An elderly lady, squeezing tomatoes in a pre-pandemic way, pulls her mask down. “You’re almost out of the woods.”
Whatever does she mean? “I’m healthy.”
“Yes, my darling, but stifled.”
Your father, reading Lang’s red collection with a Grimm smile, would say, “Poppycock.”
Imagining him in the library, a hole in one stocking, propping his feet on a worn stool sets something tingly-strange a-move.
Dozing later, you dream of the tomato woman, who waves her wand and turns you into the fairy tale of your choice. In a surprise move, you choose Into the Woods. Four stories, one price, music included.
One thought on “Don’t You Believe It”
Love the writing as always but this one also sparked lots of treasured childhood memories. I loved the Lang books — the Crimson was my favorite and Grimm smile — I’m going to borrow that one sometime. Forwarding to my mother, the elementary school teacher, who showered me with fairy tales (and every other kind of literature) as I was growing up.