Thursday, October 22nd, 1987 - Part 2

     I drove over and parked my car in an out-of-the-way place further down the street. No one paid attention as I entered the apartment building and used my key to open Mary Margaret’s door. Her home was cozy, despite looking like it was once part of an old town factory. For every square-foot of exposed brick, there was a fluffy pillow or flower in a vase. The optimism in the room was sickening.

     One thing the apartment was missing was paper; no stacks of mail, no bills, and no papers that needed grading. I looked anyway. Apart from an abundance of hand-crafted pottery, the kitchen was spotless. There had to be something. I rifled through her bookshelf, but there was nothing that looked like what Vivian described.

     It occurred to me then that I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I knew it was a book about our world, but I didn’t know what it would look like. How big was it? What color? Was it old? Did it have a title? If Mary Margaret did have it, how would she even know? Vivian’s ability to brush past any of my questions about it had left me clueless.

     I climbed a ladder that lead to a loft. Holiday decorations, more blankets and other decorative knick-knacks that would fit on her loaded shelves were there, but no books. I was heavily leaning towards the idea that Vivian had lied to me as I climbed down the ladder.

     Click.

     The door was being unlocked. How did I lose track of time? When is school out, anyway? I had little time to think. The only door out was the one being unlocked. All the windows were too far away. Running up the ladder would take too long. I saw the sofa and squeezed under it, tucking every bit of me underneath. Mary Margaret came in and I watched her booted feet walk over to the kitchen. If I lowered my head enough, I could see her sorting today’s mail. She had no idea I was there.

     Mary Margaret sat her mail down and walked into her bathroom. I took my chance to get out from under the couch. There on the counter was an old, large book sitting under her stack of mail. But no sooner did I take a step that the toilet flushed. Did she just turn in a circle and flush the toilet? Back under the couch I scrambled and squeezed.

      I could hear her in the kitchen. Cabinets were being opened and closed, and by the sound of the shrieking kettle and the sweet smell, she was making hot cocoa. My stomach ached and reminded me that I hadn’t eaten in a long time. I lowered my head to see Mary Margaret. She sat down a spoon she used to mix her drink and then grabbed a shaker to sprinkle something into it. It was cinnamon. That was the only way you could drink hot cocoa in the castle when Snow’s family was in charge. I remember them being so nice about it too. “We like to sprinkle cinnamon on our hot cocoa because that’s what we do. Aren’t we adorable?” But if you wanted it without cinnamon, they’d look at you as though you were diseased. Dictators. I haven’t been able to drink hot cocoa since.

     Mary Margaret pulled a magazine from her small stack of today’s mail. Her posture straightened and her voice boomed.

     “See that you do, Miss Blanchard!” She was mocking me! “Oh look, Madam Mayor, I found your book! You didn’t tell me what to look for, but I’m sure it’s this one.”

     She brought the magazine and her mug of cocoa over to the couch and sat down. The bottom of the sofa settled on top of me. I waited, but she didn’t seem to notice anything. Instead, she turned on her television just as Hibiscus Hollow was starting. I forgot what day it was. If I turned my head the right way, I could see the show, too! Some of my tension eased and we watched the show together. I wasn’t surprised to find out that Mary Margaret was a Susan fan, the enemy of Rosaline. It was like we were watching a tournament; Mary Margaret cheering every time something good happened to Susan and I silently cheering for every back-handed move Rosaline made for her revenge. The ending was bittersweet; Susan succeeded but Rosaline was not broken and made plans for next week’s episode. Mary Margaret set her mug down, turned off the television and passed out on the couch. Apparently, being alone made her care less about sleeping in an actual bed or brushing her teeth. The magic of my favorite show had ended and I remembered I needed to escape.

     I didn’t know what to do. Having raised her, I knew that Snow White was a light sleeper and could wake at the slightest sound. But Snow would have figured out in two minutes I was there, and Miss Blanchard had no idea this whole time. If I tried to leave and then she woke to discover me, what then? She wouldn’t just let me go and never mention it. Killing her would be difficult and hard to cover up. I could rip out her heart and command her to forget why I was there—and make her give me the book! But she wouldn’t be miserable then and that’s the whole point of this curse. You don’t feel anything when your heart’s missing. Someone whose heart is being controlled knows what emotions look like when someone else feels them. They can mimic them, but they don’t have them. And I want her suffering to continue. I could use magic to wipe her memory after putting her heart back in so she could suffer more, but I don’t want to waste it. I only have what little bits I’ve got and I might need them for bigger things.

     I took a chance and pulled myself out from under her sofa. She stayed asleep. I had to get that book. I rubbed my sore neck from watching the show and snuck over to the kitchen counter. The large brown book’s title read “Advanced Calculus”. I opened the cover, thinking it would’ve been just the thing someone trying to trick me would put to disguise it. But the equations on every page revealed that it was, in fact, a math book. What was she teaching these children? I closed the cover and turned to leave, but then whipped around when I heard screaming! I blinked and put my hands down (what magic was I going to throw, anyway?). Mary Margaret was squirming on the couch, screaming like she was in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. I stepped over to the couch and watched her narrow her eyebrows and rub her arms like she was in pain. This was a nightmare she wouldn’t wake from until it decided she would. I smiled, thinking this happened every night and knowing she wouldn’t know why. It seemed that my curse wasn’t the only one making her miserable. My day had been redeemed after all. I saw my chance to leave and I took it.