Mary Red Riding Hood

--By Aylin Gutierrez--

The red of a ripe apple.

Wind whipping the sleeves like sails at baring seas.

A shield of polyester and cotton linen against the harsh elements while embarking on an adventure.

It’s what always went through my mind putting on my favorite red jacket. I couldn’t get enough of the color, giving me my name, Red Riding Hood.

My story begins in the crisp days of Autumn.

In New York City.

I live on the top floor of Sunrise Height apartment complex, one among a slew of high end homes. At the end of the block lived my bullheaded grandmother who insisted to my Mom she live alone.

Except now she had gotten sick and had almost fallen trying to make herself soup. So she made a reluctant compromise with my Mom to have me handle making and delivering meals. It helped that I was her favorite, though only, granddaughter.

As Mom packed the food, I caught sight of the news.

“‘Burglar known only as Smoker has made another daring clean up. This time robbing the home of well known socialite; Miss Sandy Hiller,’” said the anchorwoman, “‘police have only found his calling card, a single cigarette butt.’”

“Mary, maybe I should go with you,” Mom proposed tightly, demeanor turning antsy.

“‘Police suspect the criminal has experience in lock…’”

“But you promised to let me do this myself,” I whined. Sometimes my coddling mother could be so annoying. How could a girl have a few adventures with a Coraline issued Other Mother inches behind?

She brought up the Smoker, how his spree could reach us and grandma. “Oh please! I promise I’ll be alright. Besides, even if he comes around there are richer people to rob than an old lady.”

Mom was still unsure. “If I see him I’ll kick him in his soft place,” I promised eager to convince her.

I could’ve done a pirouette in the lobby. Only I had dignity to preserve. Plus a picnic basket full with delicate jelly jars.

Mom did finally cave. On one condition. Taking her pepper spray along too. Said spritzer was now nestled deep in the pocket of my coat. Mom really worried too much.

I had buttoned the garment at only the very top, making it a flowing crimson banner strike from my back.

Still, I was itching with anticipation.

Out in my big metropolitan paradise on my very own. Prancing about the sidewalk like a fine lady. Strutting about and turning heads. Pushing elevator buttons and tapping my shoes as if I had important business to tend to.

“Someone’s giddy today,” the doorman said, taking note of me. He was young and freckled like a loyal squire of the Round Table knights. Starry eyed and eager to please.

“Uh huh. I’m gonna have a big adventure!” I bragged, unable to contain my excitement.

He cut into my rambling with an indulgent laugh. My mouth snapped shut. With a wry smile Mr. Squire Phil waved goodbye. Reminding me to be careful.

‘Keep it in,’ I reminded myself. ‘Big people and real adventurers were always cool.’

Then again, I was small. No one would notice me. And it would be enchanting to spirit through faster than a hummingbird's wing, skirting about like a naughty fairy.

I ran down the streets weaving past fancy suits and dresses. Oooo that shade of pink was divine.

I shook my head, turning my nose at the store display. Can’t slow down. Grandma was hungry. It was my mission to make sure she had her supper.

In no time my target was in sight. The obscenely luxurious Alpine Suites fortress. Within that dizzyingly high maze… lay my granny.

Resuming my sprint I collided with an odd character. Up close and personal he felt sturdy, solid as castle battlements. He had a close coif of hair in a shade of deep walnut wood brown, blue uniform accessorized with an air force jacket, and one. Pierced. Ear. The stranger smelled awful.

“My! Are you alright young lady?” he asked.

Without a thought he knelt down, picking up my things. A real life Prince!

I nodded dumbly, picking myself off my behind.

He handed back my basket. “Thank you,” I mumbled, a little embarrassed. I dusted myself off as if I often crash into princes.

“It was a pleasure,” he said with a smile. He patted my head.

My heart swelled maybe seven sizes. I had to tell granny about him! Without the deafening squeal infecting my every rational pore.

The lobby here was whitewashed and fancy with gold here and there, around every corner. I questioned how in the world they found so much.

“Hi. I need my Granny Esther’s room,” I greeted. Even on tiptoes the woman had to look over the desk to see me.

“Ohh, oh of course,” she swooned, “now would that be Esther Thompson, sweetie?”

I nodded vigorously. So close now.

“Okay alright. Now she’s on floor eighty, Room 33. Got that now?” she checked, “I can always spare a moment if you’d like some assistance.”

I bristled, all at once realizing I should be very cross at this lady. Curse me for assuming she was so darling and nice with everyone. I was a pre-teen. We were gremlins and she should know that. Yet here I am, just like everywhere else, treated like a baby. “No, I’ll find my way,” I replied, nose raised. “You were very much unhelpful.”

Marching in an open elevator with some flair, I decided I liked feeling tall. Maybe I’d ask Mother for a pair of heels.

Getting off on the 33rd floor I continued my quest in earnest. Except each hall at every turn was exactly the same. I was hopelessly lost on this twisty floor. Even so I kept going; turning and circling until I was deeply dizzy.

No matter what I could not give up.

At that moment, my heart leapt for joy to catch sight of him.

My Prince!

He spotted me. “You lost?” he asked as he lit a cigarette. At least I knew what that smell was now.

“Yes,” I admitted, making myself small. My gaze went to the floor. It couldn’t laugh at me.

Prince bent down, a gentle expression on his face that immediately put me at ease. “Hmmm, okay, who are you trying to look for?” he asked.

I repeated what the lobby lady told me. An odd expression flickered on his face, something hard and cold coming to his eyes. For just a moment I got unpleasant wrigglies in my stomach. As fast as I had seen it that weirdness vanished. So, clearly I was just imagining. Yes. Surely since adults spent all their time being gruff and pompous anyway.

Prince was much too gracious, lightly laughing, and I could quickly tell not at me. “Ahh, I get what happened. That girl must be new. This floor only goes up to seventy-five, besides, all the old folks are on the first five floors.”

Something wasn’t sitting right with me for real now. That five floors rule would be the exact thing my grandmother loathed. So why have an apartment here? How did this man know her?

“My grandma never mentioned a man,” I told him, backing away.

There it was again. Spitting out some whisper, clear anger in his features. Before reformatting his face so I couldn’t get a sure enough read. Still, it was in a clipped tone that he asked, “did she mention a locksmith?”

I nodded in response, still just a little uneasy.

“Trust me. Miss Esther Thompson is on the third floor, room eighty.”

“Okay thank you,” I said, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to check.

Prince went the opposite direction as I headed for the elevator.

Now it was crammed full of people. One pair was a Mother and son. Her toddler showed off a booklet pining for the woman’s attention. She, buried in her phone– some call, dismissed her son. Dejected, he dropped the book.

Poor guy.

‘Alpine Suites Floor Map.’ Lightning quick I grabbed the discarded book. On the 33rd page I saw it; a map to take me to room eighty.

Looking up I saw floor 7 was up next.

And leafing through the book, I found a stairwell not far to take me back up the rest of the way!

More effort, but faster if I took it at a run.

I ran like a madwoman, my lungs burning in protest, legs stiff as stone. Even as my breath hitched several times I didn’t relent. Though by floor seventeen I’d slowed to a crawl. The stairs went up forever. No wonder everyone in Rapunzel used her hair to get up the tower. It was a tiresome nine or eleven minutes more before the door read 33. In my joy I could’ve kissed the door, but settled for thanking Tinker Bell that my grandmother’s room was nearby.

Nearly collapsing, I trudged my body forward in one last mighty trek.

An eerie surprise waited for me in that room.

The door was ajar, revealing chaos. On the floor were several plush couch cushions, the entire thing upholstered or lopsided clearly having been rifled at each and every tiny crevice, her hard candy collection strewed in a fountain beside an upturned glass table, and her beautiful cherry wood cabinet brutally shattered too. Propping it back up one door sqqqqreaked open, the piece already emptied of fine china and delicate figurines.

“Granny,” I whimpered in the suffocating silence.

“Here dear,” rasped a voice, straining their throat.

Then I saw it amidst the whole mess. In the candy dish was a single cigarette butt with small wisps of smoke curling into the air. The Smoker.

Looking around, I found the speaker box near the door and phoned the lobby.

“Yes Mrs. Esther–” I shushed the woman.

“Call the police to the 33rd floor in Room eighty. The Smoker is in the apartment,” I hissed.

“Oh dear of course,” she whispered, “now you get out immediately sweetie.” With that I was in silence.

“Mary are you alright? Should I check on you?” rasped that unnatural voice. Fear smothered me. Granny was nowhere! She was sick! And this man knew my name! For all I knew he had hurt her.

I wanted to cry for being so stupid as to believe anything he said. Why did I always have to be in my own head?! Why couldn’t I just pay attention?!

No, stop it.

‘Stop. It,’ I commanded of my thudding heart. I had obviously caught him in the middle of his spree. Granny may have as well, explaining the level of disarray.

Granny was here, and she was okay. No way could I run now.

“Yes grandmother, just put a pot of tea to boil, all by myself for the first time, and obviously Mother sent that Jasmine one you like,” I strode just shy of the hall, deeper into the apartment, “she also gave me warm, buttery croissants won’t that be nice?”

I continued to ramble about the nice meal and a cute boy in my class as the solitary bedroom came into view. No backing out now.

I plucked up all my courage, even the little bit between my toes, and entered.

Quickly scanning the room there was no sight of grandma. What lay on the bed was a horrid, stinky excuse of a Prince with one of granny’s patented knit baby bonnets. I stifled a giggle.

“Granny!” I exclaimed, giving the thief a huge squeeze. Same sturdy body. At the foot of the bed I noticed what resembled a bit of a pillowcase sticking out. Probably all of granny’s things.

“Don’t worry I’ll take great care of you,” I bounced. Bustling around I piled blanket upon blanket on him, raised and fluffed his pillows, turned the fan on his face, and stuffed a thermometer in the Smoker’s mouth.

He took all this in stride. So no incriminating evidence to notice yet.

When I was done he could barely move, wrapped in a sweltering embrace. Still, he spit out the thermometer. I picked it up as if checking the number.

“Pumpkin,” he forced out, no longer bothering to hide how livid he was.

“Yes granny. Need anything?” I asked, acting oblivious to his discomfort.

“No I– I mean yes Mary. Please help your tired granny to the couch. I need a break from this stuffy room,” he asked, full pout out.

Grinning ear to ear I instantly refused him. Okay now this was getting a little fun. I truly had disappointed him and his tired, defeated face was priceless.

“I know what you need.”

Eye toward the closet I released the bomb, primed for a reaction, “a cold, wet towel.”

Actually making the move for granny’s walk-in closet…

“NO!”

The Smoker cried out, launching an arm out so as to stop me.

There.

Turning around, he then retracted what I knew to be a too large, too smooth hand once my eye was on my bedridden patient again.

“Okay,” I decided, “I’ll just keep you company to distract from the nasty heat.” With a hop I plopped my weight on the thief. Escaping his notice was my hand digging for my pepper spray.

“Oh but, what of the tea Mary?” he asked in a feeble, pitiful whine.

“That takes ages, by then the fan and blankets will have canceled each other and you’ll be right as rain!”

A siren wailed, cutting through the walls and the closed window. Before he could look I clasped his face in my hands.

Without thinking I uttered, “granny, your eyes are so narrow.”

“Oh just tired from scratching my dear,” he lied, added by a dainty cough, if he were a Rottweiler.

“And your voice so deep and raspy,” I continued.

“Sore throat child, you know that,” he said, a venomous edge to his voice.

I dropped the act there. “And your hands… are a man’s!”

Leaping from the bed I made a mad dash for the closet door. The Smoker was faster, grabbing a bunch of my jacket. Flinging me on the bed he had just abandoned.

He towered over me, ready to grab and restrain me further. I managed to roll out of his grasp.

I hoped with the bed as a barrier he’d be a little wary.

I was wrong. Like all other adults, he thought little of a skinny girl who hadn’t hit puberty yet.

Pepper spray was in my hands but it hardly mattered. My first move was quickly countered by a hand clasped around my wrist.

I struggled fruitlessly as his grip tightened. With no other choice I dropped my weapon, getting the distinct impression he would break my wrist if need be.

Still as I had promised, I kicked his soft spot. Hard.

Wrenching myself free I scampered out.

A glance behind me revealed him limping not far behind like Igor.

Fingers all too close I forced myself to just focus on getting to the foyer.

Just a step away he caught me; this time by my hood. My prized accessory had now turned into a noose as I gasped for air.

I clawed at the button. My mind already suffering from the air deprivation.

He was dragging me back into a darkness. I could feel as my feet scraped along against their will.

My hands finally clasped right, putting that motion into undoing the big button. Yet my fingers just didn’t–

Hic.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, girlie,” he said. “If only you hadn’t stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.”

So much anger in his voice. Was he going to do something worse than just stuff me in the closet? I tried to scream only for it to come out as a squawk, like a dying turkey bludgeoned for the last time.

A miracle happened as my fingers undid the button.

I fell backwards gasping for air, but I didn’t care. The Smoker stared for a second, stunned at the absence of a choking girl.

I didn’t give him the chance to react before dashing for the living room. Glass, there was so much glass. Maybe, get a shard?

No. I couldn’t chance him calling my bluff. Something I could throw.

Cushion!

With all my force I threw one behind my back.

No dice.

He whacked me over the head so hard it felt like a rock.

On my side I grasped for another.

I waited for just the right millisecond. For him to bend down.

I leapt, forcing the thick layers of fabric and fluff over his face.

Now the Smoker was the one gasping, arms flailing around blind.

Quickly, I retracted before I did something I regretted or my beast got lucky.

Happy to say, I stepped on his protected face.

I tripped and on all fours scrambled to hide in the kitchen. My breaths came in shallow gasps hearing footsteps and growls, bringing to mind rabid wolves.

Luck shined on me again in the form of granny’s steel pan.

Grabbing the handle, I brandished the cookware similar to a sword.

I whacked without abandon but still heard a satisfying CLUNK. The vibrations so deep they tingled my hand!

Still, I was better off than the Smoker whose cigarette hand was now a weird marriage of stiff yet squishy lump at the same time. With some vigor I continued my assault, catching the second, his forearm, and his belly.

He was forced to kneel, heaving as he struggled to catch his breath at all.

“Hands in the air!” screamed a man in dark blue.

Still in my stupor I dropped the pan as if it were a hot potato.

Like me the police were shocked into what they walked in on.Except they regained their bearings lightning quick, just like heroes did.

Picking the bruised Smoker off the floor they cuffed him.

Seeing them my voice came back as if I had eaten an Ursula pearl. I tried to tell the story of my grandma in the closet and under the bed, all the stolen things, and the dirty, dirty bonnet.

My body eventually caught up with my mind who both realized it was over. My knees nearly gave out until a pair of hands caught me, and guided me to the sofa.

“Don’t worry, you’re alright now,” comforted a buck-toothed officer with adorable little curls of fool’s gold hair blooming out of his hat.

His smile was so gentle. So nice. Like a Prince’s. Or a man doing his cop job.

And all I could do was nod.

With all the excitement over I realized just how terrified I was. As good an idea as crying sounded, my heart still hammered too, too much for that.

“Look I hate to do this,” Buck Tooth admitted softly, “but we’ll need some answers. So, if you could come with us to the station to answer some questions–”

“Oh no she won’t,” my granny said in rasped tones. I nearly jumped before remembering my granny really did have a sore throat. I breathed a little easier at seeing her. Red faced and droopy eyed with her flannel pajamas all rumpled she still looked okay for a woman with a cold who had been forced into her closet.

She joined me on the sofa, immediately shielding me in a warm but a firm embrace. I clung to her arm, blocking out how I had almost been suffocated.

Not ten minutes ago I think.

“Whatever you ask, she can answer right here,” she coughed, sounding a bit mannish.

“Granny!” I yelped.

“Fine. I’m fine sweetie,” she assured, clearing her congested throat.

“And you,” she snapped at Buck Tooth, “put on a pot of tea for my granddaughter.”

With permission from his partner, Buck Tooth obeyed the order. The other cop relented granny’s second demand and after calling my Mom over, questioned me about the last twenty minutes. I answered as best I could, reliving every last detail. Granny also gave her two cents here and there.

The Smoker’s capture would cause an uproar.

Not in the least for who had been the one to do the deed.

My Mom, beside herself with worry, smothered me in love and diligent watch. Even in our home.

Really now?

Then again, I wouldn’t be so mean anymore as to turn her away.

I became her shadow, pining for her company and clinging to her in the circus of media vultures and police deposition. Still, it was cool to see my picture in the paper.

I had proudly read the headline.

‘A Red Riding Hood Story: How Lockpicking Burglar Walter Loope was Ensnared.’

Sure, I’m a “clever, resourceful girl full of spunk,” but maybe I’d take a friend on my next adventure.