Real

It was an average Tuesday afternoon just after lunch. She glances up unconsciously in the moment between greeting families. The lights and camera flashes distort her vision, but she can see the queue line wrapped around the pillars. It winds out of the doors into the world beyond. She can hear muffled whispers as families wait to see her.

“Look at her dress, Mommy. It’s just like mine. Well, almost. Do you think she really has glass slippers?”

“Ask her when it’s your turn, Annie."

“Mom, can we go ride Pirates of the Caribbean next?”

“Yes Timmy, but be patient. You know how important this is to your sister.”

“Cinderella,” her attendant whispers, walking forward with an autograph book. “Our next guest is a little shy.” She hands her the autograph book and a feathered plume.

Cinderella nods, taking the quill and book. She turns to her next guests and walks forward.

Party of two: little girl — age five or six — and her mother.

Cinderella kneels next to the little girl, who is standing behind her mother’s leg.

“Cinderella,” the mother says. “You’re Susie’s favorite. She watches your movie every day.”

“Why then you must remember my little mouse friend Gus Gus!” Cinderella exclaims.

Susie’s eyes widen. She nods, edging out ever so slightly from behind her mother.

“Perhaps you could help me,” Cinderella continues as she begins to sign the autograph book, angling the page so that Susie can see. “I’m trying to decide what to surprise him with as a snack for later. Shall I give him him cheese or chocolate chip cookies?”

The girl’s eyebrows knit together. This is quite a decision.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

“He will be delighted!” Cinderella says, smiling as she hands Susie the autograph book.

Susie grins, her eyes cast down as she twists her foot. She edges closer to Cinderella, who reaches out. Little hands disappear into satin gloved ones.

 “I’ll make sure to tell Gus that the cookies were your idea. Perhaps we can take a photograph together so that I can show him later?”

Susie nods, and Cinderella leads her to the throne.

“Look this way, princess! Right here at the camera! That’s right. One, two, three!”

Click click. Click click.

The portrait comes to life.

Cinderella smiles as she looks down at Susie, the echoes of flashbulbs flickering in front of her eyes. She bends down for one last hug.

“I love you, Cinderella,” says a whisper in her ear.

Cinderella holds the little girl a second longer, trying to convey something in that embrace that a thousand words could never articulate.

Susie and her mother walk away. Something — intuition? magic? — tells Cinderella to wait before moving on to greet the next family. She glances back at the mother and child, and sees Susie turn for one last look.

Their eyes meet.

One last smile. One last chance to let her know she matters.

Cinderella turns to greet the next guests.

Family of four: little girl — age seven. Older brother — perhaps ten. Mother. Father.

The little girl is wearing a dress fashioned after Cinderella’s own. Cinderella is familiar with the variety of dresses mirroring hers. Somewhere in her mind, she knows that there is quite a range. Everything from the deluxe Disney Store version to the Walmart rendition. On occasion, even something homemade. This one is of the thrift store variety, the material thin and chintzy with wrinkles pressed into the skirt, the odd stain clouding the sky blue.

Such classifications however, are buried deep, deep within her mind. To Cinderella, each is beautiful. Special. Another way of saying, “I love you.”

“Why, it seems Fairy Godmother has been helping you get ready for the royal ball!” Cinderella says, widening her eyes in what she hopes looks like joyous surprise.

The little girl looks down and to the side. She won’t meet Cinderella’s eyes.

“My mom found it at a yard sale.”

Cinderella kneels down and reaches a hand to lift the little chin. She smiles as she looks into the wide eyes.

“All the more reason I expect there’s magic in it,” Cinderella says as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind one of the little girl’s ears. “Fairy Godmother likes to hide treasure in the most unlikely of places. And I can tell that your warm heart is the most beautiful treasure of all, Annie.”

The girl’s face shifts. Eyes widen. Her mouth a little “o.”

Cinderella sees that the little girl’s sneaker is untied, the grubby laces trailing out beneath her skirt.

“Here, let me tie this for you,” Cinderella say. “I knew you and I had a lot in common. I have a history of losing my slipper too. Prince Charming found it for me, though. Perhaps you would like to see?”

She stands up, daintily lifting her skirt until the shimmering slipper peeks out.

“Hey Cinderella!” the older brother interrupts, coming forward. “We’re gonna go on Pirates of the Caribbean next!”

“My, that sounds like quite the adventure, Timmy!” Cinderella says, giving the little girl’s hand a reassuring squeeze as she turns her attention to the brother. “You must be just as brave as my Prince Charming! And such a good protector for your little sister.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Timmy says. “Hey, how’d you know my name?”

Cinderella just smiles, relishing the look in his eyes before looking down and smiling at his sister, who smiles up at her.

Click click. Click click. Another portrait comes to life. One last smile. One last look.

Cinderella turns to her next guests.

Party of three: mother, father, and a crumpled little figure in a wheelchair.

The mother and father lift him up, his head flopping to one side as his eyes search the room. Cinderella walks to meet them.

Their son’s face. It is an artist’s attempt at sculpture gone wrong. His swollen skin is raw and peeling, painful red marred by white hot flakes. His lips are missing. His mouth is sunken. His hair is gone.

The room is watching. Whispering.

Cinderella puts a hand on the mother’s shoulder and guides them to the throne. She sits down and helps them nestle their son next to her. She cradles him in her arms. The smell of his burnt flesh hangs putrid in the air and she draws him closer, mindful to be especially gentle. His whole life is pain. She holds him in her arms. She hopes he can feel that she holds him in her heart.

Click click. Click click.

Several hundred families and countless memories later, Erin is sitting on the bus on her way home. She wriggles her toes, grateful to be in sweatpants and sneakers. The boom of fireworks echoes behind her. Shimmering lights fill the sky above a castle. She’ll be home before midnight, though not much before. Fairy Godmother would be proud.

She catches her reflection in the bus window. Baseball cap over matted hair. Baggy t-shirt. Bare face except for traces of hastily wiped-away make-up.

She chuckles. Unrecognizable.

But then she remembers her day. Shy little Susie. Yard-sale girl and her pirate brother. The boy with the burns. For them, she was real, and perhaps for a moment, she really was.