| Cinderella Dies by Marlene McCarty |
For years afterward, I believed that if I had not wished it, she would not have died. And until now, I've never told anyone about the dreadful argument we'd had only days earlier. It began with the Cinderella watch. My father bought it to cheer me up because Loretta was going to spend the summer holidays in St. John's with her cousin, Molly. She and I had spent every summer--in fact almost every day--together since grade one. Except for Loretta, Molly (who had arrived from the city to spend a few days with her cousin before they both left for the summer) and me, the beach was deserted that day. It was really to early for swimming, but school had been out for a week, and boredom had set in. So, we decided to take the plunge. Unfastening my watch, I couldn't help but marvel again at its beauty. It boasted a delicate gold clasp attached to a pink leather strap, while the face depicted Cinderella and her prince poised on the ballroom steps. Underneath them, the fairy godmother waved her magic wand back and forth, back and forth, as the seconds ticked away. And--wonder of wonders--it had come in a glass slipper! Ever since Dad brought it home from Gander the week-end before, I'd been the envy of all my friends--especially Loretta. She hadn't been able to keep her eyes off it. "Can I try it on? Please, can I?" She begged. "No!" I gloated. I finally had something that she didn't. She and Molly raced to the water's edge and dove in. I stood there on the beach and watched them for a few seconds while I poked the watch into the toe of my shoe for safekeeping, then stashed the shoe underneath my pile of clothes. Despite the frigid waters, we swam for quite a while. But eventually, we gave in, sat on the sun-warmed rocks and talked. Mostly, I listened to them talk. About how they would spend the summer, and all the things they would see and do. Jealousy consumed me. I hated them. I never got to go anywhere, and St. John's was another world. Dejectedly I dressed and picked up my shoe. My watch had vanished. Loretta! I was sure of it. A horrible argument followed. I accused Loretta outright, calling her a liar and a thief. And in parting, I screamed, "I never want to see you again. I wish you were dead!" A week later, my wish came true: Loretta and Molly died. A drunk driver mowed them down on a St. John's street, killing them instantly. Their holidays were over. The guilt was indescribable, the funeral--a nightmare. Loretta had been a Girl Guide, so Guides and Brownies had to attend in uniform. One by one we filed past her open casket, touched or kissed her, and placed a red rose inside. She wore a yellow nylon dress sprinkled with pale blue forget-me-nots. He face was a ghastly scene, her complexion flawless--waxen and shiny. Not a freckle in sight where there should have been a million. I shut my eyes, but couldn't shut out that picture; It's haunted me for the past thirty-eight years. Back then there was no grief counselling. Life went on. Nobody paid much attention to my feelings; nor do I recall talking about them. Her clothes came to me--and her favorite rocking chair. I'd always loved it. A few weeks later, I overheard Mom say, "I wonder what's wrong. She never talks anymore. She should be over it by now." Dad answered, "Naw, that's not it. She was like that for a while before the accident. I've got just the medicine to cure her. Remember the Cinderella watch . . . the one she lost on the beach? I'll bring her home another one. That should do the trick. Cheer her right up." He didn't know, that for me--Cinderella had died. (c) 2000 Marlene McCarty |
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