She never cared about being Cinderella. She knew that story was exactly that--a story, a tale, a bunch of drivel gathered together for little girls who could imagine nothing better for themselves than a dashing prince who came in and saved the day. She didn't have time for crap like that. (At least that's what she told herself. Every day seemed easier to take when you didn't expect someone to come rescue you.) Instead, the story of Pinocchio held her fascination. Perhaps it had to do with the number of hours she spent each day, feeling like nothing more than a wooden puppet herself. She couldn't be sure. But every time the Disney movie came into theaters for yet another special showing, she scraped together the money to go see it.
Even to this day, the most popular song from the movie sent her backwards in time. Drying dishes one evening, she heard the familiar tune, the first notes of "When You Wish Upon a Star," trickling through the radio. Tears welled up behind her eyelids and she steadied herself with her hands against the counter top. She thought back to those days when she'd climb into the seat of the darkened theater, tip her head back, and marvel at the imaginary world before her. Relief would settle on her shoulders as the big screen took her away from all the things she couldn't handle in life. Just being was difficult at times. Seeing Pinocchio muck his way through the journey and come out on the other side gave her hope, sustenance to continue.
She wiped her hands on the dish towel and crumpled into the chair. So many wishes had bloomed over the years: Wishes that had not been granted, wishes she never dared ask for. Wishes that had almost come true. Wishes that had been granted but had changed nothing. Even now, she had a wish: to travel back in time and tell her young self what she needed to do in order to get where she wanted to be in life. But what would she tell her young self? As she straightened her back in the chair, craning her neck to hear the last notes of the song, a realization washed over her.
Wishes never got you anywhere. Cinderella might have had a little help, that was true. But she'd wanted to go to the ball, and to the ball she went. A girl could learn a lot more from Cinderella than she first thought.
Even to this day, the most popular song from the movie sent her backwards in time. Drying dishes one evening, she heard the familiar tune, the first notes of "When You Wish Upon a Star," trickling through the radio. Tears welled up behind her eyelids and she steadied herself with her hands against the counter top. She thought back to those days when she'd climb into the seat of the darkened theater, tip her head back, and marvel at the imaginary world before her. Relief would settle on her shoulders as the big screen took her away from all the things she couldn't handle in life. Just being was difficult at times. Seeing Pinocchio muck his way through the journey and come out on the other side gave her hope, sustenance to continue.
She wiped her hands on the dish towel and crumpled into the chair. So many wishes had bloomed over the years: Wishes that had not been granted, wishes she never dared ask for. Wishes that had almost come true. Wishes that had been granted but had changed nothing. Even now, she had a wish: to travel back in time and tell her young self what she needed to do in order to get where she wanted to be in life. But what would she tell her young self? As she straightened her back in the chair, craning her neck to hear the last notes of the song, a realization washed over her.
Wishes never got you anywhere. Cinderella might have had a little help, that was true. But she'd wanted to go to the ball, and to the ball she went. A girl could learn a lot more from Cinderella than she first thought.
Comments