A Writer's Fairytale

Mary: Dinner and Money

“Dinner is almost ready.” I heard my grandmother call to us.

I smiled at Rebecca. “I can’t believe that we got that much packing done.” 

Rebecca laughed. “Me neither. Who knew that you had so many clothes?”

 I laughed. “I sure didn’t, and we aren’t even done yet. I would be glad, if I never have to look at another piece of luggage again.”

“What about unpacking?” Rebecca said, pushing herself off of the wall that she had been leaning on.

I gave my friend a glare. “Kill joy.” We walked into the dining room. “Do you have to ruin everything?”

“That’s my job,” she said as she followed me into the dining room. “Someone has to keep you from getting a big head.” I gave her a sideways glance. “I mean you are going to a castle and living with a prince.”

 "I am not worried about my big head. I am worried about his,” I said, sitting down at the table.

 “About whose what?” Jessica said, looking at me. 

I laughed. “The prince’s big head. I was just telling Rebecca that my head could never get as big as his.” My sister looked at me. She then looked at my grandmother; there was apparently something that I wasn’t aware of. “Is something wrong?” I asked, looking at them. 

My sister looked at my grandmother. It looked like Jessica was having her own telepathic conversation that I was not a part of. “Nothing important. He was just at the book shop today,” Jessica said, looking at me. 

“He was?” my brother said, looking at her. 

 “The owner of the store didn’t even know that,” I replied, laughing. “What kind of owner does that make you?”

“You met him,” Jessica said, to my brother. “You just didn’t realize that it was him.”

   “I did?” Bill said, looking at her.

 “Yes,” Jessica said with a smile. “He was the one that was looking for information about Mr. M. Charles. 

“He was?” My brother tapped his hand to his chin. “Oh, that is who he was. I didn’t know that he was the prince. I thought that he was just another reporter.” 

“Reporters?” I looked at my brother. “What reporters?” I had never heard any information about a reporter in all of my life. What would a reporter want to know about a barely notable writer struggling to make ends meet? 

“There are just some people looking for information about Mr. M. Charles,” he said, looking away from me.

I was about to say something, when I heard my grandmother hit her glass. “I think that it is time for us all to say grace before we eat. Alright bow your heads. Let us pray. Thank you, God for getting us all jobs for us to support each other. I am also happy for the family that I was both given, but also the family that has found me. I want to say thank you for the food that I have been able to put on this table. I want to thank you for giving my granddaughter the opportunity to travel to a far-off place and discover new things. Please protect her while she is away, until you bring her safely back to us. Amen.”

There was a chorus of Amen before we began to pass around the food. When everyone had their food, I asked, “Alright, what were you talking about these reporters?”

“Oh nothing,” my brother said, putting a spoonful of mash potatoes into his mouth.

“I want to know.” I insisted as I took a roll from the bowl. “I believe that I should be allowed that information. After all it is about me.”

“She should,” Jessica said, looking at my brother.

“I know that,” he responded to her. “I also believe that it is my right to protect her.”

“Protect me?” I said, looking at him. “Protect me from what?”

My brother looked at me, his eyes filled with something that I could not understand. “Yourself.” He looked away.

I shook my head. “What are you talking about? I am really confused right now. Can someone please just explain to me what is going on?”

“There are reporters that sometimes appear in the shop asking questions about you,” Jessica said, looking at me.

“What kind of questions?” I asked, poking my fork into the mash potatoes.

“All kinds,” Jessica stated.

“Whatever information that we can give, is what they are always saying,” my brother added.

“Oh. Ok,” I said, looking at my brother. “Why wasn’t I told any of this before?” 

He smiled. “We didn’t think that you would care or want to give them an interview. After all you aren’t exactly the type for giving interviews. Seeing that you can’t talk and all Mr. Charles.”

“I know, but still. That doesn’t mean that you should have to tell the people off. I should do it,” I said, looking at him.

“Maybe, but I don’t mind and besides how could you tell them anything, you had to pretend that you were your own assistant just to take this job.”

“Your right again,” I said with a smile. “That is my plan at least. It should work fine.”  

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you wouldn’t write under that terrible name of yours,” my grandmother stated.

“Is my name terrible or is it the fact that I use a pen name that makes you upset?” I asked, looking at her.

She glared at me. “You know which one.”

“Do I now?” I said, smiling at her. I knew which one and she knew that I knew which one, it is the same one that we were always arguing about.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do, Miss Mary.”

“I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about,”  I said, laughing.

“This is not a laughing matter Mary, and that brings me back to the question that you evaded earlier today,” my grandmother said, looking at me.

“And what question would that be?” I asked before biting into my roll.

“You know what question,” my grandmother said, staring me down.

“Sixty-thousand,” I said quickly before looking at my father.

“I think that will be enough talk of business,” my father stated looking at me a smile. “After all it is my daughters last night here for a few months.”

“That is very true,” my grandmother said solemnly. “This isn’t over.”

“Now don’t make it sound like I am dying. I am just leaving for a few months. I can still call you guys, and I will. I promise,” I said, smiling at the group.

“Every day?” Rebecca said, laughing.

“I will do my best,” I said, smiling. “You have to understand that I do have quite a bit of work that I must do. I will have a lot of research that I must do, not to mention the interviews, and then the typing of the book itself. I am going to be quite busy. I may not get around to calling you every day, but I will try and do my best.”

Jessica looked at me. “That’s ok, as long as you go out and have some fun. Go sightseeing.”

“Jess this isn’t a vacation. This is work. I am going there to work, not to go sightseeing,” I said, looking at her with a smile.

“I know that, but still you coop yourself up enough here. I don’t want to see you do that there,” Jessica said, tapping her finger on the table.

“I do not coop myself up in anything. I just do a lot of work,” I said with a smile. “Wait work.” I thought. “s**t,” I said probably a little louder than I should have.

“Mary. That is not a proper dinner table word,” mgrandmother said.

I looked down at the table. “I am sorry grandmother. I didn’t meant to, it just kind of came out. I have to go.”

“What, why?” Jessica asked, looking at me.

“I know you guys worked really hard for this, and it is wonderful, but I have to go. I wish I didn’t, but I do. I am an i***t. I forgot about the short story that I have to finish before I leave tomorrow,” I said getting up from the table.

“How much do you have done in it?” my father asked, looking at me.

Jessica, Rebeca, Bill, and I looked at each other. “Haven’t even started,”  we all said in unison, and then laughed.  

“You guys know me so well,” I said, laughing. “I really do hate to do this to you guys, but I have to leave. I love you all. I will say goodbye to you all tomorrow. Rebecca I will see you tonight. Goodnight to you all,” I said, before running out of the dining room.

I left my grandmothers and walked, jogged, ran to my apartment. The room was quiet and I found my computer where I had left it the night before. I opened it up and began to type. The words seemed to flow from my fingers. It felt nice for me to just get words out. Writer’s block had been my worst nemeses in the past few weeks, but that felt like a distant memory as I began typing that story. Every word had meaning, ever word was perfect. I felt like my body was lifting. It felt like there was this weight that had been holding me down had finally been lifted from my shoulders and I was free. I was free from the prison that I had created for myself. I was in the clouds floating with the words that were on the paper.