Now Upon A Time

A long, long time ago, nestled in a valley of rolling hills that resembled the curves of a mariachi’s guitar, there was a magnificent kingdom called…San Antonio. And although this kingdom was more than likely far, far away from where you live (depending on where you live), you could smell its pleasant aroma on the wind from miles and miles away. That’s because the residents of San Antonio were master chefs.

Once upon a time, there was a Little Mermaid. She loved to swim in the ocean and sing songs with all the other creatures of the sea. The Little Mermaid had the most beautiful voice in all the seven seas. All of the fish, dolphins, crabs and even mollusk just loved to hear her sing, particularly her originals. She did this sort of alt-country, indie pop thing. Different, but still radio-friendly. Wait, what were we talking about again?

Once upon a time in a bustling kingdom not too far from here, there lived a poor old man and his very smart daughter, Isabelle. Izzy, as she liked to be called, had graduated from a renowned university and made a good enough living to support her father and pay for the apartment that they shared. Her father was proud of her and often told tales of her investment and money-making skills at the local pub. On one such occasion the young king happened to be walking by and heard the old man.

Of all the 12-year-olds in all the apartments in all of Bed Stuy, not a single one was more special than Ruby Brown. Maybe it was the way her Lady of Rage afro puffs sat atop her head like balls of raspberry cotton candy. Or how the perfectly placed crimson freckles dotting her face seemed to smile every time she did. And that smile; big, broad and beautiful.

Once upon a time there was a happy kingdom ruled by a king and queen. One winter day, the queen was sewing by a sunny window. You see, she had a pretty solid side-hustle selling handmade crafts on Etsy. As the queen gazed out upon her lands, she thought to herself, “I really wish I could have a little daughter so I could teach her about needlework and also how to run a successful female-owned business.”

This tale starts the way many tales do, with an eccentric old woman in a crumbling castle on the high hill north of a small, sleepy town. She was twisted and stooped as an old tree, and so much a part of the scenery she was mostly forgotten. But every spring a mighty wind blew a garlick-y, pepper-y smell through the streets and people remembered.