter.”
“Can you cook?” asked Meddlesome. “Only, Insecure makes all our meals and he's a terrible cook.”
Insecure nodded his head in agreement.
“I suppose I can cook. I won't really know until I try,” I said.
“What about housework?” asked Meddlesome. “Only, Insecure does all our housework too, and he's terrible at it.”
Again, Insecure nodded.
“I suppose I could do housework. I won't really know until I try.”
The dwarves went into a huddle, and they decided that in return for cooking and cleaning, I would be given a roof over my head. Apparently, I was almost exactly what they'd been looking for.
The early hours of Sunday morning…
So anyway, back to the present. As you may recall, I'd just left my stepmother's, and had begun my walk home in the dark through the woods. I was just feeling peckish (for just about anything other than apple) when I saw a trail of breadcrumbs. The trail was long and winding, and once I'd eaten it, I found myself on my hands and knees outside a cottage – not my own cottage, but one made entirely from gingerbread. I said to myself, “Dessert? I like gingerbread, but don't think I could eat a whole abode.”
I peered in through a kitchen window. Inside, I saw a small boy sitting beside a sweet old lady. The old lady was feeding him marshmallows by hand. How lovely, I thought. I heard someone chopping wood close by, and hoped it might be the woodcutter. I felt guilty about breaking my promise to him, and wanted to explain why I hadn't left the land. The land is absolutely everywhere, I would say. And therefore quite impossible to leave. And if you did, you'd end up precisely nowhere. And how dreadful would that be? Having rehearsed my explanation in my mind, and being happy with it, I was disappointed to see not the woodcutter, but a little girl chopping wood. She had long brown hair and big brown eyes, and said her name was Gretel. As it turned out, Gretel and I had a lot in common: she had a stepmother of questionable character too. Her stepmother had left her in the woods with her brother Hansel, where she hoped they would starve to death.
“That's pretty grim,” I said.
She nodded and asked, “Did your stepmother abandon you to starve in the woods as well?”
“Oh, no. She told the woodcutter to flat-out murder me.” I glanced over my shoulder at the gingerbread house. “Thank goodness,” I said.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“That you and your brother found a happy ending after all.”
“How so?”
“You came upon a lovely gingerbread house. And a kind old lady who feeds children marshmallows by hand.”
Gretel shook her head. “She's not a kind old lady. She's a witch. And she's fattening my brother up.”
“But why?”
“So there'll be ample meat on his bones when she eats him. Or so she said.”
I tutted.
Gretel echoed my tut and said, “The old witch plans to fatten me up too, and then she's going to eat me. But not before she's worked my fingers to the bone.” I reached out and squeezed Gretel's shoulder. “Sorry. That's pretty rough. Whatever does a person have to do to get a break in this land?”
“It beats me,” said she.
“I won't have it.”
Gretel shrugged her shoulders. “What can you do? What can anybody do? It's just the way our story was written.”
“I used to think that way too. And then my prince arrived early, and said he couldn't wait to marry me.”
“You must have been so happy,” sighed Gretel.
I cast my gaze upon the ground and shook my head. “I'm not ready to live happily ever after. Tell me, is there any mention of me in your story?”
“Who are you?”
“Snow White.”
“The fairest in the land?”
I shook my head.
“Well, no,” said Gretel. “I don't believe there's any mention of Snow White.”
I folded my arms and said, “My own story has been changed. And my being here only goes to prove one thing.”
“And that is?” asked Gretel.
I raised an arm and brought my thumb and forefinger together. “That we might change it a teensy weensy bit more.”
“How so?”
My gaze fell upon the axe in her hands, then I looked over my shoulder at the cottage where the witch was fattening up her brother.
“Oh!” said Gretel. “Why ever didn't I think of that?”
Monday
I'm back at home now, and you'll be pleased to know that Hansel and Gretel's story ended happily after all. The same could not be said for the witch. I imagine she had quite a shock when Gretel burst into her kitchen, axe raised above her head, and said the story was about to be altered 'a teensy weensy bit more.'
Today Prince Charming invited me to the enchanted lake for a picnic. He seems quite convinced that he can change my mind about marrying him early. His invite said that when it came to wooing the ladies his record was flawless. And that even if he had to make an effort to understand my feelings, that's precisely what he would do. His message said I should fear not and brace myself for falling hopelessly in love, and that if all else fails, I should get a grip for once in my life.
I handed the dwarves their lunch boxes and kissed them goodbye at the garden gate – all except Insecure, who was even more worried than usual about hitting the wrong part of the mine and causing a cave-in. “I'll stay with you today, Snow, that's if you don't mind?” Of all my dwarves, I feel closest to Insecure. “Of course I don't mind. I'm going to meet Prince Charming down at the enchanted lake later.”
“Do you mind if I tag along?” he asked.
“You know, I somehow thought you might.”
Insecure and I walked up a steep hill, on the other side of which the sun glistened upon an enchanted lake and leaves rustled upon enchanted tress. At the top of the hill, we stopped and looked down upon the scene as just described. The only difference was Prince Charming. He lay on a blanket beneath the shade of a tall tree, his perfect head placed in a perfect palm, a blade of grass turning slowly between his perfect lips. Placed upon his blanket were all manner of tasty treats to tempt me.
Insecure looked up at me and I looked down at Insecure. “The prince will not be at all happy to see me,” said he. “Of that I'm quite sure.”
“What makes you say that?” asked I.
Insecure sat down and hugged his knees to his chest. “Because nobody is ever happy to see me. I'll keep watch over you from up here.”
/>
“If you're sure?”
Insecure nodded.
“Okay then.”
As I approached the prince, he got up and told me I grew fairer with each visit. “Come and sit beside me,” said he, “and share this delightful picnic.”
Prince Charming and I sat cross-legged opposite each another. He took an apple from a bowl of fruit and handed it to me. “The apple's ruddiness is intense, is it not?” said he. I glanced down at the apple in my hand. Indeed, it was the ruddiest apple I had ever seen. The prince smiled and said, “I chose that apple for you especially.”
“Why?”
“Because it matches perfectly the colour of your cheeks when you blush.”
“Really? Thanks. I think.”
“Tell me,” said he, leaning closer, “what good and charitable deeds have you performed lately?”
I rubbed the apple against my sleeve to bring out its shine. “What makes you think I've performed any good and charitable deeds?”
“One as fair as you must have charity in her heart.”
“Really? Well…”
“Come now, my love, there's no need to be coy about your charitable deeds.”
I took a bite out of the apple. As I chewed I said, “I presume my stepmother didn't provide the fruit for this picnic?”
Prince Charming's eyes opened wide, and they filled with wonder. “Not only are you the fairest in the land, you also possess the wisdom of kings.”
With a mouthful of apple it wasn't easy to talk, but I did my best. “Are you 'elling me that eye step-um gave 'ou this apple?”
“Yes, my darling. She insisted on supplying all the fruit for our picnic.”
I spat out the apple. As I picked bits of it out of his hair and lap, I said, “In the future, if my stepmother offers you fruit… say no.”
“But why, my love?”
“She's been trying to poison me with it for years.”
“With fruit?”
“Apples, to be precise.”
“I can't believe anyone would wish to harm even a hair on your fair head.”
“Believe it.”
“I don't want to believe it.”