Side story - Orla

1983

Ballet classes had been cancelled for that day. Ms. Day said it was because she had caught a cold but Orla was sure it was because she had drank too much from that water bottle that makes her breath smell gross.

She had forgotten the number for the manor and Arthur would only come when ballet class would be done, that is an hour from now. So that’s why Orla had walked home.

That’s why she had gotten home when all her siblings were out and she was witness to whatever new row her parents had gotten into. She didn’t hear anything at first as she took off her pink sandals.

As she threw her Barbie backpack on the floor she heard a scream. She froze as she waited for another scream. Sally had told her about being wary of strangers that would come into homes to steal stuff. Or strangers who would offer girls like her rides. Strangers in general. Criminals. She thought of slipping her sandals back on and running out the door.

Then she heard the unmistakable cry of her mother. It was higher than her normal voice. Reminiscent of the voice she would take on when she would dress Orla up in frilly sparkly dresses. But this one was only reserved for when daddy was being mean.

She heard a door slam open, a pair of footsteps and then her tall father run down the stairs. His tie messed up, a red face and an agitated look in his eyes. He made for the door and nearly ran into her, his eyes not taking her in until she yelped.

He was startled and looked down at his daughter, his face monetarily annoyed. Orla folded into herself, hoped he would see her as too insignificant to throw his ire on. He’d never touched her but she felt like when would get angry he would.

Victor cleared his throat and his lips twitched. “Orla, why are you home so early?”

A squeeze voice that didn’t sound like the confident and bratty voice she’d usually employ said, “ballet was cancelled.”

Victor’s expression looked a bit impatient, he laid his heavy hand on Orla’s shoulder, she felt her body sag lower under it.

“Yes, well…” he trailed off and stepped aside, opening and closing the door quickly.

Immediately, Orla raced up the carpeted steps. She practically tripped on her own socked feet as she threw open her mother’s door, breathing heavily.

Prudence laid on the floor by her side. Her body turned away from the little girl. Orla slowly walked over to her mother, reaching her, she knelt down and laid her chin on her mother’s arm. She felt cold, she was trembling. Her manicured hand covered her face.

“Mommy?”

Prudence sniffed and said in a hoarse voice,“aren’t you supposed to be dancing?”

“Ms. Day drank too much of her funny juice.”

Prudence made a noise in her throat that Orla hoped was a laugh. She tried to peek at her mother’s eyes but her long fingers concealed anything that could tell her how sad her mother was.

“She should be more responsible,” said Prudence. “I should be…” she sighs and uses her other hand to push herself up, Orla grabs her mother’s arm and tried to help her too.

A hand still covering her face, Prudence stood up on unsteady legs. Orla grabbed her mother’s hand with both of her small one and Prudence gripped it tightly, painfully. Orla but her lip from crying out as her mother’s nails dig into her soft skin.

Prudence sniffed deeply and stumbled her way over to her vanity. She plopped down on the chair and finally took her hand away from her face. Orla saw the dark lines going down her mother’s cheeks. She knows it’s from eyeliner.

Her mothee grabbed a series of napkins from a box and began running the dark lines from her cheeks. She inhaled to clear her stuffed nose and started deeply into her own eyes. “Sweetheart, pass mommy her purse.”

Orla obediently went to the bed and brought her mother’s alligator purse. She liked coming to her mother’s room to feel it.

Prudence grabbed it and rummaged in it. She got our her black case out and used her long nails to open it. She sticks a cigarette into her mouth and lights it. Inhaling deeply, Orla smelled the warm sharp smoke, it reminded her of fire places.

Prudence looks at herself in the mirror, her scowl deepening, she takes the cigarette out and blows the smoke st her reflection. Tapping the cigarette against a glass ashtray her eyes in the mirror find Orla’s.

“Come here.”

Orla walks until she’s next to her mother. They both look at one another in the mirror. Orla is Prudence’s spitting image. A fact, Orla knows, her mother is very happy about. Prudence takes another drag of her cigarette and blows it at both their reflections, Orla coughs.

Prudence’s bloodshot eyes soften and she cups her daughter by the chin. Forcing her face closer to her, cheek to cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” Prudence said.

Orla didn’t know what she was supposed to have said to that. She had begun to just understand what it meant to be a pretty girl.

“This face, is a golden ticket my love,” Prudence said. “A woman who is born with a face like this, can do anything, be anyone.”

Orla’s jaw ached and her eyes were watering from the smoke. She coughed out, “a ballerina?”

Prudence nodded, “yes. A ballerina. As long as you are pretty, you will always be ok. You will have pretty things.”

Orla wanted to say, prettier than what you have. But instead she said, “like you mommy?”

Prudence nodded, “even better than me. I’ll show you just how much pretty things you can get by being so pretty. That’s the only thing that will ever matter in life Orla. A pretty woman is everything.”

“What about not pretty womens?” Orla asked, her words mushed between her pinched cheeks.

Prudence let go of her daughter’s face and took another drag, “they don’t count. Not the way you do. Boys, boys that can give you pretty things don’t like ugly girls. Remember that.”

Orla left her mother, staring at the mirror.