I hurried down the stairs, dainty front locks dangling from my French twist held in place with multiple barrettes.
Mrs. Aliya's eyes descended on me almost immediately, sharp. Squinted, scanning curiously.
My turtlenecked dress had a cinched waist and button-down front, with puffed sleeves that softened the shape.
It wasn't fancy, but the little details and rosy prints gave it a graceful, old-fashioned touch, that sparked a little vintage in the mind.
It was graciously accompanied by nice grey flats, with fancy white bow-knotted ribbons at the top, the ones we had gotten earlier at Sheriff Dickens's Antique stores, half a kilometer away from our home.
My eyes lingered on them as I slid down the final stairs; they were quite retro with glitter that appeared to be carelessly sprinkled over them.
Of course, it was how my mother always wanted it. Modestly fashionable to my disdain.
I didn't like how tightly it clung to my waist. In fact, I anticipated rough elastic indentations on my skin at the end of the day, especially at my waistline.
"Look at you Tee, how adorable! I always knew I'd made the right pick when it came to that dress." Amy beamed, cheeks folding up and turning pinkish, mostly from the pressure of smiling so tightly.
…But mother forced me to wear them, I continue in my chain of thoughts.
I guess straps after straps of endless tightly fitted clothes and corsets lent a great deal to my thinning waist.
Mother called them waistcoats.
Weren't waistcoats for men? The term felt more appropriate for corsets to me. I considered before playing with the two words, corsets, and waistcoats in my head for a while.
I preferred the latter, it was fancier, I decided. Mother wasn't clear on the difference; it was absurd, too.
Indeed, I was ready. I'd finally set my feet on the ground, to the waiting display of my mother and her two friends.
"You're so much earlier to school today, Tricia…" Mother started with a smile.
"I know" I cut in quickly.
Her smile faded slowly from my bluntness.
It was unexpected, but that was Tricia, unpredictable to Amy, surprising to her own self. Sometimes an imp, also a darling.
It was hard to discern.
Yet, I could be understood, I could be deciphered, and that was all I ever wanted, for my mother to peer a little closer and see the gaps, the cracks in me, and help me.
But, she never looked closer, maybe she was trying, but it wasn't enough, maybe I was demanding too much. My face dropped further.
"Perhaps you're not in the mood, Tee, Later, we'll talk about it"
Amy added with a hint of exhaustion in the puff that escaped her mouth.
Why was it so difficult to get along well with teenage daughters? They were the grumpiest. She only wanted the best for Tee, her Tricia.
"We'll talk later then" she repeated as she pulled the lace together.
She was trying to force words from me and I didn't reply.
Amy felt frustrated, but she still loved Tricia even when she was meanest and most charming, in all circumstances.
Right on cue, I thought.
I wasn't in the mood for extra chants, and all gratitude, I recalled, to my inability to sleep the previous night from a nightmare I'd kept silent about.
I had failed to get the remaining five hours of sleep. Staying awake till dawn, restlessly, afraid.
That alone contributed most to my early rise that morning. So, was I ungrateful for it? For the morning? Yes, most certainly, I didn't like getting up much more as early as I had today.
The grotesque and the bizarre held no weight in my mother's eyes. Ghosts, the dead, she dismissed them all.
They were, she'd said to me one late evening when I tried to tell her about my sleep paralysis,
"Not real, my imagination, fear trying to feed off my belief in it".
She'd advise me that day to stop being afraid and that it'd all go away.
I'd tried, my best at least, even learning to walk in the dark, fearlessly. It seemed to work at first, for a week, two, nothing.
Then suddenly, it came back again, worse, this time, even my neck was locked and twisted, stuck, tightly screwed in position. I didn't dare move it, the pain would be excruciating.
My eyeballs alone managed to escape the horror's ferocious grip, being set free to move about the empty room, glancing at what I couldn't make out.
Upsidedown sometimes, surreal the other times.
Once again, when I was thirteen, I'd brought up the issue. She'd watered it away with the words,
"Inconsequential, 'typical fallacy', fear of trying to make a storm in a teapot"
To her, life was nothing more than a brief existence followed by vanishing, plain and absolute. No extremities attached.
I guess her boldness had actually gone a long way for her.
For she barely suffered any attacks and had always managed to escape the most mysterious of situations, in the strangest and most unexpected ways.
I wangled it off my thoughts.
I'd managed to successfully swallow the nightmare topic every time it'd hooked up my throat at breakfast, I knew it would be flung off by mom and dad, yeah, Dad would collaborate.
So, I didn't bother, it was a waste of saliva.
I glanced at my simple tote bag, which had a few notebooks I knew I'd be needing today.
I wiped my cheeks, much aware of how uncalled for it was.
But, my actions were a desperate attempt to shake off thoughts of the horrible things I'd been through silently.
I turned back as she proceeded to tie my lace belt behind.
The routine, anytime I wore any of my thousand dresses.
Mrs. Brucewarne's eyes were full of kind warmth as she watched us. Mrs. Aliya looked intrigued as she watched Amy's hands dart across my back.
"Did you put some gel on the front?" Amy looked curiously at my head, fingers gesturing at my forehead.
"How pretty" Mrs. Brucewarne purred, snatching our focus away and preventing me from answering.
The previous question soon went into the background, she continued.
"Amy… she looks angelic. It's a wonder how toddlers seem to transform into young adults at lightning speed"
"Fabulous Child! She's prettier than a dove. You take such good care of her, Amy. Now would you look at that figure?! Oh! Sweet Tricia, it just reminds me of when I was your age. How I miss those days, approaching twenty, supple skin, stunning beauty, young, adventurous, willing to take risks! Fierce and.. and… and"
I appreciated the heavens for once that Mrs. Aliya was short of words.
Alas, there was a second of brief silence that cooled my blood. I felt better. A Joy so enigmatic, it was unsettling, sent soothing ripples down my spine.
Her sentimental laudations were ear-drilling and… permit me to say, I heard my head chirp politely, sycophantically pathetic!
I soon smashed the thought into a little dark corner in my mind, made for the unnecessary, and returned to the present.
"Ok, Mom," I said, leaning in slightly and placing a soft kiss on her rosy cheeks.
The usual "kptw" sound came along next from lips pinched together against her skin, with the passionate sift of lavender-scented powder into my nose.
"Should I walk you down a bit?"
Amy cared.
"No, thank you, mother, I'll be alright"
I said, trying hard not to be curt.
For crying out loud, I just wanted to get out of this freaking place and their endless admiration and care! Care is okay, but too much care they say, is annoying. I considered it fundamentally.
Then, I scuttled to the door, desperate to escape the next torturous round of a symphony of emotional outbursts, likely orchestrated by the tall and witty Mrs Brucewarne.
Who looked like she was already musing on something.
I could see it in the way she turned her face to my bust, a forthcoming comment, mostly unwelcome and uncalled for.
Microseconds later with a sharp simper to bid them goodbye, I sped out of the living room's door and into the street.
The curtain whipped like a startled bird with the force of the door.
Amy flinched from the brisk, cold breeze whooshing against her face, carrying her hair backwards like a wave. I was faster than a lightning bolt.
There's something about that girl, she never understood, she concluded with a sigh, turning to her waiting friends, a group of mothers.