Rapunzel

Once upon a time there was a young woman named Rap, who, because of horrifying childcare loopholes, lived in a locked attic studio with an old bitch of an aunt.

More specifically, she lived in the locked attic studio of a five-story heritage home owned by her old bitch of an aunt. Inside the renovated turret Rap was alone (as she had been since she turned twelve and her aunt lost her temper), with only homeschooling workbooks as her guide. Sheltered wouldn't even begin to describe it. 

To pass the time, she spit rhymes and experimented with French braids. Her hair, having never seen a stylist, grew long past her feet. Fearing a tangled up mess, Rap washed her hair every night. It required an entire bottle of shampoo and was a nightmare to comb, but the pay-off was a gloriously smooth mane that glimmered in the sunshine, which poured in from the only tiny window that offered Rap a glance at the outside world.

Rap didn't see it that way, though. The weight of her gorgeous hair gave her a constant migraine, required hours of her time that could be devoted to something more fun, like learning German, and at seventeen, the braid was starting to feel a bit juvenile.

Her aunt would hear none of Rap's nonsense for a haircut, wailing that Rap's hair was her best feature and she should count herself lucky. Aunt Bitch's compliments always felt like an insult.

So each morning her aunt would visit her, bringing organic shampoo made from baobab oil. Rather than use the interior stairs or unlock the door, her aunt would hunch out under Rap's window and scream,

"Rap! RAP! Prove how strong that hair is!"

And Rap would heave her rope-like mane out the window and grimace and yelp as her aunt literally climbed her braid like a ladder. When asked why the stairs wouldn't do, Aunt Bitch just snarled and threw a head of lettuce at her. "I'm eccentric!" she rasped.

As was mentioned, horrifying childcare loopholes.

One day, a teenage boy named Kingson was riding his skateboard down some old mysterious streets and found himself in a quiet end of town he had never been to before. Spying a sweet hill, he smiled as his board picked up speed, but nearly bailed onto the pavement when he heard the sound of someone who could spit rhymes like no one else. Looking up, he saw a young woman sitting in the top attic window of a massive house, with musicality that only could only come from hours of dedication and practice. Kingson walked closer and caught Rap's eye. She stopped, startled.

"Nice flow," he offered.

Wanting to hang out, Kingson started to walk towards the front of the house.

"Wait!" Rap called out. Kingson did, and suddenly a braid the length of a fire truck ladder came tumbling down from the window.

He was surprised, but also really into climbing, so Kingson maneuvered his way up the turret using Rap's French braid and crawled in through her window.

Rap, having never had a friend, was socially awkward beyond imagination. Kingson, being raised by liberal parents and the Waldorf educational system, was cool enough to navigate it. Rap taught Kingson how to bust rhymes. Kingson taught Rap how to make green smoothies, using field greens he brought wrapped in vegan silk from the farmers' market. "The antibacterial silk keeps them fresh," he explained.

They became friends in secret, fearing what Rap's Aunt Bitch might do. Aunt Bitch had a way with Child Protection Services that seemed like magic, so once a week Kingson would climb into Rap's attic studio and the two friends would share each others' hopes and dreams: Rap wanting emancipation and a haircut, Kingson wanting to explore his creativity in the kitchen. They grew closer, and one night, Rap nervously confided in Kingson that she wanted him to give her something dangerous, but exciting. And on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, he did.

The next day, feeling incredibly energetic, Kingson skated over to Rap's turret and stood under the window, calling for his friend. What he got instead was Aunt Bitch, screaming in wild fury from above. She heaved something at him, and Kingson was knocked over by the weight of Rap's braid. The knot at the end gave him two black eyes. As he lay in the mud under the golden locks that had been sliced with precision from the scissors he had brought the night before, Rap called out from the bushes.

"Fuck that French braid."

Rap, rocking a very chic bob, had arranged her chopped braid into an obscene gesture for her aunt to find, and unsuccessfully tried to smash down her locked door. She had resorted to making a rope out of the silk cloths from the field greens, and had climbed out of her turret to find a new apartment.

Kingson and Rap, now eighteen and legally able to leave Aunt Bitch, ran off to live happily in independence. They both work at the Tower St. Cafe, where Rap leads the open mic and Kingson runs the smoothie bar.

Ever had an awkward hair phase? Share your emotional pain in the comments below!