I Hope Not!

“Read me a bedtime story, Mom! Please?”                           

The hopeful little girl was sitting under her thick yellow lily covers, her wooden nightstand’s pretty pink lamp unleashing a bright light, illuminating the child’s cheery smile. Her mother came in with a small smile. “Come on! I know Dad’s not here, but we can read together. I know it’s hard, but,” she sniffed, “we can make it work, right?”                                                               

“Can it be tomorrow night?”                          

“Mom, please!” The child begged, shaking the book. “You said that last night. And Sunday night. And Saturday night. And Friday night—our reading night time with this,” she turned the book towards her with a grunt, “book. The magical book of wonders.”   

The mother sighed inwardly as she went over and climbed in next to her. “Honey,” she took the book, “I…don’t know. I mean, we’ve read five chapters already, and we’re at the point where the maiden is just talking to the evil queen. I’m not really sure if this story’s going anywhere.” She turned away, getting out. “It’s just boring!”  

“But, Mooooooooom!” The girl pleaded.

“Can this wait? I’m hungry.”  

The mother disappeared downstairs after exiting her daughter’s room with an agitated sigh. Not really interested in the evil queen’s answer. Just some dumb one that won’t make sense.

Just then, the window in her daughter’s room slid open, and another girl’s voice started talking. Both of them, the mother knew, were together in bed, one of them asking whether her mother would make her brownies. Rolling her eyes, the mother went into the kitchen to make herself some popcorn. “Don’t get why I can’t spend any time to myself. I mean, I don’t see the point of continuing a story if it’s boring already!” Opening the pantry to grab a plastic popcorn package from the cupboard, the mother prepared it in the microwave and then plopped down on her living room sofa and turned on the TV.                  

“Ever since Steve left, I had time alone. Didn’t know I would be standing at a podium, testifying that he suddenly wanted to leave, even without Epilogue. The only good thing about walking out of that courtroom was holding Epilogue’s hand.” Then she shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”           

The mother fell down sideways despite the beeping microwave. “Why do I waste my money on arguing with a man who won’t answer? Why do I spend my time being such a—

“Epilogue!”

The mother sprang up, dashing through the room to the foyer, where she charged upstairs. “Epilogue? Are you okay? Epilogue!”

The mother grabbed her daughter, dragging her off the bed. “Honey, come with me. You feel hot. Let’s go to the bathroom.” Her coughing, shivering daughter hung seesaw-like from her mother’s arms, and vomited into the toilet. Pulling a disgusted face, the mother looked around, spotting no one. She told her daughter to clean her mouth and then gargle some faucet water before rinsing. Her daughter obeyed, apologizing for scaring her mother. But her mother didn’t answer. A slammed cabinet door and then pounding footsteps told her that her mother had brought up the infrared thermometer. “Honey—hold still.” Shooting her daughter a nasty beeping noise, the mother looked at the result: 99.9. Telling her daughter to get in bed immediately, the mother dug out some comfy clothes. “Here—wear these.”

After the daughter snuggled under the covers, she pulled on an oversized college sweatshirt. 

“This is musty!” The girl thought of an idea. “How about instead of Dad’s old college—”

“Wear it!” The mother snapped, but the daughter just looked at her, and nodded silently. The mother told her daughter to stay in bed while she went downstairs to call her father. Her voice soon became harsh and cold, like that of a queen harshly ordering her subjects—bumbling idiots that they are—around the castle. Not satisfied with their answers, the queen now had to yell. At least, to the daughter, her mother was pretty nasty to her father.                                

“Yeah—after your little story, you had to watch Epilogue and me storm out of that courthouse, furious that we were living without you! Steve, I don’t understand it. First, you tell me to listen. Then you tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. She’s your daughter, too. Now, as a single mother raising a daughter, I thought you’d have a little bit more feelings for me. But you can’t. Not even for your daughter. One day, when she’s all grown up, she’ll thank me for taking her. She’ll know what it’s like switching from one house to the other—every summer, she’s with you. Every Christmas, New Year’s and school year, she’s with you. Don’t get it, Steve. But that’s the truth. Too bad we can’t raise our child!”

A beep sounded, and the daughter pictured her mother hurling the phone straight at the wall—or maybe a window. It was unfair that the daughter had to split her life into two homes, two lives, two parents and two endless bickering phone calls. She was sick of the arguing—even before the nasty court case had been declared and settled—but also that her mother couldn’t stand her father standing there outside her front door.

The girl thought of running downstairs and calling her dad. She knew her mother would blink back tears of disappointment, so she crawled under the covers. Hearing the TV and smelling popcorn, she sighed. Usually, her mother would have nightly popcorn parties, where a neighborhood friend and she would watch a goofy Chick-flick or weird romantic comedy. But no other woman’s voice sent her mother to the kitchen to make an extra bag. The only sound was complete silence. The daughter just grabbed the whole book, reading it herself.

She scrunched up into her covers, sniffed, sneezed and then wiped her nose. “This stupid sweater isn’t going to get me any better!” She exchanged it with a fuzzy one. “Ah! That’s better. I wish my mommie was here to read to me. Then I’d wear Dad’s college sweatshirt.” Then she looked down at the book, remembering faithfully. “She would read to me all the time!” She looked towards the door, her heart beating. “Maybe I can—”  

“She did?”  

The girl jumped! She jerked over. Her best friend told her she had always been hiding in her closet. “Come on. I know how you can get better.” The girl told her friend to set the book down flat to go into the book. The daughter looked at her like she was crazy.    

“Yeah!” The best friend bobbed her head. “Trust me.”       

“How do you know this?”

“Um…” The best friend looked away and around the room. “I…”

“You’re weird, Shooting Star.” The daughter shook her head. “You’re—”

“Just trust me.”

“Hey—Shooting Star, aren’t you supposed to be back at your house? I told you to leave. My daughter’s—” The mother’s footsteps hurried up the stairs.

The daughter hesitated, looked at her best friend and then both dove in like in a swimming pool, finding themselves before an intimidating person standing in front of a mirror! They peered around the poorly lit stone place, and then jumped a few inches off the floor when a voice sent volleys of orders right at them.                           

“Please—please, Your Majesty! I—” The daughter coughed and clung onto her best friend, who was hugging her middle tight and shaking with cold, her teeth chattering. “Please—have mercy. I’m sick. I need some medicine.”                                  

“I’ll have mercy when both of you are locked up.” The crowned woman, clad in all black and tinges of Liche Purple hinted within, turned away. “Make sure the sick one gets better.”                            

“Yes, Your Majesty.” A younger woman (most likely a kitchen maid) bowed low and long. “But shouldn’t—”                           

But the maid bent her head as if the woman was about to beat her, and then immediately scurried over to the daughter and her best friend. “Come on. You’re needed next to the horses.” Both girls, wide-eyed fearfulness, hardly breathed as the daughter was dragged by an arm and the best friend hurried beside her, clutching her free wrist. “This,” the kind woman hurried the girls into a straw-strewn jail behind the rope-threaded door, “is where you’ll stay. No words are necessary. She’d have my head if I were to release or escape with you!”                    

“No words are necessary?” The daughter wondered, but the maid had fled, her eyes shimmering with pity. “Who—”                  

“Think. We’re in a castle, surrounded by guards. Even here, there are torches lit. This door is made of rope. Squares of rope weaved together. How else would we know that that queen up there is—” 

“The Evil Queen from Snow White?”

“No, Ep! We’re in someone else’s castle. She couldn’t be the evil queen. That woman wasn’t Snow White. She had on a starch-white cap and a starch-white gown and baby blue servant’s dress. Besides, where are her dwarfs? Don’t see them cleaning!”        

“Okay—” The daughter started coughing and had to sit down. She curled up, her best friend right beside her. “We are in a unique book! That means that that servant isn’t any princess.” Her best friend helped her go sit somewhere else to breathe a little better. Plopping down on a stiff straw pile, both girls huddled in a corner, wrapping their arms around themselves to keep warm. Soon, wooden shoes clapped on the stone floor, and hoofs clip-clopped on the dark stone walkway outside the door. A vengeance-black animal looked over, snorted and then was led away to the stall besides the girls—the horse’s tail looked like it was going into something rather than past the stone wall behind which she sat. They heard what sounded like a harness being slipped off the horse, and the stall was closed. Snorts and whinnies and snickers followed, but the guard told it to be quiet. Then he walked away, past the girls’ cell.                       

“Where’s that maid? I thought she’d help me get better!”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if anyone knows.”          

They huddled together, hearing only the soft sighs of the horse’s nose, one of them whispering to the other that she didn’t want to be here. Coughing fits turned into bronchitis and inhaling caused sneezes so hard her throat burned. “Remember when you said you’d help me get better? Well, I’m not! I’m f-freezing!”

“Ep, hold on.” The best friend whistled, and said she remembered a horse call she learned from horse camp one summer way back in kindergarten. “This’ll help. I remember now!” 

“What—”

Just then, the horse whinnied back. The guard, the best friend saw with a smile, stopped and whirled around. “What in the world—”                              

“We need some medicine. We need it now, Volcano. My best friend—she’s sick—”

Some chewing noises and then the horse appeared. The best friend cried Yes! and then told the daughter to hold out her hands. The girl, her fists outstretched, bit her lip, but was reassured by her best friend. She breathed in heavily, short panicked spurts stopping when the snorting horse pawed the ground.        

“Open them.”         

“Okay.” Her eyes widened when she saw a bar of red soap in her hand! She gasped. “Is—Volcano magical? What do I do?”      

“Wash your hands and then your face. Your fever will break. And you won’t cough or freeze. You’ll still be sick, but we must find a way out of here. Back to your bedroom. You need to get better. For some reason, the magical soap didn’t cure you.” The best friend worried. “Don’t get it, Epilogue!” 

The terror of that witchy woman up there all clad in black with tinges of liche purple sent sickening volleys of horror through her. So much so she bent over and vomited. “I’m sick! I’m sicker than this place. I’m sicker than waiting for Mom back at soccer practice that one Saturday back in first grade—”           

“Ep—your mother’s probably worried sick as to where you are. Maybe where we are!”   

After she cleaned herself with the red soap, the daughter pressed, coughing, “I need to get home. Mom needs to read this book to me, regardless of how she feels about it. We’ll tell her—”

“The queen’s just got you locked up because she’s a fool!”

An old woman had everyone turned around and staring at her. But she slapped a knobby knee and hooted, shaking from laughter. “I…I never thought I’d see the light of day telling you something I never thought I could!”

No one joined in, obviously too afraid to say anything, lest the queen went into a rage that sent this silly woman to her death. But the woman just kept cracking jokes all the while, soon making the guard laugh. As the woman exited the girls’ jail cell, laughing with the guard after promising the girls she’d be back, the girls stared at her in confusion and terror. Then at Volcano.

“Is this the queen’s horse?” The daughter inquired.  

“Yes, ma’am!” The best friend slung an arm around her friend’s shoulders. The latter looked at Volcano, and stroked her nose. 

“Can we ride you?”

Throwing her head back, the mare let out a hearty neigh. A shadow made the daughter’s heart stop. It grew bigger and bigger against the wall of the other cells across from this one. Her lips trembling, she hugged her best friend, who responded in kind.        

“Volcano.” The soft but chilly voice of the queen descended with its owner, a multi-ringed hand then stretching out to run over her mane. “It’s time to ride you, okay?” As she pet her, feet pounded. The guard told his mistress he had the harness. She asked whether the girl had gotten better. The guard said he didn’t know and then asked.     

“A little.”                     

“Where’s Ash? She’s supposed to keep an eye on the girl!”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. But she ran away—”

“Is she better?” The queen threw a finger at the terrified child. “Is she? Ash ran away. So these two girls are my slaves now!”

“I—I don’t know. Here,” the guard struggled with the harness. “I can get the horse to calm down, and then they can get out for a bit. Maybe that’d make her better. Besides, she’s sick. She probably wants to go home—”    

“Then put it on!” She threatened death as the guard, his hands shaking, scrambled to obey. But the horse didn’t comply. She would buck and neigh, but soft words seemed to calm Volcano, the guard spitting ugly words at her. The queen laughed, her iciness sending the guard into a frenzy of capturing the wild mare while assuring his mistress she’d see a tamed mare yet.                         

The queen said something. Suddenly, Volcano reared up, let out a breath of fire and morphed into a scarlet and gold dragon! It tried spreading its wings, but angry fire emanated all around. The queen caught it all in her hand. “Here’s some more soap to use, girls.” She gave it to her, who were cowering before her. Then one of them stood up straight.             

“Let Volcano fly—she needs to spread her wings!”

The woman smiled slowly, her lips curling up onto her face. “You know us, Shooting Star. You’ve been here before. Why don’t you,” she threw open the jail cell, “tame her!”

“No!” The daughter grabbed her best friend, clinging onto her for dear life. “No! We need to go home. I need to get better. Mom needs to read to me. She’ll feel better, and it’ll be as if we’re both better. Dad may not be here, but…” She sighed. “I want to get better for Dad to read to me. Maybe he’ll read. Maybe he should’ve taken me.”  

Volcano blew hot breath, and then returned to a black horse, her tail shimmering with crimson red. Both girls scrambled onto her after the horse bit through their ropes. She reared, galloping out of that hallway. The queen yelled at her, but the dragon and two girls soared out of the castle. As the wind blew Epilogue’s long, blond hair, Shooting Star jabbed her finger at the night sky. “Look!”     

A shooting star blazed past them.         

When asked how her best friend knew about this all, she said she’d been reading it secretly when Epilogue’s mother and she were in the bathroom. “So yeah. I know the story.”   

Epilogue looked out silently. She blinked. Being sick was better than her mother barking at her father. Maybe her sickness would teach her mother. Yeah! Epilogue asked Shooting Star how to get back to her bedroom. Shooting Star said she needed to chase a shooting star. Epilogue told Volcano to chase a shooting star. She did.         

Epilogue told her mother she should want to take care of her. After standing up for herself, her mother returned downstairs, she calling to her that she’d rather be reading to herself than have her mother downstairs partying. Returning, her mother placed a glass of red fruit punch on her nightstand table.                          

“Anything else, Your Majesty?”

Shooting Star looked up at the mother. “Yes—mother-daughter time. Just be your daughter’s mother. She’s all you’ve got, right?” 

She shook her head. “Steve’s left. And Epilogue’s sick. Maybe this weekend—when the story’s gotten better!”                    

As Epilogue started getting better, the two girls planned an epic adventure.  

Back on Volcano, Epilogue and Shooting Star rode, their hair flowing behind them. I’m finally free! Free of my mothers’ stupid endless sarcasm and bitter feuds with her wimpy husband. Too bad Dad’s poor attitude further cemented her despair over their divorce. Maybe Dad should work it out—after all, I’m his daughter, too. A smiling Epilogue saw a new horizon full of gloriously beautiful purple, red and orange streaks of morning sun blazing through the navy-blueness.