Becoming Rapunzel

Dresses

In Alamann, and in several countries nearby, the age of seven is an important year for boys. It is when boys are “breeched,” or put into breeches and hose rather than smocks and baby gowns. It is when they are finally able to run without holding their smock above their knees. It is also the year that their fathers begin spending more time with them, to teach them about boyhood and manhood. Seven isn’t an important rite of passage for girls, but it is usually when they begin to wear dresses and kirtles. Since boys stop wearing their smocks, girls typically do as well. Many a girl has sewn her first dress with her mother, eager to get out of the loose-fitting smocks, and ready to look more like a lady.  

By the time I was seven, I could count time. I was good at it. Gothel had told me repeatedly that my birth was on the last day of the year. She had also told me that the last day of the year was the day before the Spring Equinox. I wasn’t entirely sure what the Spring Equinox was, but it had something to do with the moon or the sun or something. Maybe when I could read better I could find out what it meant. It was almost summer now, several months after my birthday. I had memorized the seasons myself. I had also learned the phases of the moon myself. I was rather proud of myself, but didn’t bother Gothel with my newfound knowledge.

She was nice, sometimes. When she found out my favorite food was strawberries, she would try to bring some back in the spring and summer when she went on daytrips. She was gone on a trip now. I expected her back today, before supper. She was never late.

I sat in my room, at my window, and went back and forth between staring out the window into the trees below and down at my wax tablet. Gothel told me I had to practice my handwriting every day for several hours until she returned. I was learning a common script. She told me I had to learn how to read and write, but it was better if I practice very hard while she was away. That way she didn’t have to help me.

I thought I was bright. I could recite more than half of the Book of Common Herbs from memory. I could identify all the herbs in her garden below, and usually get the treatment procedure right as well. I was learning how to read and write. Sometimes I even practiced drawing the different herbs in the wax tablet, just like the books had in ink on its parchment. I could count fair high, run up and down all the stairs once before collapsing, out of breath. I once sneaked into Gothel’s workroom and ground up some herbs to make paints. I only got green, brown, and yellow, but it was pretty enough on my bedchamber walls. If I could learn how to make white, then I could start all over with new pictures.

I sighed, twisting a thin braid around my finger. I had come up with all sorts of little braids, twisted into larger braids, and it made my hair thick and short. Brushed straight and loose, my hair reached the back of my knees. Of all things, I was most proud of my hair. It was the prettiest part about me, I thought, because Gothel paid the most attention to my hair. And she liked pretty things. On her trips, sometimes she came back wearing a new dress. These were prettier than the grey and brown dresses she wore. These were of dark green, burgundy, and felt smoother and softer. The stitches gathered around her waist and hugged her body, showing off the softness of her form.

I didn’t feel as pretty. I was stick straight with bony limbs. My undyed smock was loose around me, but it was far too small. The hem that used to reach my ankles a year ago now reached my knees. It was tight around my neck and arms. Last time Gothel was away, I took scissors from the common room and cut my armholes larger. I had hacked up the smock in my eagerness, unfortunately, but had to wear it anyway—it was the only thing that remotely fit me. When Gothel had seen what I had done, she scolded me, but didn’t try to smooth over the torn fabric.

Absent mindedly, I scratched a crude drawing of a lute into the wax. There was a picture of a woman playing a lute in our dining room, and after many questions, I finally learned that it was a musical instrument. I still wasn’t sure what music was, but it sounded delightful. It was probably like the sounds of birds.