1927
How can you be anything but vain, when all your life, the only thing that was valued about you was your face?
My earliest memories are of being complimented.
"Oh isn't she a darling!"
"She looks like an angel."
"She is such a pretty child, Mrs Hale."
When people looked at me approvingly, my mother would smile. I learned that by receiving compliments, I would make her happy and my father proud.
Sometimes old friends would visit my parents and tell them how much I had grown. In a panic, I would run to my mother's room, and check in the looking glass on her dressing table. But I was still me, blonde hair in childish ringlets, blue eyes wide in distress. I supposed that I had grown, changed for the better. Every year I grew, I improved. I went from adorable baby to darling toddler to angelic child. My brothers eventually followed me as strong, brave boys, but I was the apple of my father's eye, my mother's darling.
My mother would brush my hair with long languid strokes each night before I went to bed. Sometimes she would tell me stories, sometimes she would tell me about her day and other times she would be silent, lost in her thoughts. I always admired my mother, she was elegant and as fashionable as she could afford. However it was my father I adored. He was strong, strict with my brothers, always right and best of all, he adored me.
- - -
Am I dead yet? It hurts. It hurts so much. Don't let go of these memories. Hold on. Focus on who you were.
- - -
Walking home alone. It was such a short distance. Chilly air crawled under my jacket. A strand of hair had slipped out of its pins, tickling my cheek.
- - -
I was twelve when I met Vera. Our fathers worked together at the bank. In retrospect, it was still a prosperous time. After the Great War, women were cutting their hair and wearing short dresses that often showed their knees. My mother would tut at those girls, while I dreamed of the day to be allowed to cut my hair in a bob and wear those flapper dresses.
Mr. Miller had invited my father to tea, hoping to impress him. My mother pulled me aside in the afternoon to tell me that my brothers were too young to go, but I had been so well behaved that I could attend the tea. So I ran into the nursery to tell Georgie and John my good news and their bad. They, of course, started to cry, screaming and throwing their toys. I rolled my eyes and left them with their nanny.
I put on my best dress and my mother brushed my hair. She tied a ribbon in it to match the dress and my father told me how pretty I looked. I smiled at him as prettily as I could, while out of the corner of my eye I looked in the mirror at myself, just to make sure I was as pretty as he said.
We walked to the Miller's place and I held my mother's hand. Two men, in dusty labourer overalls, came towards us on the footpath. They stood aside to let us pass. One nudged the other while winking at me. I smiled at them, but also felt hot in the cheeks, a flush rising above my collar.
"My blushing Rose is going to break a lot of hearts," my mother remarked to my father.
"As long as she keeps the right one safe," he responded. I know now that his idea of 'the right heart' and mine were very different.
--
Don't forget. It's who you are. It's who you were. The pain, like needles in my veins, like fire on my skin, like acid in my blood. I scream.
- - -
The streets lights had been lit. Small islands of warm yellow glow were separated by oceans of dark pavement. Darker alleys shooting off the main street were ominous portals to dark places. I thought of light fabrics, pretty flowers and how jealous all my friends would be.
- -
Vera had a sweet face. She wasn't striking. She wasn't beautiful. She was just sweet. Her disposition matched her face. I remember taking pleasure upon seeing her, her hair was brown and mine was golden. Her eyes were brown and mine had been described as cornflower blue. I had a momentary flush of guilt thinking of her so dismissively and then I remembered that I made my father proud by being pretty. I wondered how Vera made her father proud.
Vera had a brother, a little older than mine, but still younger than us. We visited him in his room, while our parents were talking. He was playing with some wooden blocks and a wind-up motor car. I looked at the little car, fascinated how it moved. The shiny red tin roof beckoned to me. I picked it up, ignoring Willie Miller's dismay at the interruption of his game. I traced my finger along its roof, outlining the doors. I flipped it upside down, wondering what made it go, when chubby fingers snatched it from my grasp.
"Hey!"
"It's mine!" Willie shouted at me, red in the face.
"Willie, that's not nice. Rosalie is a guest here. She can look at the car." Vera tried to discipline her brother, but Willie pushed past her and out of the room, clutching his precious toy to his chest.
"I'm sorry about him." Vera turned to me, desperate to redeem herself as a worthy friend despite her brother's atrocious behaviour.
"Don't worry about it. Little brothers are a bore. Does he have any other cars I can look at?"
Vera shook her head apologetically. "Only the one. That's why he's so precious about it. But I can show you my dolls?" She turned the statement into a question, which I agreed to. Dolls, although more lady-like, didn't have the same appeal to me as a motor car.
- - -
Don't forget. Don't let them fade. You were Rosalie Hale. You turned heads in every room. You caught every eye. Be proud of who you were. It hurts…
- - -
Raucous laughter, my heart beat faster, my arms clutched tighter around my waist.
"Rose!"
It was Royce, my groom, my love, my man. I walked to him eagerly, foolishly, in the dark alley, he would protect me.
- - -
1929
It was Georgie's birthday and I was still thirteen. My father came home and gave me a gift, a new dress. Georgie was upset, but easily placated with his gift, a small battalion of toy soldiers. John, my youngest brother, was upset that he had nothing. But we ignored him when he went to sulk in the nursery.
"So Georgie," my father had him on his knee, "I know today is special for you because it's your birthday." At this point my brother cheered. "But it's also a special for the nation."
"Why is that?"
I rolled my eyes. I was grown up now, I read the paper, and I couldn't believe my little brother could be so ignorant. "Because we have a new president, George. Don't you know anything?"
Father looked at me, attempting to placate me with his stare. I folded my arms and looked away.
"His name is Herbert Hoover, son, and he's the thirty-first President of this country." George thought about it for a moment and then asked who had been the one before. I sighed again, but my father answered him before I could say anything.
"Calvin Coolidge"
The following Sunday we went to church. I wore my new dress, I was so pleased with it. The skirt spun out as I twirled. I only did it once in my room, as now I was too old to be acting so childish in public. We sat in church, and instead of praying for my soul, I was trying to see how many boys were looking at me out of the corner of their eyes. I faltered, feeling guilty, then started to praying to God to forgive me. But surely he couldn't have made me so attractive without a reason for doing it?
- - -
Hold on to the past. You nearly had everything you wanted. Hold on.
Burning. Burning. Burning. I scream. Again and again.
"I'm so sorry. It's the only way I could save you…"
- - -
The buttons fell to the ground haphazardly, like snow. Now freed from my jacket, a gift, they winked at me from the ground. I shivered.
"Let's have a look at you then."
They wouldn't…
Pain. They ripped my hat from my head. The pins tugged at my hair, relenting their grasp and abandoning me.
They couldn't…
I looked my saviour in the eye.
- - -
"Did you hear, Rose?"
"Hear about what?" Vera was obviously excited about something.
"About the television, in color!"
"What?"
"In New York, at the Bell Telephone Labs last week, they transmitted pictures in colour!"
"That's amazing." At first I was stunned, technology was moving so quickly, then I felt envious. "We don't even have a television, father says we can't afford one and mother says that the waves are bad for you. I'm sure that the waves in the air transmitting the pictures are not lethal in any way. My parents are so old!"
Vera sat quietly for a moment. I realised that if we couldn't afford a television, they definitely couldn't. She then perked up, "they transmitted the picture all the way to Washington. The pictures were of a bouquet of roses and the flag."
Vera offered me more tea, which I declined. I stared out of the window, losing myself for a moment.
"Oh, don't forget it's my birthday in two weeks."
"Rose, how could I forget? It's the eleventh of April, just like last year." She giggled at her own joke.
"Well, I'm having a little party in the afternoon, so I hope you'll come."
"Of course, I'd love to come. Thank you for inviting me."
The sun was starting to set and I needed to get home. I made my goodbyes, put on my coat and left the house. I walked home thinking about the things I wanted; a modern kitchen, servants to wash and cook and clean for me, a television. A bump on my shoulder pulled me out of my reverie. I realised I'd walked into a boy on the footpath going in the other direction.
"Sorry," I apologised, though I didn't really mean it. I just batted my lashes and smiled coyly.
"Anytime you want, little Darlin'" He tipped his hat, and continued on his way. I swear, sometimes I thought I'd be able to get away with murder just with a smile and flick of my hair.
- - -
Don't glorify. Don't condemn. Just remember.
"I'm so sorry Rosalie. I don't know if you remember me…"
I give up screaming.
- - -
Royce. My saviour. He wouldn't let them touch me. He loved me.
He looked at me, and then smiled lazily. "Come on Rose, don't be shy."
Why was he doing this?
"Don't." I warned.
He laughed.
"Don't." I commanded. He just smirked at me. Fear drenched me in a sudden icy shower.
"Please." I demanded.
They all laughed.
"Please." I begged. I felt a hand run down the back of my neck and onto my shoulder.
- - -
Father was late home. Again. This was the third time this week. It was the middle of Fall, end of October. Dinner was keeping warm in the oven, my stomach was grumbling and so was I.
"Why can't we eat? Mother, I'm hungry!"
"We will eat together, like a family. Rosalie, be patient." I humphed, and petulantly folded my arms. Georgie and John were under the dining room table playing with their soldiers.
We waited for another fifteen minutes and then my mother telephoned the bank. She did a lot of nodding and then finally announced, "he left twenty minutes ago, so he should be here any minute. Rose, come and help me in the kitchen."
I helped getting dinner out of the oven and on the table. While I was setting the cutlery Father walked in the door. He took off his hat and coat and sat down at the table. Georgie and John, realising Father was home, sat down quietly in their chairs.
We started eating straightaway. We were too hungry and father looked too tired to talk. Finally my mother put down her napkin, after touching it delicately on each side of her mouth, and asked my father why he was late.
"The past couple of days have been hectic. Apparently some trouble at the Stock Exchange. It's got a lot of the bosses worried." At this my mother looked stricken. "Don't worry darling, everything will be fine."
There was a pause. The clanking of cutlery on the crockery was very loud. Georgie and John were trying not to laugh, risking our father's displeasure, playing some silly game with their feet. I decided to break the silence, "Did you hear that in New York City, they are opening a Museum of Modern Art. It opens November Seven. Do you think we could go?"
"Not at the moment. We'll see next year."
"But-"
"Not now. Things are too hectic at the bank, just wait till next year."
- - -
Focus on your memories. Ignore the pain.
"Your human life is over…"
This was your life, your human life. The pain, grief, loss, anger, rage, desolation, abandonment, they were part of your life.
"You're changing…"
- - -
I pulled away out of reach. A snigger. Taking a step away from one, I walked into another. Another leer, a rough hand stroked my arm. I backed away.
"Royce, I want to go home."
"Ah Rose. I've been so good, waiting for you. But now I'm fed up with waiting."
"What?" I didn't understand. Foolish, naïve girl. I thought I knew everything at eighteen. Pure child waiting till her wedding night.
"Now Rose."
Royce's hands lashed out, one hand grabbing my waist, the other between my legs. His fingers curled tightly on me, painfully so. I had never been touched there before. It was confronting. No, it was terrifying.
- - -
1930
I wished my father made more money. I wished we could afford to keep more than a nanny. I had always thought we lived a good life, but the older I became the more I noticed we lacked. My mother cooked for all of us in our ancient kitchen. I spent a lot of my day helping her, or scrubbing the pots she used. Father promised us that as soon as John and Georgie were old enough, we would get rid of the nanny and hire a maid. But John was already nine, he was just being a baby about Abigail, and refused to let her go. Physically.
While I was dusting in the parlour, my hair kept neat under a scarf, father came in and sat down. "Ah Rose, I walked home today and saw more shiftless people on the street. If they just got off their lazy behinds and found a job it would be alright. I mean, the president has gone to Congress only last week and asked for money for create jobs."
"Father, I can tell you one person who has a job that isn't required, it's Abigail. She should be dusting and scrubbing. Not following little baby John around." I huffed as I lifted the umpteenth little porcelain model and dusted around it.
"You're so stubborn, Rose."
"I prefer to call it tenacious."
"But you're right. First thing tomorrow, I'm going to speak to John and then Abigail."
"Really?" Father was finally listening to me. I knew that if I just persisted, he'd see reason. "Thank you Father," I cried out as I ran and jumped onto his lap, my arms locked around his neck. "You really are the best father in the whole world."
"I just want to make my Rose happy."
- - -
What am I now?
"You'll be different…"
A shell of memories? A collection of unfulfilled wishes and yearnings?
"Your human needs will be gone. I'm so sorry…"
- - -
I tried to run, I guess it was instinct.
It's just not fair when the predators outnumber the prey.
It's not fair when they are stronger.
It's not fair.
Hands everywhere, touching, grabbing, pulling, tugging.
"Stop it," I threatened. I slapped at a hand, I tugged my dress out of their grasp.
"Stop it!" I screamed. Then I gave up on coherent words. I just screamed.
- - -