| Family Tempo |

Where Dreams Come True

By Rachael Lavon | August 1, 2018

“Well, right now my job is to smile. Smiling like that for so long isn’t normal! When my shift is over my face hurts”

My phone lets out a squeak just as Cinderella walks into the salon. I’d texted Zalmy moments before, asking if I should call my real estate friend in Elmway to see if she has anything exciting on the market. His response:

Q make wings for dinner?

U R the best cook

Wow. Flattery. Another day, another avoidance tactic.

Cinderella begins to whine. “Do something with these!” She plops down in my chair and rubs at the tiny laugh lines beneath her cheekbones. “They’re getting worse!”

I bend down to get a better look.

“Smile.”

She shoots me her most magnificent princess smile.

“They’re not worse. They’re barely noticeable.” I grab her wig — a blonde updo complete with a light-blue diamond studded band — and slide it onto her head.

“Really?”

I nod my head slowly. “You know what this is, right?” I raise an eyebrow, meeting her glare.

She lets out a long breath. “Me being me. Stressing and obsessing for no reason.”

“Remember the LSATS? How you worked yourself up over every little thing beforehand? What do I always tell you about stress?”

“Stress makes a mess.”

I nod. She tilts her head as I touch up a dangling tendril with my curling iron.

“Okay, but wait a second. If I was a professional lumberjack you’d expect my forearms to get large, right?”

I know exactly where she’s going with this.

“Well, right now my job is to smile. Smiling like that for so long isn’t normal! When my shift is over my face hurts, and I’m telling you the lines are getting worse. Honestly, I think that this is a work-related injury. I want workers' comp. If I’m denied, I’ll sue.”

I fluff up her sweeping side bang. “You’re gonna sue Disney World?” I roll my eyes. “Listen to me. You’re starting law school in two weeks. You’re anxious, worried things aren’t going to go as planned. You’re an ISTJ — it comes with the territory. You just need to breathe through it! Everything is going to be fine.”

She sits very still, staring at me in the mirror with wide eyes. Finally, she gives a little nod.

“Two weeks. And once you leave this place you never have to smile again.”

She laughs, her arms relax, and I feel her tension seeping away. She hops off the chair. “What am I gonna do without you, Miriam?”

It was a sociable grocery store employee who helped me find this job. We’d been living in Orlando for less than a week when the Publix cashier asked me what I did for a living.

“I’m a certified cosmetologist. I work mostly with wigs, though.”

She’d let out a hearty laugh. “Well, you’ve come to the right place! This town has all the wigs!”

I’m pretty sure she’d never been to Lakewood.

I sent in my resume to Disney World, assuming nothing would come of it… but the timing was good and my background in wig styling was a bonus. And that’s how I became an official employee of the Happiest Place on Earth.

Tinkerbell walks in just as I’m packing up to go home.

“I need advice.” She looks around to make sure the room’s empty.

I glance at my watch. “What’s up?” Since I explained the five love languages to Tinkerbell, she seems to think I’m some sort of shalom bayis coach, which is hysterical because I’ve only been married for three years, not to mention I’m definitely younger than her.

“So, um, my new brother- and sister-in-law are coming in for the weekend. From New York. They don’t know… well, we never told them we… voted for Trump,” she whispers. “We need to pretend to be liberals or there will be bloodshed.”

I wave my hand. “Easy. There are two steps. First you find something mundane to be deeply offended by. Like—” I look around the room. “That tray of baked goods.” I walk over and pick up a big black-and-white cookie. “Then you say something that makes very little sense, with a LOT of emotion, like, ‘The delineation between black and white on this cookie is deeply offensive and the fact that consumers buy said cookies is a clear indication that this country is going down the drain because of the current administration.’ It’s better if you cry a little.”

Tinkerbell is scribbling all this down in a notepad.

“Step two.” I pick up a meringue. “Make some sort of Trump reference like ‘Doesn’t this meringue resemble Trump’s coiffure?’ and that’s it.” I shrug. “You’re done.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, once you mention the T-word, they’ll just keep talking and talking until they run out of steam. Like a windup toy.”

“Thanks, Miriam, I knew I could count on you!”

We talk for another minute, and then I dash out of the salon and start the trek to the staff shuttle. When I tell people that I work in Disney World, they picture me riding It’s a Small World next to Minnie Mouse. The reality is a little different. First of all, I don’t work in the park, but underneath it. The Magic Kingdom is built atop nine acres of winding labyrinths, filled with offices, dressing rooms, kitchens, laundry rooms and most important, Kingdom Kutters — the employee hair salon.

After getting off the staff shuttle I make my way to my car. From there it’s only a short drive to my daughter’s playgroup.

“Wanna paint when we get home, Ruchy?” I wrap my toddler in a big hug.

“Speaking of paint,” says Morah Shani while handing me Ruchy’s tiny backpack, “can I give you my sheitel? I wore it for arts and crafts the other day. Bad call.” She holds out a short layer from the back of her sheitel, flecked with green paint.

As I inspect it, I notice her eyes look red. Poor Shani. She’s an ESFJ on the Myers–Briggs, which makes her super fun to be around, but most people don’t realize that ESFJs are also highly sensitive.

“Sure, no problem.” I hesitate for a minute, then add. “Everything okay?”

Shani’s eyes fill. “You have a minute? You won’t believe what my sister said to me.”

I don’t make it home until five.

At the age of ten, I mastered the French braid and from then I realized that running a brush through someone’s hair or wig seems to unlock a torrent of emotions.

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about people, and these days I don’t just listen, I also try to give advice. I urged Cinderella to pursue a law degree. And just last week we had a goodbye party for our Rapunzel who got into the MFA program she’d been dreaming of.

As I stick dinner in the oven, I feel an uncharacteristic uneasiness creep up around me. Summer’s almost over. There’ll be a whole new crop of princesses in the fall… but I’m not moving on. Our contracts are up next year, and Zalmy and I have no concrete plans. I’ve tried every roundabout way to bring up moving, but Zalmy always wiggles out of the conversation.

Ruchy falls asleep and I start combing through Zillow, dreaming about the future. A garden, messy with flower beds and homegrown vegetables. An old Victorian in disrepair, just waiting for me to restore it. Just as Zalmy comes through the front door, I spot a house I hadn’t seen before.

“I found a house!”

Zalmy throws his keys on the table and sniffs. “Wings,” he says with a slow smile.

“It’s literally perfect. And by perfect, I mean we’ll have to gut it and start from scratch.”

Zalmy grabs a plate from the cabinet.

“Smack in the middle of the frum community in Elmway. Near my cousin Malky.”

“Who?”

“My cousin! She has twins, they visited last summer… Legoland type, not Disney.” Since moving to Orlando we’ve had many relatives climb out of the woodwork, eager to take advantage of our very free guest room.

Zalmy shakes his head slowly.

“She brought cupcakes. Healthy ones and also these huge frosted insane…”

Zalmy snaps his fingers. “Those were good cupcakes.”

“Anyway, this house is near her and it has a massive backyard…”

Zalmy glances at his watch.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry. You’re never going to believe who asked me to learn with him!” he says, excitedly.

“Who?”

“Roi!”

“The Israeli agnostic guy?”

“That one. But I completely forgot, and now I have five minutes to get over to the center.”

“But…”

“Give me a half hour max!” he calls over his shoulder seconds before the front door slams shut.

I peek out the blinds as he climbs into his clunker. He has a problem. It’s not the first time I’m realizing this, he’s a unique blend. An ESFP on the Myers-Briggs, but a nine on the enneagram. Zalmy has a block when it comes to our future, he’ll literally do anything to avoid discussing moving on from his little kiruv post here in Orlando. The irony is that every single day I am able to gently nudge people forward.

The only one I can’t seem to get through to is my husband.

As I get onto the staff shuttle in the morning, my mind rolls back to when we were dating. Zalmy never seemed to have a communication problem. In fact, he seemed to be the ultimate communicator, regaling me with stories, sharing details of his life. And the truth is, we still have great conversations — except when I bring up the future.

I look out the window. Colorful flower beds neatly trimmed into huge mouse ears. Before me lies a day of shiny synthetic wigs waiting to be placed on people hired for their perfect features caked in perfect makeup, wearing perfect costumes. It can get nauseating. Maybe that’s why the girls open up to me when they sit down in my chair, laying out all the chaos and ugliness in their lives. Maybe they sense that I crave a bit of deep, messy, unmanicured real life.

I’m still chugging my coffee when Elsa comes in and sits down in my chair. “So my mom’s in Maui for two months, I told you that right? Her grand retirement vacation?”

I nod, my mouth full of bobby pins.

“Guess what she sends me?” Her face is pouty.

I take out the bobby pins, throw the extra ones back in my drawer. “A lei?”

“Ha. You wish. A postcard! Um, like hi, have we traveled back in time? I guess that’s all I’m worth to her.”

I spin the chair around so she’s facing me, loosen some of the hairs by her ear, adjust her clips in the front.

“Was the postcard blank?”

Her face softens as she dabs a bit more glitter onto her cheekbones.

“Well, no. It was all mushy and stuff, how she wishes I was there with her and blah blah blah.”

I shake my head. “This is your birthday all over again! Do you remember the letter she gave you instead of the watch you wanted?”

Her eyes widen. “Omiiigosh. You’re so right.”

“Of course I’m right. Your mother’s love language is…”

“Words of affirmation.”

“And yours is…”

“Receiving gifts.”

“Your Mom’s postcard was her way of expressing how much she loves you.”

Elsa mulls that over as Snow White walks into the salon, ripping off her wig. “I. Hate. This. Job.”

I pass her a makeup remover wipe and she begins rubbing at her face.

“You know what the problem is with this place?”

I grab a roller. “Do tell.”

“This is where dreams die.”

I give her a look and she launches right in.

“These parents spend their life savings to come on this ridiculous vacation. They wait on line for hours to meet the princesses at Fairytale Hall, and when its finally their turn, they point and smile and get all giddy — There’s Snow White, sweetie! Your favorite! And I wave and bend down and then one kid will have a total meltdown. That’s not real Snow White! It’s awful. The deception. I am literally the death of dreams.”

“Forget the dreams!” I grab the next wig in line for a wash. “You’re a two on the enneagram. You need to give genuinely in order to feel fulfilled. Just focus on the one thing you can actually give these kids.”

She looks up at me, confused.

“A real smile. Everyone appreciates a genuine smile.”

Snow White is dumbstruck. “I never thought of it that way.”

Anna walks in a few minutes later, holding her wig as if it’s some sort of rotting animal carcass. “This thing is so itchy! How can they expect us to wear these?”

“Just think of poor Rapunzel.” I wink.

“Did someone say Rapunzel?”

We all turn around. An unfamiliar girl stands in the doorway to the salon, holding a head with hair that nearly reaches the floor.

“New Rapunzel?” I ask with a smile. “Come sit down, let me help you with that.” I motion toward my salon chair. I introduce myself and the other girls. “So tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I grew up in Altamonte Springs — right here in Orlando.” She has that bouncy sort of voice the Disney people just love. “I spent the last two years at Animal Kingdom. First in ticket sales, then as a ride operator for Expedition Everest. When I heard the mothership was looking for a new Rapunzel I took a huge risk and applied. I’m still shaking! I can’t believe I got it!”

As if she’d accomplished something by having a pretty face.

“Well, we’re glad to have you! So what are your plans?”

Her bewildered eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Plans?”

“Oh, I mean like future plans… are you in school?”

“Oh, no! I love working here! This is where I see myself.”

I blink.

“I’m actually considering growing out my hair in order to give visitors a more authentic Rapunzel experience!” She beams.

I give her a feeble smile and focus on getting her cap right while trying very hard not to roll my eyes.

I think Rapunzel is suffering from Stockholm syndrome and the present is her captor. Just like Zalmy. That evening, I line up the two of them in my brain while chopping onions and saut?ing, comparing and contrasting. I realize I can use her. By the time Zalmy gets home I have a plan — Rapunzel will be his mirror. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the least ambitious of them all?

“Roi and I had another chavrusa today. It’s a neis. I never saw this coming!” Zalmy goes on to tell me about some of his new ideas for the center. I wait for a lull in the conversation and then bring up the new girl.

“So there’s a new Rapunzel at work.”

I lean over and put some salad on his plate.

“That’s the one with the sheitel that doubles as a broom?”

“Yeah… lots of hair.” I clear my throat. “Here’s the weird thing. When I asked about her plans, she said she likes working for the parks. Like, she literally wants to be a Disney princess forever. Which is obviously crazy. It’s the epitome of a dead-end job, not to mention physically impossible, princesses aren’t allowed to age…”

“But if she’s happy, why should she stress about the future? Like you always say, stress makes a mess.”

I pour him some more water; he never drinks enough. Classic nine. “Yeah, well, you know what else makes a mess? Not planning. just pretending the future doesn’t exist. She’s clearly a Type C — too focused on perfecting the present to even glance toward the future.” My tone is harsher than I intended.

Zalmy reaches for a bentsher. “Amazing dinner. Hatzlachah with all the Rasputin stuff.”

I analyze the situation for a few days before mapping out a battle plan. Rapunzel continues to come in perky each morning. Zalmy continues to race back and forth from the center, fully engrossed in the moment. Neither one of them seems to have any foresight whatsoever.

I try peer pressure while Rapunzel’s sitting in my chair one morning. “Snow White’s starting nursing school this fall, that’s a really gratifying profession,” I say cheerily.

Rapunzel tilts her head upward to look at me. “Excuse me, I’m just going to close my eyes for a moment and try to get into character here. Being genuine Rapunzel is not as easy as it looks. I need to prepare.”

And so it goes. Day after day I try all my little tricks to motivate Rapunzel away from Disney World. I offer to analyze her handwriting. I have long conversations with the other girls in front of her. She’s totally uninterested in my visual guidance exercise. “Picture your future… what does it look like? Does it include roaming these dark tunnels?”

Rapunzel frowns. “I find the lighting to be totally sufficient down here! You know, we aren’t actually underground, Miriam,” she chides. “These tunnels are technically the first floor and the park levels are the second and third floors, built atop earth scooped out from the man-made Seven Seas lagoon in the 1970s—”

“Metaphorically,” I sigh. “I meant metaphorically dark.”

I give up. There’s no getting through to Rapunzel while she’s this into her job, I need to catch her at an off moment, a time when she’s not totally enthralled with her work.

I’m on the couch after dinner one night when Zalmy comes in, his face uncharacteristically sober. Zalmy’s never down.

“Just got off the phone with Weinberg. It looks like we lost a big donor at the center.” Zalmy says. “He promised us a certain amount and now has to backtrack. We were really relying on that money.”

Easy now, Miriam. Suggest the move gently… don’t scare him away.

I let out a sympathetic sound. “That’s so sad. Have you ever considered trying something new? Like a different approach?”

“No, the approach wasn’t the problem….” Zalmy sighs, sitting down on the couch.

“Still,” I cut in. “I feel like it might be beneficial to try something different, you know, climb out of the box you’ve built around yourself. Broaden your horizons.”

“The box that I’ve built around myself?” Zalmy sounds incredulous. “Broaden my horizons?” His eyes narrow. “Is this about you wanting to move to the North Pole?”

“Elmway is hardly the North Pole… and we said we’d try this for two or three years and it’s been two and we haven’t even really discussed what we’re doing and I know you’re an ESFP and all but…” I stand up, my courage mounting, ready to present my case.

“Here we go again,” Zalmy mutters, then he meets my eye. “Go ahead.” He gives me a generous wave. “Go on. Give me your full report. I’m an ESFP and—” he motions for me to continue.

“Well… You’re an ESFP, which makes you perfectly suited for kiruv, but not exactly big on planning for the future. And a nine with a one wing on the enneagram, which makes it hard for you to push yourself to leave the familiar and try something new, you’d rather avoid conflict altogether. And your love language is acts of service, which means you don’t understand my need for verbal affirmation and you’re perfectly happy to avoid discussing big things like moving…” I take a moment to catch my breath.

“And you’re accusing me of creating a box around myself?” Zalmy asks.

I feel a pop in my stomach as I digest what he’s implying. The momentum hisses out of me, leaving me deflated. “Look… the personality systems… they help. With self- awareness and stuff.”

Zalmy just stares at me.

“Because self-awareness is power,” I continue.

“Self-awareness, huh.” Zalmy gets up from the couch. “So being that you know all this stuff cold… you should have the most self- awareness, right?”

I stay very still, sensing a trap.

“Let me just ask you one question: Are you happy, Miriam? Right now, here in Orlando, doing what we’re doing. Do you feel a sense of fulfillment?”

I open my mouth to answer, then close it, unsure of what I want to say. His phone lets out a loud beep.

“Maariv,” he says, grabbing his jacket.

I sit on the couch for a long time, staring into space, wondering if I’m happy.

The next day I take out my frustration by throwing myself into work. My fingers move so quickly I accidentally rip Anna’s rubber band while fastening the end of her braid. Twice.

The thing is, Zalmy totally flipped the situation. It’s ridiculous. I don’t have time to dwell on whether I’m happy or not, and that doesn’t mean I’m not self-aware. I’m totally self-aware! I’m a certified graphologist, for goodness’ sake!

At noon Belle and Elsa come into the salon, followed by Rapunzel, who’s nearly hysterical.

“What happened?”

“Some kid spit gum into my wig!” she cries, eyes flashing. “How could a child be so cruel?”

This is your chance, Miriam, don’t mess it up.

I tsk and empathize as I lower the chair for her to sit. Then I get down to business. “It’s tough, isn’t it, this sort of work. Day in and day out. No hope of ever really climbing the ladder.”

“Huh?” Rapunzel gives me a look. “Who needs a ladder when you have hair this long?” She winks.

I grab my Vaseline from the drawer. “What I mean is, this job doesn’t have so much room for growth. You’re kinda stagnant here… it can get depressing.”

I notice Belle give Elsa a look.

Rapunzel’s frown deepens. “I’ve been a Disney employee for a long time now,” she says carefully.

“We know,” Belle and Elsa moan in unison.

“And over time I’ve realized I don’t want to be one of those people who rush through the park, hopping on a ride while their brain is already onto the next thing. I’d rather live in the moment. You know what I mean? I just want to enjoy where I am right now.”

We all look at each other, then Belle and Elsa let out a round of applause while Rapunzel blushes deeply. I swallow, and a painful feeling hits me in the chest, though I’m not sure why.

I’m in the kitchen basting the chicken, when Zalmy walks in early for dinner.

“Zalmy—”

“One second,” he interrupts me. “Before you say anything I just want to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. What I should have said is that I’m really happy.” He pauses. “The whole self-awareness-in-order-to-fix-your-life theory doesn’t do much for me because I don’t think my life needs fixing. I feel fulfilled. I love what I do, I have an amazing wife and daughter, I think this community is perfect for us. But if you want to move to Elmira—”

“Elmway.”

“We’ll move.” His eyes darken. “But not because you’ve decided I’m a 91 on the Richter and you’re worried I’m incapable of trying something new or being open to change. Or that I’m the letters FP&L or the color turquoise or a Pear on the Fruit Scale. I’d rather not be limited to a set of personality traits, stacked up like a deck of cards for you to riffle through when you feel like it.”

“Zalmy—”

“And one more thing; there’s no such thing as the happiest place on earth. Miriam. It’s a myth. Moving may not make you as happy as you think it will, because—”

“Zalmy—”

“The happiest place on earth is only found—” he touches his heart— “inside yourself.” The last bit is said so emphatically, I wrinkle my nose.

“Did you just kiruv line me?”

“Yeah, figured I’d try it out on you before springing it on the masses. Thoughts?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Like, resounding no. Like, never repeat that again.”

We both laugh.

“What I wanted to tell you before you started your soliloquy is that I’m happy, Zalmy. I have you. I have Ruchy. I mean, you’re right that I don’t love spending all day combing glitter into princess wigs — Snow White called it the place where dreams die.”

“So maybe we need to talk about that,” he says.

I pull a face. “Or maybe I have to do a Rapunzel and live in the moment?”

As I say that, I realize that there’s some truth in it. Moving presents its own challenges; I’m not sure I’ll be so thrilled doing sheitels for a bunch of finnicky princesses in a big frum community. And maybe if we moved into a place with a huge, wild yard I’d miss the manicured gardens.

He looks at me, considering whether I really mean that or not.

Honestly, I don’t know. But if Zalmy’s already talking about the future, I’ll press the point home. “Can I reserve the right to have a conversation every once in a while about where we’re holding and the future and stuff?”

“Sure. Anytime.”

“Anytime?”

“Yeah, I’m always up for a conversation.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just go, ‘Zalmy, let’s talk about the future.’ ”

Well, then. It’s as simple as—

“But then I’ll probably launch into a discussion about flying cars. Will they help with traffic congestion? Yes. But let me ask you this — will every fender bender be fatal? Not sure I’m loving the odds….”

So Zalmy has a problem planning for the future. It’s official. But you know what? Right now, I guess I’m okay with that.

At work the next day, Belle is stress-eating a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar, declaring she’s going to boycott until they come out with a Minnie flavor.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be back in New Haven next week. The summer flew by! It’s weird, but honestly, I’m going to miss all this.” She sighs.

Rapunzel shakes her head somberly. “I can’t imagine leaving. This must be so hard for you. What on earth is there to do in Connecticut anyway?”

Belle blinks. “Yale.”

I have an urge to explain to Rapunzel that she’s a seven — explain to her that it’s her own personality that’s keeping her back in life. But Zalmy’s words come ringing back. Maybe with my constant diagnosing I’m whittling people down instead of building them up. Maybe I do put people in boxes.

I take a deep breath. “Guys, listen to me. It doesn’t matter where you are physically — there’s no such thing as the happiest place on earth. Because the happiest place on earth is really inside of us. In here.” I point to my heart and gag a little.

Rapunzel beams. “So wise, Miriam.” Then she lowers her voice and whispers, “But we both know the happiest place on earth is really Disney World, right?”

(Originally Featured in Family First, Issue 603)

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