Chrissy Marshall

The lyrics came pouring out of me perfectly in tune with the melody of the piano. I had not realized I was capable of projecting such vibrant sounds as I sang lyrics I had practiced for years. I felt the words become a part of me, not just a role that was fun to play. I was quite literally walking in the White Witch’s shoes.  

“There’s a tantalizing candy no one can resist. All it takes is just a single bite. When you try this choice confection, suddenly your tongue will do a genuflection, Turkish – Turkish Delight! Gleaming cubes of lime and lemon, Quince and Kumquat too, sugared with a dust of snowy white! They all share that special savor, taste forbidden fruit, I think you’ll like the flavor. Turkish, Turkish, Turkish Deliiiiiight!” 

As my vocal chords hung onto the last note with desperation, icy magic transformed inside of me. I was no longer a fifteen-year-old playing a part. It was as if Queen Jade herself was bursting out of my song with her powerful presence. This moment solidified what I had known for some time – the role was meant for me. Playing The White Witch had been my dream since I was eight years old after having the privilege of watching Robin step into the role with such grace and poise. Little did I know the experience of stepping into Queen Jade’s white shoes quite literally and figuratively would impact me in ways I never could have imagined.  

My mom has told me tales of having to peel me away from the television as I watched The Sound of Music or The Little Mermaid for the millionth time. Despite her efforts to distract me from my fantasy world, I could be heard belting my favorite songs word for word with no end in sight.  

I give her a lot of credit. As a single mom, she worked hard to engage me in a variety of activities and encouraged me to socialize with other children. It wasn’t her fault I had such a vivid imagination. My father passed away when I was fourteen months old. While I couldn’t put my feelings into words at that age, I have sometimes wondered if my fascination with fairy tales and make-believe was my way of escaping any pain or confusion I was likely feeling. Regardless of the reason, my mom was patient, until she wasn’t. When I was about four, we were having dinner at Pasta Jay’s, a popular Italian restaurant. In the middle of dinner, my mind wandered, and I decided I was a princess. I lay on the floor while my mom gaped, horrified by my behavior. 

“Chrissy, what are you doing,” she gasped. “Get off the floor!” 

“But, Mom, I’m sleeping beauty. I am waiting for Prince Charming to kiss me!” I pursed my lips together, closed my eyes, and waited patiently. It seemed to be a normal request to me. 

“This is the twenty first century – kiss yourself!” 

I remember blinking profusely, quite confused by this response. I attempted to move my lips towards my cheek, but it didn’t work very well. Suddenly, my mom kissed my hand, while pulling me up. I bounced back into my seat like frog who has just discovered it’s legs, feeling proud of myself. All the while completely unaware of my mother’s cheeks turning as pink as the roses in our garden as she shook her head in disbelief. After that night, there was a new rule. I was only allowed to wait for Prince Charming to kiss me at home. Reasonable request.  

Shortly after that, my mom enrolled me in a theater company for preschoolers. I was given the role of a princess, which was sure to be as smooth as ice. My task was to stand in the castle, which was actually a cardboard tower at the top of a few stairs while I waited for my Prince to come rescue me. It seemed to be taking forever. In the meantime, another child in a frog costume was hopping across the stage. That certainly looked better than waiting in a castle for all eternity. I skipped down the stairs and hopped like a frog around the stage. The laughter erupting from the audience like a volcano seemed to be a good sign, so I hopped all the way off stage. I learned later that princesses were not supposed to hop like frogs. This seemed silly. Princesses sure didn’t know how to have fun.  

By the time I was in elementary school, my mom signed me up for dance and acting lessons. I did not see anything wrong with reciting entire movies in my room, but my mom seemed to think I was born to be on stage, whatever that meant. To be honest, I don’t remember those classes or what I learned, but I imagine it helped me focus on a specific role, rather than what looked enjoyable. There is one summer I remember clearly as a blue sky on a sunny day. At just eight years old, I finally understood why acting was such a big deal because of Robin Heymsfield. 

*Any feedback on this short story would be most appreciated. Perhaps more pages will be shared in the near future*