(first draft art therapy)

          written and painted at Lake Miramichi, 2017

Once upon a time, I helped spring a real, nice witch from jail.  Without a weapon or a super power, I saved her from bullies and a mean bunch. My name is Rocky Ballerina.  I’m a Peace Avenger Girl!

This adventure happened when I moved to the countryside, to live with a new foster family.  The couple was very nice to me, but very old, so they encouraged me to play outside under the trees and near the animals.

Around the lake, there was one little house that stood out, because it was the only one painted purple.  It was surrounded by a wild garden with an un-mowed yard, and the un-mowed yard was decorated with large wooden statues.  The statues were not of people or things you can name, but I liked the way they made me feel good.

“Hey! You! Stay away from that crazy house!  A crazy woman lives there!”  It was Mean Margaret.  Standing next to her was her brother, Mean John.  “Ever read Hansel and Gretel?”  Mean John added. “She’ll eat you for breakfast!”

“Right.”  I thought to myself.  I grew up in the city.  Fairy tale crime is nothing compared to real crime.  “Purple is one of my favorite colors,” was my reply.  My pastor, Mamma Ruth, used to always say, “Don’t let anyone bring you down to their low level!”  So when people are mean, I dance!

Just then, we saw her. Little Witchie came out of her house holding a wood saw.  Mean John and Mean Margaret ran.  Little Witchie said nothing, but I could tell she saw us.  Silently, she began to carve a dead tree.  I didn’t want to stare, but I was very curious.  It was time for dinner, though.  Time for me to go, so I pirouetted and left.

Mean John and Mean Margaret bullied kids at school.  

They teased Mary about her frizzy hair, poked Leroy’s belly, stole Marnie’s sandwiches, and shouted mean names at Jose.

They made mean faces when Tanya stuttered, cried foul when Tom tattle-taled on them, and they didn’t do their homework. 

But the teacher, Mr. Banks, went easy on them.  Turns out, the Mean Mayor was their dad.  Few adults wanted to land on his bad side. 

One Saturday, I dared myself to be brave.  I vowed to introduce myself to the Little Witchie.  I mean, how could such a fun place be owned by a woman who eats children?  Lonely old women don’t eat children, I said to myself.  Not in real life.  Not in modern times.

“Don’t go over there!”  Mean Margaret shouted. 

“You must be stupid!” said Mean John. 

“Ding-dong!  You’re going to be dead!”

Together they laughed and chimed, “Ha ha ha! He he he!” But the siblings watched me closely.  I ignored them with a quick two-step.

“‘Hello!” I said, ending my tap dance. 

I saw her look toward the home of the Means and look back at me.  She took us three children into her gaze, summed up the situation, and spoke to me. 

“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to eat you, girl?” 

“’Me?’” I laughed, only it was a real laugh, not a mean laugh.  “No. I’m not afraid.” 

Mean John and Mean Margaret were called home by their mean parents.  Those two scattered like bugs shot with bug spray.

Little Witchie warmed up immediately.  “Well, come inside and have some spinach soup, then? Just made a fresh batch.  Spinach soup is my power food.  Helps me keep my complexion green and ward off evil humans.’”

That was Little Witchie joking.

Sorta. 

Inside her enchanted cottage was dark but warm, comfy and filled with objects to spy as interesting as a museum. 

Out the back window, Little Witchie’s backyard looked like a scene from a cartoon movie, you know, when the princess talks to the forest animals, who listen and understand like kind people.

Her world was beautiful, and it was peaceful. 

“May we go out there?” I asked.

“Sure!” the Little Witchie answered brightly. 

Just as I had guessed, the Little Witchie was not one bit mean, if you weren’t mean to her.  Just the opposite, she was nice and she was funny.

Outside, in her backyard, the world seemed magical. I couldn’t help myself.  I was so happy, I kicked up my leg, followed with a grand jete (that’s French for big leap) and sang out, “Only God could make a world so beautiful!”

The next Monday at school, Mean Margaret approached me on the playground. “What happened?” 

Mean John piped in, “Yeah!  What happened when you went inside the Little Witchie’s house? Did she try to eat your arm? Cook your leg? Did you need to run for your life?”  

I just stood there with my hands on my hips. 

“She’s standing here okay, isn’t she?”  Mary chimed.

The next Saturday I returned to the enchanted cottage, but Little Witchie wasn’t home.

Mean Margaret shouted, ’She’s gone!” 

Mean John sneered, “Yeah! She’s gone to the slammer! She’s locked up in the big house!” 

Little Witchie had been arrested and thrown in jail!  Because the Mean Mayor didn’t like her artwork or her wild garden.

“She broke the law!” 

“Not supposed to let your lawn grow wild!” 

“Need a permit to fill your yard with ugly weird statues!”   

Those two mean kids couldn’t keep their mouths shut, like gossipy clucking chickens. 

But I ignored them.

I visited my new friend Little Witchie in Jail.  She was so sad. 

Behind bars, kept in a cell, she couldn’t see the sky, talk to the animals, make soup or carve statues. 

“The Mean Mayor has never liked me.”

She lowered her eyes toward her sunken heart. 

 I wanted to help.  I needed to help!

I talked to my teacher, Mr. Banks.  I talked to the Mean Mayor.  

“Little Witchie’s cottage is enchanted!  She’s an asset to the neighborhood, not a criminal,” I told them. 

But neither of them agreed with my point of view. 

I don’t give up, so I went to the courtroom and asked to see the Judge, who happens to be a nice judge, not mean like the mayor or weak like my teacher.

“‘Your Honor,” I said politely. I explained in short order why Little Witchie should be sprung, not held. 

The nice Judge agreed! 

I couldn’t help myself.  I jumped a foot off the ground.  Then I apologized for my circus display inside the court room. 

Thankfully, the nice judge smiled.  So did the court reporter.

To help, Leroy, Mary and Tom cleaned up Little Witchie’s overgrown yard.

Jose, Tanya and Marnie collected donations, to pay off Little Witchie’s court fines.

Little Witchie was surprised and delighted.  “You, child, did this kind act, for me?”

Little Witchie did a jig!  “’Only God could make a world so beautiful!’”  

Hey, that’s my line, but I didn’t mind one bit. 

Plus, I borrowed it from Mamma Ruth!

Helping Little Witchie made Rocky Ballerina feel great! 

But what about Mean Margaret and Mean John? 

Mr. Banks said nothing.

The Mean Mayor was silenced, too.

It’s too bad people can’t seem to agree.

At times like these, Mama Ruth said, “Just keep going, and do the right thing!” 

Later that night, in my dreams, flying around this big beautiful world, I saw a beautiful sight. 

Little Witchie was giving thanks, under the glow of a full moon night. 

Kneeling inside her marvelously magic yard, she was grateful, peaceful and free.

Does the story end there?

What do you think? 

No, the story does not end there. 

Rocky Ballerina, Little Witchie and all the kids celebrated by painting a group mural on the back of the jail, with the warden’s permission, of course.

And the faces of both Mean Margaret and Mean John melted into friendly smiles! 

 It’s a true story!