1 Dewitched (15 page)

Clutching the story to my chest, I lie restlessly on the chaise, waiting for her arrival. Things are back to normal. She’s late.

Finally, she flies in like a storm, showering me in fairy dust. Without a word, she wrenches what I’ve written away from me. My eyes stay glued on her as she shoves her glasses onto her head and immerses herself in my words. She’s actually quite pretty without those ridiculous bug-eyed spectacles. Maybe, if she’s nice to me today, I’ll do her a favor and tell her to stop wearing them.

She rolls up the parchment and flips her glasses back over her face. “Jane, you’re quite a wordsmith. You should consider a career as a writer.” 

Is that
all
she can say after I’ve spent hours pouring my heart out? I honestly thought she’d do a somersault and, at least, schedule my release.

“What’s interesting about your story is that it’s written in third person and is completely devoid of emotion.”

“It just came out that way,” I say defensively. “Every time I started with the word ‘I,’ I got writer’s block.” 

“That tells me you don’t like being the little girl in the story. You want to be detached from her.” 

I tremble. It’s true. “I hated my childhood!” I blurt out. 

“Good, Jane. You’re showing some emotion. Now, tell me why you hated it.”

The tears that have been welling up in my eyes roll down my face. “My mother.”

 “Why your mother?”

 Memories flee my head like prisoners that have been holed up for life. Tears of grief mingle with tears of relief as I start spewing the horrific things she did to me. The beatings…the burns… the dunkings…the lies…the nights alone…

 “She abused you, didn’t she?” 

I wipe my tears and nod.

Shrink looks at me kindly. “Jane, it’s understandable why you’re crying. You are in pain. You’re revisiting painful memories that you’ve suppressed for many years.” 

She lets me weep for a few minutes before continuing.

“Jane, let’s dig deeper. Can you remember the meanest thing your mother ever did?”

How can I ever forget? “I found a little puppy. She killed it!”

I sob as I relive the memory. I’m doing the chore I dread the most--washing a load of my mother’s soiled clothes--in the river near our flat. Oh, how I hate the rancid odor left behind by her conquests; it nauseates me. Scrubbing the last of her many gowns, I glimpse a furry little body drifting by. Bambi! The river’s strong current is pulling him down stream. I have to save him! I jump into the river, and though I’ve never swum before, swimming comes naturally to me. All my mother’s dunkings have taught me how to hold my breath under water, and my arms are strong from years of hard labor. Battling the current, I catch up to my puppy and manage to pull him to shore. He stares at me with those big brown eyes, the same eyes that melted my heart when I first found him. Except now he’s a lifeless, little bundle of wet, matted fur. Tied tightly around his neck is a green scarf. My mother’s! My hands trembling, I unknot it and fling it back into the river as if it were a deadly snake. As it slithers out of sight, I cradle Bambi in my arms and watch my river of tears flow onto his cold, still body. I bury my sweet puppy, and for days, I remove the mud embedded deep beneath my fingernails to forget. 

“Are you okay, Jane?”

Shrink’s voice brings me back to the moment. To my horror, I’ve bitten my fingernails down to the quick. They’re red-raw and sting from my tears.

“I don’t know why I’m crying so much,” I splutter. “I had my puppy for less than a day.” 

 “It’s okay to cry.” Shrink gently flicks away my tears. “People get very attached to their pets no matter how long they’ve had them. You loved Bambi, and he loved you back.”

My tears let up a little. I did love him. 

Shrink presses on. “Jane, did you love your mother?” 

My blood churns. I hated her for all she did to me. And for what she did to Bambi. “I wanted to love her,” I say at last.

 “Did she love you?”

“No!” I bolt upright. “She only loved herself!”

Shrink flutters closer to me. “How do you know that?” 

 I close my eyes and see my mother all dressed up, leaning into her mirror. In a scarlet (her favorite color) dress, cinched tightly to accentuate her tiny waist and plump up her breasts; her thick, dark hair draping her shoulders like a cape; her thin, painted red lips pursed. “The only thing she ever kissed was her own reflection.” 

 “Ah, you’re referring to the mirror in your story.”

I bite my quivering lip and nod.

 “Did your mother spend a lot of time in front of this mirror?”

I nod again.

“Jane, your mother was addicted to beauty. She was a narcissist.”

I’m in no mood for her fancy Shrink-speak words.

“Your mother’s narcissism explains your addiction to beauty. You, like your mother, are a narcissist.”

“Stop it!” I cup my ears, remembering how she and Grimm tried to trick Hook into admitting he was an alcoholic like his father. 

 “Jane, parents are role models. We model our behavior after them. Even if we hate the things they do. You need to admit that you’re a narcissist to recover from your addiction.” 

 “I’m not my mother!”

 “No, Jane, you’re not your mother.” 

“I’m better than my mother!”

“Is that what you wanted your mother’s mirror to say when you played make-believe with it?” 

“I wanted it to tell me I was beautiful! And it did!”

Shrinks hovers over me and looks directly into my eyes.

 “Remember, Jane, your mirror
wasn’t
magic. It didn’t talk. That’s what you
wanted
to hear. You
imagined
it saying you were beautiful because no one ever made you feel that way. Because no one ever loved you.”

Her words come at me like a shower of spears. Sobs shake my body. I hate Shrink! I want this session to end.

As if I willed it, the chime sounds.

“Jane, your story might say ‘The End,’ but we’ve got a long way to go. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

***

 I retreat to my room, collapse on my bed, and stare blankly at the crumbling ceiling. It’s as if all my blood has been drained from inside me. I’m sorry now that I opened up to Shrink about my past. She’s using it to torture me, not help me. She still wants to prove that I was delusional about my magic mirror. And it’s wearing me down.

I have no appetite for lunch and decide to skip group as well. I’m in no mood to be shot down by Grimm and a troupe of loonies. Hunger finally gets the better of me, and I show up for dinner. Hook brushes up against me as I listlessly work my way down the buffet table.

 “Yo, Jane, where were you during group? We missed you.” 

“None of your business.”

“Well, you missed a good session. My matey Rump finally remembered something about the queen he extorted. They’re going to let him out of this joint any day.” 

 
Rump’s getting out too?
A new wave of depression washes over me.

 I push past the swine and take a seat at a table by myself. I’m not up for any conversation, especially with any of these nutcases.

Half-way through my meal, the boy with the parsnip nose sits down next to me. Pinocchio. What does he want?

He stares at me with his sad puppy eyes. “I want to tell you that you’re beautiful.”

To my astonishment, his nose shrinks. He must be telling the truth!

“Jane, come with me outside for a walk. Please?”

I cannot say no to those eyes.

Quietly, we slip away. 

***

 The warm summer air is calming as we walk in silence through The Enchanted Forest. Moonlight beams between the trees. With Pinocchio by my side, I’m not afraid.

 “Pinocchio, is there something you want to tell me?” I say at last.

  “Jane, a blue fairy made me a boy,” he says.

 “With her magic wand?” I can’t help laughing.

 “Yes. Now, I need a real woman to make me a man.” 

 He gazes at me with his puppy-brown eyes. They make me think again of my little stray Bambi. Of how much he needed me.

 Slowly, the beautiful boy-man undresses me. I do not flinch. Only my breasts quiver against the summer breeze.

He stares at me. The scars left behind by my mother’s beatings shimmer in the moonlight. No one has ever seen them, not even my precious mirror.

 Pinocchio’s eyes do not move; it’s as if he’s looking right through me. “You’ve suffered, Jane. That’s why I knew I could trust you.”

He peels off his clothes and stands naked before me. His body, though slight, is as beautifully sculpted as his face. The full moon illuminates his nascent muscles and smooth porcelain skin. It’s the body of a boy ready to be born into manhood.

He clasps my hands and pulls me closer. His mouth moves toward mine. I can taste his warm breath.

Suddenly, his nose grows. At least six inches, maybe more! He jumps back and glances down at the flesh between his legs, ashamed.

“Jane, I can’t.” 

 Silently, I watch his nose shrink to half its size.

He begins to weep. 

I wrap my arms around him and caress his silky chestnut hair. The connection between us is powerful, almost magical. Seeing ourselves for who we really are, we’ve become each other’s mirror.

“We should go back,” he says.

“No, stay here with me,” I say softly. I cannot go back to the loneliness of my empty room. At least, not tonight. I want to be with him.

Together, we lie down side by side on the warm earth. I stare at the starry sky and silently curse the full moon for not being there to help me with my escape.

“Jane, I never had a mother,” Pinocchio whispers.

Lucky you.

“But if I had, I wish she could have been you.”

A tear travels down my cheek. Our souls belong together.

“You know, Jane, the Blue Fairy once told me that when you wish upon a star, your dreams come true. Let’s each pick a star and make a wish for one another.” 

I take his hand in mine. Neither of us says another word. Under the watchful gaze of the stars and moon, two lost souls, who have saved each other, fall fast asleep.

CHAPTER 17

At breakfast, I gather berries with Pinocchio. We speak only through our eyes. Something inside each of us has changed. We’re happier, freer, wiser. I’m not even filled with dread when I report to my session with Shrink.  

“So, Jane, let’s pick up where we left off yesterday,” Shrink says as she whizzes into her office.

Her entry takes me by surprise. Reclining on the chaise, I’ve been lost in thought about my night with Pinocchio. That’s something she’s never going to know about, though a part of me wants to tell her everything.

She zooms in close to me. “I reread your story. It ends rather abruptly. And there’s quite a big gap in time. The little girl stops dancing, then she’s all grown up and marries a king. What happened in between?” 

 My chest tightens. Reliving my past is no easier today. “My mother went out with a lot of men.”

 “What kind of men?” 

 “Creeps. All of them. Even the rich ones.” 

 “What made them creeps?” 

 “They drank. Cursed. And stunk.” I scrunch my nose, still smelling the stench they left behind. A combination of stale beer, sweat, and semen.

“Did they ever--”

I cut her off. I know where she’s going. “No! My mother didn’t want me around. She kept me locked in a closet.”

“Was she jealous of you?  Like how you were jealous of Snow White.”

I shudder. I never thought about my mother being jealous of me. Maybe it’s true. Like mother like daughter?

Hovering close to me at eye level, Shrink looks at me with intimidating intensity.

“Jane, I’m going to ask you a question, and I don’t want you to interrupt. Did any of your mother’s suitors ever touch you?” 

The blood inside me rushes to my head. I feel like I’m going to implode. I can no longer keep it in.

“Snow White’s father came into my bed!” 

If Shrink is shocked, she does not show it.

Tears flood my eyes as I relive the event that changed my life forever. “My mother had finally seduced a King. A widower with a young daughter. She was set to marry him.”

Shrink jumps in. “How did you feel about that?”

“I was excited about living in a big castle. And having a little sister. And now that my mother had gotten what she wanted, I was sure she would stop beating me--”

“And love you?”

Silence. How does she know?

“What happened?”

“We spent the night before the wedding at my castle. I mean, his.”

 “You lured the King?”

 Her hurtful question jolts me upright.

“No! Never! He was drunk and forced himself on me.”

 My tears cannot blur the memory of his lustful assault. Hard. Harder. Heartless.

“Go on,” says Shrink, her voice still showing no emotion.

I find myself talking in present tense, the words crawling out like shell-shocked warriors.

“Suddenly, the chamber door slams open and a voice screams out, ‘How dare you wreck my life, you rotten little witch!’ My mother! Her bulging eyes fixate on me like a cobra ready to strike. The King rolls off me and--”

Crack!
The sound explodes in my head. A razor-sharp pain rips across my chest. And then another loud crack, this one more agonizing. I clench the worn arms of the chaise, my body writhing.

“Jane, tell me, what’s going on?” Shrink’s voice cuts through the memory and pain.

“My mother…she’s whipping me with The King’s thick leather belt, the one he tore off his robe and flung to the floor. With every strike she hisses, ‘Witch! Witch! Witch!’

Shrink lets me take a long pause, then asks, “What did The King do when your mother attacked you?”

The scene unfolds in my head as I recount the nightmarish events that follow. “The King, regaining his senses, struggles to wrestle the belt away from my mother. Then a tiny porcelain figure, lit up by moonlight, runs into the room and cries out, “Papa! Papa!” Snow White. The King’s precious three-year old daughter. To my horror, my mother swings the belt at her.
Crack!
The helpless child cries out in pain. The King, horrified, lunges at my mother to try and stop her, only to be whipped by her himself. Snow White wails louder, and I run to her side. To protect her. My mother charges toward me, wielding the belt. Prepared for the worst, I huddle over Snow White. But just at that moment, a large man bursts into the room and takes the blow for me. Saving me. His eyes meet mine, and I recognize him immediately. He’s the bearded man with the knife I encountered in the forest not long ago.”