Bothered and Bewildered

I’m at Disneyland, one of eight kids shepherded by four parents. There are many rides to choose from, but I rush to Snow White’s Adventures first, ignoring Mr. Toad and Peter Pan. They’ll come later. I want to start with a girl who was never afraid and saw only the good in people, even horrid old women.

A placard at the entry shows a brightly colored picture of the hag from the movie and a warning: “BEWARE the wicked witch! This attraction contains scenes in which the witch appears. Small children may be frightened.”

Not a problem. I’m eleven and paired with my niece, Sharlynn, a few years younger. We aren’t babies, we assure our mothers; we’ll be fine. Besides, we’re at the happiest place on earth, where dreams come true when you wish upon a star. And don’t forget, the movie had lots of good parts: chirping birds, dwarves singing to and from work, a dapper prince who saves the day. We’re bound to see them all. I’m looking forward to the happily-ever-after ending.

An operator takes our “D” coupons and watches us board a wooden mine cart with GRUMPY engraved on a plaque mounted to the front. The maroon seats are comfortably padded. We sit close and giggle. This is going to be so much fun!

The wood timber entrance opens and we plunge into darkness. Our first vista? Diamond mines. Jewels glitter on either side of us. Beautiful. The dwarves are working hard. Sharlynn and I belt out the Heigh-Ho song. More giggles.

Past the mine shaft, Dopey pops up with a sign—Beware the Witch. We groan and grumble. Not again! This ride is supposed to be about Snow White. Where is she?

***

Turns out she never appeared. Disney wanted guests to experience the ride from the main character’s perspective. It was a novel concept at the time, too avant garde for some. After decades of complaints, one scene with Snow White was added during a 1983 makeover.

***

In a forest where owls hoot and the deer look ready to bolt, two jagged signs point opposite ways. One path leads to the dwarves’ cottage, the other to the queen’s castle. I lean my body left, urging us toward the bungalow. Our cart veers right.

Vultures leer from rocky ledges. Sharlynn takes my hand and whimpers. We’re not going to a happy place. We’re headed to the Witch’s Lair. My teeth chatter, something I thought only happened in books or cartoons. I’ve never felt this scared. 

***

I wasn’t the only one who reacted so strongly. The Evil Queen was voted the tenth greatest movie villain of all time by the American Film Institute. (Cruella de Vil came in at thirty-eight). 

***

It looks like we might get a break. There’s a new sign behind a portcullis that shows another route to the dwarves. But the gate slams shut, blocking our way, and suddenly we’re in a dungeon with skeletons who implore us to turn back. If only we could!

The Witch’s shadow lurks under an archway and then skulks along a wall. We cry out as cobwebs brush against our faces. A sharp turn and she’s there at her cauldron. She rotates and holds out the infamous poisoned fruit, red as blood. 

“Have an apple, dearie?” she croaks.

I can’t breathe. She’s too awful, too close, too vile, a gruesome hag with snaggled teeth, a warty nose and bulging eyes rimmed in black, all bathed in a putrid green light.

And then the ride jerks to a halt. 

Pee soaks my panties. I’m mortified but can’t dwell on that because shouts are erupting from riders I can barely detect in the gloom and Sharlynn has buried her face in my chest. “Make it go away,” she sobs. “Make it go away.”

I stroke her hair, wishing someone could be here to hold us both. “Don’t worry,” I say with false bravado. “They’ll fix it soon.”

My gaze returns to the Witch. No matter how hard I try to look away, my head keeps swiveling back in her direction. “You’ve been a bad girl,” she cackles. “I know about that candy you stole.”

***

Don’t tell me she never spit out those words. I heard that voice, rasping and filled with malice, as clearly as Sharlynn’s mewls.

***

The ride regained power after a minute or so, but for months afterward I’d wake up drenched with sweat after yet another nightmare dominated by a ghastly witch who accused me again and again of childish failings. Even now, the memory sends chills down my spine.

I didn’t know that dreams of witches can represent strength and imagination, that their appearance in your subconscious means good things may be headed your way. I was a child, seeing only the sinister, my budding psyche warped by images of fiendish women who viewed young girls as rivals, never allies or cherished companions. Who used their power to destroy. Did others grow up like me, afraid of drawing upon inner strengths—magical or otherwise—for fear of unleashing a monster?

In college, I studied Piaget’s theories of child development. He said we go through several stages of cognition. At eleven, I was finishing the “concrete operational” phase. Give me a hands-on problem and I’d solve it in a reasonable, scientific fashion. Ask me to see the world from someone else’s point of view? I wasn’t ready. Emotion and sensation ruled my life. The ability to conceptualize beyond personal impressions was yet to come.

The sign posted at Snow White’s ride addressed that limitation in a roundabout way. Yet to my knowledge no child, however young (and especially if accompanied by an adult), was ever denied entry. I can’t help but wonder how many boarded as I did, expecting a light-hearted romp with a few chilling moments only to emerge shaken by a prolonged encounter with evil. 

###

Kathryn Jankowski is a writer of Slavic/Hispanic descent. Originally 
from San Francisco, she now lives in the upper Sacramento valley. Her 
creative nonfiction appears or is forthcoming in Sky Island Journal 
and Microfiction Monday. To learn more about her work, visit 
www.kathrynjankowskibooks.com.