A Writer's Fairytale

Mary: A Walk Through The Past

When I had gotten outside, I realized I had forgotten how good it felt to have fresh air inside my lungs. The stale air of my apartment was all that had occupied them for far too long. My lungs had been feeling run down and useless until I was outside and the fresh air revitalized them.

I lived in a small town far from things. We were between farms, and the main highway was about 20 miles east of us, but Main Street still had a glow that was unexpected. It made me smile. There was an air of peace that ushered me through the town. All of the shops were closed, but the street lights glowed with an unusual sense of happiness. I had walked past the jewelry store, only catching a glimpse of the shining gems that were in the window. I had passed by the barber shop and laughed. The old owner of the shop was a sweet old man and when I was younger he would always have a lollipop waiting for me. I would look at my dad and he would nod and I would take it and smile. “For the prettiest princess in all of North Wood,” the old barber would say to me, with eyes that looked like he had seen many things, even the future.

I would laugh with the hugest smile on my face. “I am not a princess.” I would say flattening my shirt. I would try to make myself look like a princess.

 He would always wink at me and say, “Not yet, but someday your prince will come.”

I would look left and then right “Do you really think so?” I would ask. I made it sound like it was a secret that was shared just between him, the walls, and me.

He would then follow my lead looking left and then right then for good measure he would look left again before turning back to me. “I don’t have to think. I know.” My father would then lead me to our next errand. I would always turn back and wave he would then wave back. He was one of the nicest people I had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Then he died.

His son took over and the place hasn’t been the same since. In a large part due to the son, he was a spiteful person. He also was a misogynistic pig that seemed to think that he was a catch for me. His nonstop flirting made me want to vomit. He was just not my type.

Not that I had a type at that point in time, but if I did that moron would not be my type. I had not dated anyone by this time negating the fact that I could have a type. Besides even if he was my type the way he treated some people was just disgusting, but I guess that was his personality so that would be part of the type that I would have to like.  

He made no attempt to show some of his older customers that have been going to his father’s shop long before he was even a twinkle in his father’s eye any respect. His father would let some of his older customers that had been with him for so long get a credit with him if they couldn’t pay on that day. He pushed several men who had a big bill with his father, he forced them to pay and some couldn’t. Some had to take out a loan to the bank to pay off their debt to him. I tried to help as many as I could with some of the reserved money that I had, but it only helped so much. I couldn’t help everyone that broke my heart so much. I wanted to save everyone and I had even let my mind run across the thought of dating that dirt bag to get some of the customers out of their debt.

To be honest with myself I had dated that scum if you count one date where I nearly killed him a date. He is worse when he is talking to a girl about romance then when he was treating his customers terribly.

I pushed the memory out of my head. I didn’t want to remember and besides I had a story to write and unless I wanted my story to be about bad dating experiences, inspiration wasn’t going to find me here. The past was the past and I had dwelled enough on all of my bad experiences to last a life time. I was not going to do it right then and there. I didn’t have the time to do that. I had a story that I had to finish.

I kept walking toward the dress shop. It was a pretty little shop and the dresses were extremely stunning. They were always cheap and the owner worked very hard if the dress you wanted didn’t fit perfectly. I had only been in the shop two times, but every time she would make sure that everything was just perfect. I had gone once for a dress for the town ball. Something that I had tried desperately to get out of, but all of my pleas and begging and saying I wasn’t going to go fell upon a deaf audience. In the end I attend to my dismay and discomfort. The night ended in disaster, but I don’t think that I saw it going any other way. The other time I went into her shop it was for a bride’s maid dress for my brother’s wedding. I had tried to get out of it again. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go, because with all my heart I did. I just didn’t want to be a bride’s maid, so I tried to get out of it. I didn’t try as hard because it was after all my brother’s wedding and he should have this. If he wanted me to stand up there beside his bride then that is what I would do.  I loved my brother. He was more than just my bother he was my best friend. He was someone that I could talk to about anything, and though with all my heart I didn’t want to be a bride’s maid I did it because I loved him and I would do anything for him. I also loved his wife. She was a sweetheart. She loved my family with all of her heart, and we loved her. She was far more a sister to me than I had ever thought was possible.

 I was never sure why I despised being a bride’s maid so much. It could have been the dress. It could have been, having to stand up there and wonder if someone was making fun of me. Wonder if someone was pointing out all of my flaws that they could see in the dress.  Those were the only dresses that I had ever owned since I was 8. When I was 8 I loved dressing as a princess, but slowly the dreams of a little girl were crushed. I was forced to realize that girls that looked like me weren’t meant for dresses. I was a girl that belonged in a t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. I was not made for dresses and high heels. Not that I ever wanted to wear high heels even to a girl that wanted to be a princess they looked painful, but I still wanted to have the option if I was brave when I got older I could wear them.

She was also the one that made all of the wedding dresses in town. Lately when I walked by her shop I could hear her ask “When are you coming into my shop and buying yourself a wedding gown?”

 I would smile and use an answer that was so vague that Sherlock Holmes himself would never deduce that I had no plans to ever get married “I am not sure.” She would laugh and say “I will hold you to that date.”

I looked in the window of the dress shop and saw the flawless gowns that lined the front room window. All of them were a reminder that I didn’t belong in one of them. I slowly walked away feeling a pull that I had long since forgotten. A pull that I was pretty, that somewhere my “prince charming” was out there somewhere looking for me. I pushed it out of my head and I thought “I am not pretty.” It wasn’t until I heard my own voice had I realized that I had spoken out loud.

"Every girl is pretty,” a voice said. The voice had what I could only consider a British accent, though there was something odd about the accent that I couldn’t quite figure out. It didn’t seem British, it felt like a different type of accent, but I couldn’t place where it was from. The voice came at such a surprise that I screamed. “Don’t scream. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t mean to startle me? What did you expect was going to happen if you spoke?” Again it wasn’t until I heard my voice that I realized that my thoughts had danced from the reaches of my mind. I didn’t see anyone where I heard the voice. This made me feel quite nervous. How many sane guys did I know that stood in dark corners in the middle of the night waiting for insecure girls who accidently showed their insecurity when they thought no one was listening just to make them feel better about themselves? The answer to that question was a simple none.

My mind raced, I thought about running but my feet had frozen to the ground. I wasn’t sure if it was because of fear or if curiosity was what froze me to that position. In the deep reassesses of my mind a battle waged on.

It wasn’t until I had begun to run that I realized that my rational mind had won out. I had only gotten a few feet before I took a nose dive into the cold pavement. I tried to get up, but I knew that something was wrong. My knee it stung with pain every time that I tried to move. I flipped myself over and felt my knee; there was something sticky on it. I could only guess that it was blood. I looked down but in the dark and not being directly under the streetlamp I was blind to the injury. I heard footsteps running toward me. I tried to get up, but the pain froze me to the ground. Then a few feet from where I lay helpless, trying to figure out a plan that would get me out of the danger safely, the footsteps slowed to a walk.