My Name is Rapunzel(34)
Well, I never! Never in my life have I experienced such a rude man. He’s laughing at my old age? It’s a joke to him to perceive me as feeble and elderly? That Mr. Jenkins possessed quite a sick sense of humor. I drummed my pen so hard against my tooth I feared it might crack.
If you wanted a job in the newsroom, it would have been much easier to fill out an application for employment. I could put in a good word for you, that is, if you're interested. I'm confident the editor would find your story just as amusing as I did. My only advice would be to hold out for the health benefits and vacation package.
Could you send the rest of the manuscript? I'm eager to learn more about the dragon and what became of Henry. As I said, I've always enjoyed a good story.
I'd be glad to interview you about your passion for writing fairy tales and do a follow up in my next article. If you wish, I could arrange an afternoon off and meet with you in person.
Will the dragon be chained up or in a holding pen? I don't want to be eaten alive or burned to ashes! All kidding aside, the full moon will be here soon and I must turn in my completed article before the deadline. Please respond at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
John Jenkins
Paradise Daily News
I huffed and puffed as I blustered across my room to the side table and grabbed a few sheets of paper and a sturdy book to write on. I plopped on my bed, pen poised to write. Where to even start? Honestly, Mr. Jenkins didn't deserve a reply. He deserved to be fired and publicly flogged for his indecent rudeness. How dare he talk to a customer of his newspaper in such a manner? Maybe my next letter should be to his supervisor.
I chewed the end of my pen and thought about how I would formulate my words, being sure to leave nothing out.
Dear Mr. Jenkins,
I'm glad you found amusement in my story. As I stated in the previous letter, my story is real. I am real. My life isn't a fairy tale, nor do I wish to apply for a job. I initially contacted you to tell you the truth. I wanted the world to know what really happened.
I don't receive visitors. Ever. The witch wouldn't approve and the dragon, no doubt, would have you for dinner if you tried. Do not take my warning lightly. Yes, you're correct; I am nearly 268-years-old and very much alive. However, I don't appear to be older than an eighteen-year-old girl. I've been cursed. Remember?
No, I will not forward the rest of my story. I refuse to be ridiculed any further. If you're not in a position to make my story known, please feel free to forward it to someone who is capable of doing so, preferably someone who will take it seriously.
I'm well aware of the full moon and its scheduled appearances. I fear each of them.
Sincerely,
Miss Rapunzel
100 Dragon Lane
Paradise Valley
I folded the letter and shoved it in an envelope, never minding the wrinkles. I licked the back flap and pressed it closed, then slid the envelope into my pocket. I grabbed the newspaper and tiptoed to my door, then opened it with hardly a creak. I set myself for a silent trek down my stairs.
Some creaks were unavoidable, but unlikely to be heard from where Gretta spent most of her time near the man-sized fireplace in the drawing room. I’d have to pass that room in search of the stamp, but it certainly wasn't the first time I'd had to make it past Gretta in pursuit of something.
I reached the bottom and turned left down the main hallway toward the kitchen. Worst-case, if I bumped into her, I could tell her I was hungry. She’d probably make me stop and eat a plate of cheese and crackers or a biscuit. My stomach rumbled. Oh, guess I was hungry after all. But that could wait.
Passing the bathroom, then the parlor, I approached the drawing room. A misty smoke wafted through the doorway. I peered through the crack as I passed by. Gretta, in all her black-draped splendor, stirred the contents of an iron cauldron over the fire. She made a back and forth movement and then switched to circular. Her lips moved the entire time. What was she cooking up in that witch’s brew? She usually had a similar pot simmering on the stove. But it had been 100 years or more since I’d seen her cook over the open fire. What did it mean?
No time to worry about that now. I hurried away. At least she was preoccupied and didn't notice me. The sunlight streamed through the library windows and out the door beckoning me to enter. I raced through the door and over to the credenza in back. I pulled open the tiny drawer of stamps and plucked one out. I licked the back and affixed it to the front of the envelope. Sneakiness always exhausted me.
Almost time for Pepper. I’d better hurry. I scurried to the front door and slipped through, then I made my way down the gravel path to the mailbox. Just as I approached, the Jeep pulled around the corner and came to a stop right in front of me, sending up a cloud of gravel dust.