Emily's Story: Part One

Emily’s Story: Part One 

            Dreary like it always is. I hear on the T.V before turning it off that the Beatles will be going to America soon. I bet through American windows it's sunny and the skies are blue. It’s like I said, dreary, and my pen‘s almost out of ink. I make tiny scribbles in my diaries, Margins? Yeah, that’s what Mommy called them. It’s almost breakfast time. Daddy is probably gone but it’s not light out yet and I have to make sure my dress is synched so I don’t get tangled. I hate pink but Daddy says blue is ‘unbecoming’ of a girl of nine.

            I’m all set for the stairs and when I hop down one at a time there’s a tug at my chest as usual. The fluffs on my shoulders tickle my nose, but the steps are less slippy since we got carpet. I forgot to mention. You see, I was born with no legs. But that’s ok, I guess, Mommy says God made me smart. I have to keep asking her how smart am I. Mommy will kiss my cheek every time before doing her best Winston Churchill. “You are a bright young lady. A bright one with a future in parliament I dare say.” She hides her smile with her hand and leans in close like she is telling me a secret. “You’d give Mussolini no chance unlike that bloody Chamberlin did.” I giggle and give her a hug. I only feel bad when Daddy gives me that scary look of his.

            I hear a crunch when I make it the whole way down. The maid gives me a small smile while Daddy is buried in his paper. I get up early like him but he sometimes skips breakfast. I think he does it to avoid me. My teacher says I’m smart to. That always makes him happy but when he sees me he gets mad.

            “No.”

            I climb up into my chair by the window. “No, what?”

            “I will not allow you to attend the concert.”

            “But, Daddy, It’s not far away. Mommy says she will pay for the tickets.”

            Daddy gives me one of his scary looks before laying his paper on the table. I slumped in my chair, waiting for him to finish his toast. “You must not be dull like those miscreants. The records are infuriating enough. Be grateful I permit that racket.”

            “They’re so groovy, Daddy. You have to give them a chance. They’re Grrrrea-“

            “Say it once more and you will be eating gruel like the children of the work houses.”

            “Charles.”

I look up from the table as the kitchen door makes its wampy sound. Mommy’s shiny pearls reflect the lights above. “Please don’t be cruel to her.” She sits across from me with a bowl of Frosted Flakes, winking before Daddy answers.

            “If there are to be any tickets purchased, they had best be concerts featuring English composers.”

            “But there’s no singing.” I groan. “I like singing, Daddy”

            Daddy folds his newspaper before getting up. “The opera will suit that need. I can condone that sort of singing.” Daddy gives me another of his scary looks before opening the door. It whines like all the doors in our house. “Your tutor will be here in thirty minutes. Ask her of the opera.” Daddy said, with a slight grin when he knows he won. “After. You have completed your studies.”

            I finish my cereal. They’re Grrr, oh forget it. I don’t why I’m up beat all the time when I spend most of it at home. Mommy sometimes takes me to the park to see the Peter Pan statue. She owns a little market where we get the Frosted Flakes. I try to ignore the staring when we go out.

            “I have a surprise for you, Emily.” Mommy said. I let my spoon rest on the bowls rim, smiling, milk trickles down my chin as she gets up to open the cabinet by the kitchen door. I hope it’s what I think, but I know Daddy doesn’t allow her to spend her own money from the market. He says a, ‘Richards money is best spent on books and living essentials.’ I almost fall out of my seat when two strips of paper are slid from under a silver plate.

            “You got the tickets. Wow wee.” I freeze for a second. I have to remind myself that Daddy is gone before clapping and returning to the smile on Mommy’s face. “I can’t wait. When do we get to go…”

“We don’t, my dear.” Mommy kneels beside me, taking my hand and placing the tiny strips in it. “I’m sorry. Rose will gladly go with you, but your father and I will be attending a gala.”

            I sink deeper into my chair making the backs old plant pattern creak. This whole house is old and smells musty like Daddy’s jacket when I tried to hug him once. Mommy and I talked a bunch about going to a concert. We both like ‘From me to You’, it’s the best out of all the Beatles songs. By the way she hugs me I know it will not be the same without her.

            “I don’t want to go, Mommy. You have to be there. Can’t you tell Daddy you have a cold?” I asked, hoping she will say yes and then come with me while Daddy is off in Yorkshire. That’s where they are at usually. I get stuck at home but Mommy sneaks me ice cream before they leave. “Please.”

            “I want to,my dear. But this is the only way. I had to lie to your father that the refrigerator was broken but it wasn’t. That’s how I was able to purchase these tickets.”

            I rub my eyes with the back of my hand to tell my tears to stop. They come anyway. Stuffing the tickets in one of the ruffles on my shoulder I hug Mommy, thanking her before finishing my Frosted Flakes. They’re soggy and clumpy. Mommy and I don’t talk.  I’m sadder than she is because, well, she is my only friend. Sure Rose is my friend but she gets paid to be.

            After I get done with my lessons it’s a little less dreary and the clock in Daddy’s study is at the tippy top. I don’t bother asking about the opera or have lunch. The steps are always worse when I have to climb them. I turn around heaving myself up one step at a time. The tugging at my chest hurts, worse than it usually is. I want Mommy to go with me to the concert so bad.

Then my hand slips. I reach for the railing but my arms are to short. My scream races with my heart and I land on my chest. Tears run down my cheeks when I roll over. I hurt all over. Rose comes running from the dining room and I don’t see Mommy. I look at the steps. The tickets. I feel sleepy even though I can’t stop crying.

            My hand shakes as I  reach for the tickets. Rose yells for the tutor who is already on the phone by the door. She strokes my hair but I want Mommy, and the tickets are so far away. I want to stay awake, to get up and climb for the secret Daddy will hurt Mommy for.