Embarrassing Short Story.

Hello there.

I wrote my second short story for Creative Writing this week. I had already decided that I was going to revise and resubmit my first short story for the grade, so I found it hard to motivate myself to break through that terrible wall of writer's block that I always experience.

I had a bit of a rough week too, so I found myself sitting in the Dana Porter library at about 2 p.m. Thursday with nothing, no story, only pages of sentences that only a schizophrenic could piece together. And yet, there I sat, watching the hours count down til my night class when I had to give my story to the class. "And now I have four hours."..."And now I have three hours."

Eventually the perfectionist in me was laid to rest (the eulogy being some profanity that I knew should not be coming out of my mouth) and what I wrote was more fun then fantastic. It's actually somewhat embarrassing, but anyways. I'm posting it for several reasons: to prove to you that I am a very terrible writer at times, and that I am overcoming the need to be perfect all the time. Despite all of this, I'm not going to make excuses, this was also very fun to write, so maybe someone out there will enjoy it like I do.

It is without doubt dedicated to my mother, who put the idea in my head about a year ago.

Disclaimer: If you are offended by anything (the ending?!). I'm sorry, but not too sorry.

What Rapunzel Said to Her Therapist

Lettuce! That’s what Rapunzel is, right? And people question my decision to go to a therapist. Sure, I may have been born once upon a time, but I sure didn’t get the happily ever after I was promised.

Start at the beginning you say? Well, I’d say my problems began—as most problems do—with my parents. I mean, I’m sure they loved me and wanted a baby more than anything in the world, but I have a hard time accepting this. As soon as my mother got pregnant, the thing she wanted most in the world was, in fact, lettuce.

She looked out the window one day and saw it growing in the neighbour’s backyard, and she went into absolute hysterics. “I will die if you don’t get me some rapunzel!” She’d scream. Honestly? Die? I don’t think my father believed her at first either, but she grew weaker and paler by the day, talk about obsessive.

I don’t know if it was because he wanted her to shut up, or because he was a doormat, but Dad agreed to sneak into the neighbour’s backyard and take the lettuce. Now our neighbour was a witch, who prohibited anyone from coming into her garden, so Dad resorted to a life of crime and risked his life to get my mother a salad. (I’m sure you’d say he leaves something to be desired in a father figure.)

So he stole the lettuce and made Mom a salad, and sure enough, she loved it, but that wasn’t good enough. The next day she insisted she would absolutely die if she did not have more, and so my father went back. This time he was caught. He begged and pleaded with the witch to let him have the lettuce, because, well, his wife would absolutely die if she didn’t have it.

The witch, who wasn’t a completely heartless person, told my father that he could have the salad if he gave her me. I have yet to come to terms with this, but Dad must have thought, “sounds good to me; the wife needs a salad”, because he agreed. I know most people would call her a witch for making such a request, but I’m sure she thought she was doing me a favour, rescuing me from such nit wit parents. However, this all opens up a ton of insecurities, with issues of abandonment and such. Anyways, sure enough, I was born and the witch came to take me away, and although I cannot remember, it does not appear that my parents put up much of a fuss.
Childhood with the witch wasn’t all bad; I didn’t have the same questions I do today. However, with the onslaught of puberty and the fact that everyone thought I was beautiful, I think the witch began to get a little nervous, maybe she had bad experiences with men in the past, but she definitely completely overacted to the situation. I really feel that she passed on a lot of her baggage onto me, and well, when I turned twelve she locked me in a tower away from every man in the entire world.

I think in the long run her idea of protection sort of backfired. One day a Prince rode past the tower and happened to hear my voice and became curious. He watched the tower for awhile and realized that when the witch called, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair!” I’d let down my long blonde braid which she would use to climb up into the tower. (I know! It really hurt! But I think you get used to the pain.) Anyways, so after the witch left he calls out, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair.”

At first I was quite terrified to see someone other than the witch, but he seemed nice enough and told me how much he had fallen in love with me, although we had never met. This, in hindsight, seems ridiculous, but what did I know? I was living in a tower for most of my life. Before the conversation had ended he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. Yes ok, so I married a complete stranger, but he was hot and I probably would have done anything at that point to get away from the possessive witch. Besides wasn’t I trying to fulfill the emptiness left by an absent father figure? You could put me in a textbook.

Although he did not offer to rescue me, only to marry me, I did point out that if we were to marry I’d like to get out of the tower. He agreed to bring me a little bit of silk, and I mean a little bit, every night he came to visit, and eventually I could make a silk ladder to escape. Part of me has come to realize that he probably didn’t mind having me in that tower, it kept me away from other men, and I mean, he could do whatever he wanted essentially, and visit me when it was convenient. I have come to resent this because soon I was several months pregnant, and still without enough silk to make a ladder.

One can only hide these things for so long, and when the witch finally realized she was absolutely furious. She grabbed me and cut off my braid and tied it to the windowsill. (As she was doing this, I was secretly killing myself for not thinking of that idea years ago.) She brought me to the desert, pregnant and alone, and banished me forever. This, of course, only compounded my struggles with abandonment.

Then, she waited for the Prince. When he came and called out for me the witch lowered my severed braid and trapped the Prince in the tower. She told him that he had been caught and I was lost forever. In his despair and pain he leapt from the tower. Now this I can barely handle. I mean, ok darling, I know you love me, but do you have to be completely useless? The only thing he could think of was to throw himself out of the tower? Please. Who would that help? What is with all the weak men in my life!

Luckily he did not die, but instead was blinded by the thorns he had thrown himself onto. He wandered alone in misery for several years, surviving in the wilderness. Eventually he stumbled into the desert where I had been living with the twins I had given birth to. We were reunited and his sight was restored. Now he would probably disagree with me, but, I think the time apart really did us good. I mean, I had to go live in the desert, give birth to children and look after them all on my own. This was no easy task, but I really felt I rose to the occasion and by the time we met again I was no longer the innocent and somewhat idiotic person I was before. Besides, several years wandering in the desert alone in misery really gave him some time to think.

And I mean, sure, I may not have had it as easy as the other fairy tale princesses, but shit, at least I’m dealing with these issues. I’m not the only one and I think Cinderella and Snow White have no idea what they are in for.