Spoiler! :
“I’m never getting married” Is what it said. Written feverishly on exercise book. The pen had pressed so hard it almost tore the paper. The handwriting so messy it was almost unreadable. They were words of passion, words of certainty, a one girl’s mind that would not be changed.
That very girl was now a women and leaning over the ragged notebook, in the corner of a room that was once her own. She couldn’t recognize this girl who wrote the words. A girl with her opinions and fire and flair. She was like a dream, something that the women could read but not understand.
The women stood up from the notebook and paced herself around the room. It was the first time she had visited it in 6 years and it had changed drastically. Most toxins of her adolescence had been scrubbed away. The closet of black had been given to charity and shelves painted back to white. The women touched the peeled wallpaper where all her posters had been ripped off.
Then she looked in the mirror. Her reflection has changed as much as the room itself. Though her skin was still pale and thin like crate paper. Her hair was dyed platinum blond and ironed into tight cowlick curls. She showed the beginning of aging, with creases forming around her eyes and mouth, that she chose to ignore. Her figure was slender and almost always fitted into breezy summer dresses. She was clean, easy and conventional. A productive member of society. A perfect wife, perfect daughter, perfect employer. A sweet and simple woman. The girl would have despised her.
There were not many pictures of the girl in the house. The last thing her parents had wanted. Her parents were like any couple on a small suburban street in the backblocks of Melbourne. The girl looked like she more belonged in Kings Cross or some other seedy suburb. She had fallen in love with dying her hair and changed it weekly. When she was 14 she shaved one half of it off and pushed the rest to the side. Her eyes were the colour of smoke, speckled with green and hazel and fuelled with anger. She wore plaid miniskirts, patterned tights and jumpers even in the boiling summer. Heavy army boots were her shoe of choice. She would stomp around her house in them just to feel heard.
The girl spent little time at her house, and she spent the time she was there wishing she wasn’t. It had never been her home, as far as she was concerned. Instead she took buses to the city, just to get away. She wandered the well-worn backstreet and narrow alleys, staring up at the sky, mind blank, running her fingers along the brick scorched by graffiti and tags. She had some friends, but few. Partly because she was not the type of person the suburb kids wanted to bring home and partly because she could zone out so far people thought she was sleeping with her eyes open. In fact she could so zone out so far people would think she wasn’t there at all. And maybe she wasn’t.
The woman’s parents called her down to lunch. It was a usual Sunday spread, of roast chicken and potatoes and white dough rolls. The woman’s husband, Clark was sitting opposite her in a mustard coloured shirt. Clark’s sharp Italian features had once been so handsome and enduring. With age and the stress of marriage he now just appeared cruel.
He was a strong man, in both mind and body. He was proud of his ability to withhold emotion, especially to his wife. Over the years their marriage had gone from joyful to sensible to miserable. Now he didn’t even look at her.
The woman’s parents, however, were oblivious. They were on the downhill side of 60 and had a hard time excepting it. They bought into the suburban dream, a pastel coloured house and a wardrobe full of beige.
“I saw you were looking through your old room, love” Said the women’s father
“Yeah just looking through some old photo’s” She said fidgeting in her seat
“Was it from that awful rebellious phase” Said the mother, laughing awkwardly.
“Oh I wasn’t just a phase, dear” Said the father “It was your whole adolescence. You were a silly girl, you were. A silly, silly girl.”
“Yeah I guess so” Said the woman, again looking down at her hands.
“Well you grew up” Clark said with his deep booming voice. “That’s what happens with everyone, they grow up.”
The girl sat poised at the stranger’s window, looking down at the heads below her. She was at a house party, one that everyone was going to. She estimated she had about 7 minutes before the drugs kicked in. The girl had always fantasied about getting high. People had told her that it was like getting lost in a beautiful city. That you did not know where you were or what you were doing but that was okay. She heard the ugly of it to. That it could drive you crazy. That it could kill you. “I’m already dead” she thought. So here she was, seeing the lights of the party below her blur in her charcoal rimmed eyes. Three grams of coke was rushing through her body, it was only a matter of time till it set in.
The girl climbed back through her bedroom window at noon the next day. All the energy had been sapped from her body in the 12 block run from the party to her own miserable house. Her parents were out as she lay, exhausted in her bed, cotton sheets sticking to her bony, sweaty body. “I want to do that next weekend” she thought “And every weekend after that.”
“So how bad were you as a kid” asked Clark on the car ride back. Although he had made a silent pledge to ignore the woman (as punishment for not ironing his pants) he let his curiosity get the best of him.
“How do you mean” said the women
“Did you go to parties?”
“Yes” she said, voice clipped in fear for his reaction
“Drink alcohol?”
“Well yes”
He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“Drugs”
The woman’s voice was now trembling.
“Yes”
Clark’s knuckles were now white around the steering wheel.
“Why”
“I – I was a angry kid, Clark. I really angry messed up kid.” She stumbled over her words.
He swerved violently to the side of the road.
“Do you know why I’m upset about this?” His voice was soft and dangerous
“Honey, please-“
“Do you?”
“It was a long time ago”
“It doesn’t change anything-“
I was a different person, I’ve changed”
“People don’t change”
“Honey please keep driving”
He looked at her, all sharp eyes and features, then slowly started the car motor.
“If you have been hiding that what else have you been hiding” said Clark
“Nothing”
“And how can I believe that”
“You just have to trust me”
“Trust you” his voice splintered in rage.
“I hate you” he said “and knows I mean it”
Clack didn’t mean it, of course. He forgave her a few days later and life went on as normal. The woman continued visiting her parents monthly. She continued to waste her money on things she did not need. She continued to despise her crow’s feet, die her hair, work her job, which was both unchallenging and boring. She continued to dodge questions about her youth, switching the topic and glossing over details.
It seemed that, at last, the girl had been silenced.
I'll start with edits.
Gender:
Points: 2564
Reviews: 129