Little Ways of Hurting Me

Perhaps all happy endings were this boring.

Or perhaps I had contracted the wrong imp to construct mine.

By my rather imprecise calculations, the curse had been cursing for about six years, and I had been drunk for about four days straight, wallowing in my own ennui.

If that damn dagger had my name on it, things would be different. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe I was a half-rate sorceress with stupid ideas of revenge. Or maybe all of this was the whiskey talking. But I knew for certain time here ran on a loop although I couldn't precisely identify the starting and ending points, and I was too drunk to ruminate on the respective roles of fate and free will in curses.

Nevertheless, I found myself depressed, restless, edgy, and-most disconcertingly-at an exact duplicate of a school board meeting I had attended three years ago, nodding and giving my "ayes" and "nays" and trying to pretend I was sober and interested. I was probably failing at both.

I knew I was failing at both when I tried to go home that night.

"Madame Mayor?" a tentative voice behind me said. I was leaning against my Mercedes, giving myself a pep talk about driving home. I hadn't thought any of it had been aloud, but I couldn't be one hundred percent sure. This part felt new, but maybe part of me was mercifully succumbing to the time paradox and joining the other townsfolk in obliviousness.

"Yes?" I said, straightening my posture but not turning around.

"I know it's not my place, but I'm a little concerned about you."

I turned then and found Snow White staring at me in her terrible Mary Margaret outfit and simpering wince.

"Oh?" I said.

"I-I've noticed the last few days you-" I wanted to giggle. I knew I was smiling now because she had shifted her weight and cocked her head.

"I what, dear?"

"Are you alright, Mayor Mills?"

"Yes, dear," I said. She was Snow White-the person I loathed most-but she also wasn't that at all-and I did giggle then. I giggled because she didn't know, and I giggled because I did, and I giggled because her face and her mannerisms were so much the same but clothed in such different apparel, such demeaning apparel.

"Well, um." And I giggled because I was seeing a flash of the old Snow White with a bow and arrow and what she would think of this sycophant, this terrible little person who didn't have any real words to say, just little notions and feelings and sympathies.

"Actually," I started-and the words came without my wanting them to come-"I'm not feeling quite myself. Could you see me home?" But once they did come, I wanted to giggle more. Having her attend to me and knowing she would be completely submissive and oblivious-it was exhilarating in a certain terrible way. Maybe this curse wasn't quite so boring as I had thought.

"Of course, Madame Mayor." Her eyes were large and open and wondering and worried. And most importantly, on me. I gave her my keys, and we drove. I made sure to look out the window so she couldn't see my residual giggle. Snow White had always had a soft spot for me. And Mary Margaret felt it, somehow. And it manifested in this obligation, this dutiful thing she was doing.

We arrived at my house, and we both stepped out of my car. I smirked. She wasn't looking at me, so she couldn't know that I was smirking about how I had a Mercedes and she had a station wagon. She couldn't know that I was smirking about her walking back to her own home contemplating why the mayor had been giggling, only to forget it instantaneously as the time loop started over the next day or next week or next month or whenever it did. She couldn't know I was smirking because the whole thing was so ludicrous and made me want to drink and giggle forever.

I was so wrapped up in thinking about smirking that I couldn't stop myself from saying,

"Thank you. I don't know what came over me. My chiropractor thinks I should have some bloodwork done."

"It probably wouldn't be a bad idea," she said. "You haven't seemed like yourself."

"Would you like to come in for a nightcap?" I said, still running on impulse and believing the lies I was telling her. I was probably just reeling from all the internal giggling.

She shifted her weight and bit her lip and cocked her head and did all those annoying Snow White mannerisms.

"Sure," she said, finally.

I poured two tumblers of my best whiskey, and we drank in silence, her frowning and me half smiling, until she said,

"Thank you for having me over."

"My pleasure," I said, and it was only half a lie.

"We appreciate your voice at the school board meetings," she said, looking into her glass. I could tell she was reaching for something in the back of her mind.

"A mayor who doesn't care about education is not much of a mayor," I said automatically. These sorts of politic phrases flowed so easily. I must've been affected by the curse, too, and I was grateful for the aplomb.

"You're right. But..." She looked up at me, wonder and worry always. Perhaps Snow White had had that expression a long time ago, before she had befriended a werewolf, before she had found her true love, way back when I was still saving her life on horseback. I suspected it was mostly a Mary Margaret affectation, though.

"But?" I said as I reached to refill our glasses.

"But maybe you're stretching yourself too thin?" She seemed to cower at the end. That was definitely not in Snow White's bag of tricks.

"Miss Blanchard. What are you insinuating?" I went fully into my Evil Queen voice, half to see if I could still do it without any practice and half to see if I could provoke a response that wasn't so weak and pathetic. Her eyes snapped up, flashing briefly in a haughty Snow White way that made me want to giggle again.

"I'm not insinuating anything. I'm just trying to show a little concern for you." She was sitting up straight and very close to standing up.

"Ah. So you're not suggesting I should skip out on school board meetings?" I stood, still Evil Queening. It felt good to be doing anything close to sparring like old times. "You weren't sent here by the superintendent to ensure my absence next time?" She stood, too, a little bit more Snow White yet.

"No! Of course not!" The worry and wonder had been Evil Queened out of her eyes, and in their place stood indignation and concern. I didn't know if that meant I had won or lost this round. I didn't know what winning or losing might look like in this strange land. But I took it as a gain anyway because if I didn't have an adversary, I didn't have anything. I smiled.

"Well, dear. Consider me convinced." I walked the three paces to her and moved to take her glass, making sure our fingers touched. "Don't you have school tomorrow, Miss Blanchard?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat, and in an instant Mary Margaret was all that was there. "Yes, Mayor Mills. Have a good evening." She practically ran out my front door.

Yes, I had won this round. I had coaxed Snow White to the surface and beaten her back again. I felt alive for a moment.

xxxxx

She was wearing a wig the next time I saw her, and I had to do a double take.

I had gone to the school play because I hadn't wanted to go to The Rabbit Hole, and I was already half drunk anyway.

And there she was as Pocahontas or Sacagawea or someone with a long black braid reminiscent enough of the old days that something came over me, and I just wanted any excuse at all to fight her.

"What is the meaning of this, Miss Blanchard?" I had cornered her in the parking lot afterward, the darkness and chilliness surrounding us like the Enchanted Forest. She jumped a little and turned to face me. The wig was gone, but the urge to fight her was still there.

"Oh! Hello, Madame Mayor. May I help you with something?"

"I asked you a question, Miss Blanchard."

"Um yes, I'm aware of that. But I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Frankly I didn't know either; I grasped rather flailingly at something to spit out at her.

"This white-washed, asinine version of US History you're peddling."

"Oh! Of course, artistic liberties were taken-" she was still full of worry and wonder. I would have to push further to get to something grittier although it would be difficult considering how little I actually cared about this topic.

"Artistic? A completely fabricated and offensively insipid play for children now falls under the heading of art?"

"I understand your concern-" She was back peddling with a little more aggression in her voice, but it wasn't enough for me.

"You understand my concern? I'm concerned that you're lying to children instead of educating them. I'm concerned you're perpetuating-"

"If you'd like to take a look at my lesson plans, you're more than welcome. I have nothing to hide, and I assure you I'm not lying to the children." Her voice was firm and professional, and her eyes glistened with moral superiority. It felt like home. But I still had to win.

"Send them to my office. In fact, why don't you go ahead and make a habit of sending them to my office." She sighed resignedly, and Mary Margaret alone slumped into her station wagon.

xxxxx

I was achingly sober, and the bottom drawer of my desk in my mayoral office seemed to be taunting me about it. No knock preceded her rushed entrance. No hesitation preceded the smack of a Manila envelope onto my desk.

I hadn't even had to try to get those eyes back-those angry, superior eyes I hated and needed.

I raised an eyebrow, and the eyes receded, and Mary Margaret was there instead. I could've screamed.

"The lesson plans you asked for. Up until the end of the semester," she said in a voice just this side of pitiful.

"Thank you for your promptness, dear."

Her mouth set in a frown. A Mary Margaret frown, but it was something, at least.

"Is something wrong, Miss Blanchard?" She shook her head and opened her mouth, as if she would say something placating, and then her face sterned again into a Snow White face.

"I would prefer it if you didn't call me 'dear.'" It was quiet but firm.

"I'll take that into consideration." She nodded once and remained standing in front of me. We stared at each other until she looked away. "Have a good day. Miss Blanchard." I drew it out as long as a terrible name like that could be drawn.

"You, too, Mayor Mills." And she retreated with not even half the gusto she had come in with.

Again she sought me out at my office, and again she barged in. Her eyes were even better this time-furious and bright.

I couldn't help the smile that was spreading across my face although I had no way to hide it or explain it if she were to call me on it.

"What is this?" She said in kind of a hiss as she threw her lesson plans onto my desk. Ah yes, the week of April second had a big red x on top of it, and my handwriting in the margin labeled it "garbage." I wanted to laugh again as I had laughed the night I had marked it.

"It seems quite obvious to me," I said calmly, sweetly even.

"I do this unit every year," she said, a little bit whiny, but still enough Snow White that it encouraged me.

"And it is undoubtedly garbage every year."

"The students love it!"

"Children also love cotton candy and New Kids on the Block," I said. I was still smiling, and she was still furious, and my heart was beating faster.

"Erroneously comparing my birdhouse unit to confections and pop music does not change the fact that it's a damn fine lesson!"

"Miss Blanchard, I appreciate your passion, but I do not appreciate your language or your tone." She bowed her head, and I could see her filling up with Mary Margaret. "I also fail to see what fooling around with birds for a week has to do with the education standards in fourth grade." She looked up again, and dumped out all the Mary Margaret she had just poured in.

"I suppose you wouldn't. Did you even read the details? Or are you-as I suspect you are-simply doing this to torture me?" She was so earnest that I did laugh then.

"And what reason would I have to torture you?" I immediately wished I hadn't said that. I could see cogs turning in her brain. Sure, I wanted to have some of the old Snow to play with, but I didn't want to accidentally undo my curse.

"I really don't know, Regina." She had never called me by my first name in this land. "Have I done something to offend you?" She was all Snow White then. All sincere. I hated her. I bit back the part of me that wanted to say Your very existence offends me and opted instead for,

"I simply want the best for this town. You can be so much better than you are." I immediately wished I hadn't said that, either. It sounded encouraging somehow, and her eyes brightened into something that was sickeningly both Mary Margaret and Snow White. I was too sober for this.

"And I want to be the best I can be for you." Her eyes widened, no doubt realizing what she had just said. "And for the students. And for this town," she added hastily. "But really. You can just talk to me. I'll listen."

"I'll take that into consideration." She smiled, and I could've slapped her face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." She nodded and left. She paused at the door to toss over her shoulder,

"Have a good afternoon, Regina."

I got out my emergency whiskey and downed two fingers before I could admit to myself that this game was not the best cure for my boredom.

Perhaps I could try again the next time I found myself at that exact same school board meeting. By my rather imprecise calculations, it would turn up in another year or so.