Rapunzel’s Birthday

Once upon a birthday eve, Rapunzel sat by her window and gazed into a humble cup of water. The water reflected her once-golden hair, which now glistened with the silvery grace of time. The Witch and her spell were first spoken an eternity ago. They now echoed, “Thine fate is to ascend as a sovereign; to linger here, aloft the forest’s crown, to safeguard thine ethereal grace.” Weariness tugged at Rapunzel’s eyelids, not only from the years passed, but also from the endless waiting. 

The Witch had told her what happened to girls who were independent, curious, and resourceful. Cinderella was exposed as a shoeless poseur, and she was laughed at by aristocrats on the palace steps. Briar Rose was still in a coma after trying to use a spinning wheel. And Little Red Riding Hood was scarred for life by the Woodcutter who had claimed her from the wolf’s belly.

Handsome, wealthy princes, the Witch promised, despised women who could cultivate gardens, gather herbs, and prepare their own meals. Why? Because working all day in the sun made their skin wrinkled and leathery. Rapunzel shuddered at the thought of living as a sun-damaged housemaid who smelled of chicken coops. So, she dutifully nurtured her own studied passivity, hoping this would draw a saviour to her window.

Years passed and upon the Witch’s demise, the forest provided for Rapunzel. Its creatures delivered fresh berries, garden vegetables, and edible mushrooms to sustain her. Her modest plant-based meals ensured that she retained the lithe figure of her youth.

Melancholy nestled deep within her soul. And from it, a permanent unhappiness crept over her. The prince’s promise to return, made over half a century earlier, remained unfulfilled. As time spun its web, the forest swelled shut and hope turned to delusion.

On Rapunzel’s sixty-ninth birthday, her trusty entourage of forest creatures gathered to celebrate. Neesheeloha, Rapunzel’s favorite cuckoo, landed on the window sill and began to coo. Rapunzel smiled.

“Neesheeloha,” she said in her most charming voice, “Can you fly to the palace and tell the prince to come back here?”

Neesheeloha cooed twice. Then she cooed four times. Then she cooed six times. Rapunzel sighed. She didn’t understand what Neesheeloha was trying to tell her. The bird’s coos, unlike her lonely existence, resounded through the thick forest.

Rapunzel seemed unable to comprehend one stark truth. The pump, which had brought fresh, life-sustaining water to her suite for decades, was broken, and only a human could repair it. She looked wistfully at the leaky bucket perched in the corner of her suite. Besides her parents, and the Witch, she hadn’t met another person besides that princeling who had scaled up the side of the tower to spend time with her.

The door to the suite had remained unlocked for years. The front door of the tower had been blown open during a violent storm. Daylight peeked up the dark stairwell as if to guide Rapunzel down and into the world beyond the forest. She could have searched for someone to mend the pump and come back to wait by her window. But so powerful was the Witch’s spell that she never dared to step outside. 

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Notes: Happy Friday 13, with best wishes for All Hallows’. I’ve made many attempts to retell Rapunzel and was relieved to finally discover a set of themes that work with the story. In this retelling, I added doors because anyone using Rapunzel’s hair as a rope would seriously injure her. The version retold by the Brothers Grimm shows how dangerous certain beliefs can be if we cling to them blindly. Thank you for reading.