7.
Alice bolted awake just as dawn began to wanly heat the sky. Curled into a ball of tension, she had lain there till early morning, unable to fall asleep in the first place; she had slept poorly all night; now it was time for her to get up-- weary or not-- to finally embark on this crazy, terrifying, half-rational plan. She would go through with it-- she had promised herself the night before not to change her mind in the morning, no matter what.
She cast a longing look at her bed. It would be so much easier to change her mind anyway-- to collapse back into sleep, to wake to her own life, having missed all the strain and terror and trauma-- but it would be the same life forever, and without that cherubic smile which had, briefly, promised something she had always wanted-- love for her real self, desire to throw away her charade. Anyway, she could not face her mother's anger and paranoia again. Oh, she would go through with it, but her hands trembled as she opened her closet doors.
Automatically she reached towards the pink dress she'd thought to wear, the petal-like button-down silk with the tailored red jacket that constricted her shoulders but looked feminine and cute. IYou'll never catch anyone's eye if you dress like dirt... You're a sweet little maiden,/I her mother's voice echoed in her mind. She wanted to impress Claude-- more than she had ever wanted to impress anyone before. She Iliked/I him and, miracle of miracles, he also seemed to like her.
But he liked who she really was, not what she might pretend to be.
IThat's it./I What she pulled from the closet was a gathered brown skirt and a loose dark green shirt. IIf I'm going, I'm going all the way./I From now on she would wear what she liked and go where she pleased; she would state her own opinion as loudly as she could; and if someone made a dirty joke, she was damned well going to laugh at it. People might think whatever they liked of her; they were not the ones who had to live as the lady they wanted to admire. The difficult part, she knew, would be trying not to pass her mother's judgment on herself. She stuffed a backpack with a toothbrush, a few changes of clothes, her money and as many of her notebooks and sketches as she could gather. Hopefully she would never see this room again.
She stole out of her room, clutching a small crumple of fabric. Silently she crept to the door of her mother's room, sliding along the board that generally did not creak. For once she was thankful that she knew this prison so well-- and Claude would still be asleep, as she had not heard him try to leave. She pressed her ear to the door and, hearing only soft, sleep-heavy breathing, she turned the doorknob and crept in.
Her mother looked surprisingly peaceful in her sleep. Sick and angry and bitter during the day, all of her icy misery seemed to have melted into so much mist. What did she dream of? The long-dead husband who had left her perpetually lonely? The empty childhood which had never taught her to find friends? Perhaps it was her daughter's own youth, when Alice was obedient and wise, when she knew no other way but following orders and all she wanted was a mother to love, to hold her and fill her-- the days when that had been enough.
II wish I could have been that forever,/I thought Alice as she laid her silk burden on the windowsill. II wish I hadn't disappointed you by growing up./I She had, after all, only wanted what she thought was best for her daughter. But Alice was a real bloom, not a false one, and this was her time to live. II'm sorry about change. But you will always be my mother./I
She blew the sleeping woman a kiss, wishing she could give her a real one without waking her; but urgency says goodbye the best it can. It was time to leave.
On her mother's windowsill, the rising sun threw beams of light on a silk crocus.
-end-
Alice bolted awake just as dawn began to wanly heat the sky. Curled into a ball of tension, she had lain there till early morning, unable to fall asleep in the first place; she had slept poorly all night; now it was time for her to get up-- weary or not-- to finally embark on this crazy, terrifying, half-rational plan. She would go through with it-- she had promised herself the night before not to change her mind in the morning, no matter what.
She cast a longing look at her bed. It would be so much easier to change her mind anyway-- to collapse back into sleep, to wake to her own life, having missed all the strain and terror and trauma-- but it would be the same life forever, and without that cherubic smile which had, briefly, promised something she had always wanted-- love for her real self, desire to throw away her charade. Anyway, she could not face her mother's anger and paranoia again. Oh, she would go through with it, but her hands trembled as she opened her closet doors.
Automatically she reached towards the pink dress she'd thought to wear, the petal-like button-down silk with the tailored red jacket that constricted her shoulders but looked feminine and cute. IYou'll never catch anyone's eye if you dress like dirt... You're a sweet little maiden,/I her mother's voice echoed in her mind. She wanted to impress Claude-- more than she had ever wanted to impress anyone before. She Iliked/I him and, miracle of miracles, he also seemed to like her.
But he liked who she really was, not what she might pretend to be.
IThat's it./I What she pulled from the closet was a gathered brown skirt and a loose dark green shirt. IIf I'm going, I'm going all the way./I From now on she would wear what she liked and go where she pleased; she would state her own opinion as loudly as she could; and if someone made a dirty joke, she was damned well going to laugh at it. People might think whatever they liked of her; they were not the ones who had to live as the lady they wanted to admire. The difficult part, she knew, would be trying not to pass her mother's judgment on herself. She stuffed a backpack with a toothbrush, a few changes of clothes, her money and as many of her notebooks and sketches as she could gather. Hopefully she would never see this room again.
She stole out of her room, clutching a small crumple of fabric. Silently she crept to the door of her mother's room, sliding along the board that generally did not creak. For once she was thankful that she knew this prison so well-- and Claude would still be asleep, as she had not heard him try to leave. She pressed her ear to the door and, hearing only soft, sleep-heavy breathing, she turned the doorknob and crept in.
Her mother looked surprisingly peaceful in her sleep. Sick and angry and bitter during the day, all of her icy misery seemed to have melted into so much mist. What did she dream of? The long-dead husband who had left her perpetually lonely? The empty childhood which had never taught her to find friends? Perhaps it was her daughter's own youth, when Alice was obedient and wise, when she knew no other way but following orders and all she wanted was a mother to love, to hold her and fill her-- the days when that had been enough.
II wish I could have been that forever,/I thought Alice as she laid her silk burden on the windowsill. II wish I hadn't disappointed you by growing up./I She had, after all, only wanted what she thought was best for her daughter. But Alice was a real bloom, not a false one, and this was her time to live. II'm sorry about change. But you will always be my mother./I
She blew the sleeping woman a kiss, wishing she could give her a real one without waking her; but urgency says goodbye the best it can. It was time to leave.
On her mother's windowsill, the rising sun threw beams of light on a silk crocus.
-end-