I am a Wild Rose

Chapter One - Day Dream Believer

I look straight into the mirror, right into the eyes of the reflection of myself. I push my nails into the white porcelain of the sink until my fingers hurt. I have escaped to the restaurants toilets. The toilets are beautiful. White tiles from Italy, grouting mixed with pure gold. The gold shimmers in the overhead spotlights. He chose the restaurant not me. I guess because I’ll be paying he didn’t care how expensive it was, it’s probably a restaurant he’s been wanting to try for ages and because I was so desperate I said yes. I feel the bile rise in my throat. You can do this. You can do this. It’s just one meal. Smile for god’s sake. I try to force a smile onto my lips, it doesn’t reach my eyes and is so forced its frightening. Tonight, this date is my last chance. If he’s not interested in me, if he doesn't ask me to marry me, there will never be another man. I turn 25 tomorrow and in my time it means that I will be permanently left on the shelf. They even have special cards for it. You don’t get a Happy 25th Birthday card you either get a ‘welcome to the shelf’ card from your other single female relatives or you get a ‘Congratulations you escaped the shelf card’. I swallow hard and close my eyes mentally willing my stomach to settle. I breathe hard through my nose, my head is swimming and I struggle to stay upright. The bathroom door bangs open and a young woman of 18 sashes in, swinging hips, lip-gloss and long legs. She smells of money and good breeding...  I hate her. She will never have to do this. She will never have to feel this way. Blondie checks her make up in the mirror, pushing her full plump lips together in a kiss to herself and then looks me up and down. I know what she will see. A slightly dumpy, mouse trying to look like a peacock in her expensive dress wearing shoes that she really can’t walk in. Blondie gives a small self-satisfied smile and then goes into the bathroom stall behind me. I’m clearly no competition and won’t be able to help her in life so she just ignores me. I go back to focusing on trying to keep my dinner down. The man is vile. He is in his late 50’s with a beer belly, smelly breath and a ratty beard. He is in the same club as my Dad and his wife has just died. My Dad was so excited when he found out he raced home with the man’s phone number and begged me to call him. That was two days ago. Now here I am. I have a simple choice. I go back and sit at the table and play nice little girl and fawn all over him or I pay the bill and leave and am then permanently on my own. My father will be disgraced at the club if I do the later and that’s what sways my decision. I pull myself together and use some toilet paper to wipe the sweat that has built up on my face and neck from the panic attack. One last quick check in the mirror and I am out the door. Blondie is still in the stall, I can hear the tears that she is trying hard to stifle and I smile. I guess I’m not the only one who is having troubles tonight. As I make my way between the tightly packed tables I force my face to smile and try to make my eyes sparkle by thinking of something funny. Our table is at the back of the restaurant, the tables are cheaper there and its all that I could afford. It takes me a good five minutes of walking to even get close to where my date is sitting. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I approach him so I do both. My date, Mr. Blobby, is flirting with the glass cleaner. She is gorgeous, barley sixteen, skin tight black jeans, rolled up to show off her skinny ankles, black V-neck t-shirt and 1960’s style hair and make up. She is an expert flirt and tease her technique speaks of professional training and he is lapping it up. For the first time in days if not years I feel light and free. She can have him. I change course and walk to the cashier’s desk and pay the bill and walk out into the cool night air. The moon is huge above me and I thank the goddess for the blessing of peace that I feel. The stars are beautiful tonight. I walk home with my face turned upwards just staring at the stars, drinking in their beauty. There will be many more nights to come where I will be able to do what ever I want and I smile and thank Miss Beehive and whoever paid for her seduction training.

I arrive home late and Dad is still up, the light is on in the kitchen and I know that he will be sitting at the table with the daily paper in front of him and a cup of tea. The tea will be cold and the paper unread, his mind is full of other things. I pause in the hallway to our home and want to run upstairs and throw myself onto my bed and just sleep through tomorrow. I owe Dad to behave better than that though and so walk down the corridor to the kitchen. The door is part open and I only open it wide enough so that I can get my head and shoulders through the gap. His eyes are closed and there are tears spilling down his face. He already knows what I am going to say, if I had been the chosen one the man would have phoned my father by now and asked how much dowry I had and my past ‘experience’. Both, answers would have been short and I feel glad that my Dad will never have to experience the shame of letting people know how little money we have or listing my past boyfriends ratings of me from kissing to cooking. Thankfully it was forbidden for us to do anything more than kiss until we were bound. That was one of the rules that The Grandmothers put in place as well as forbidding divorce, although there were many men that had gotten around that by putting their wives into institutions. Funnily enough the wives had all been happier for it, or so the gossip on the underground says. "I’m so sorry" he sobs, holding his head in his hands. "I had hoped you’d be chosen. I’m so sorry." I gently rub his shoulder and take the seat next to him. I make soothing noises and wait for the emotion to subside. It’s tradition that you are not meant to be either too happy or too sad if you are left on the shelf. You are meant to quietly and serenely accept your fate. My father knows this and when he has his emotions under control he grasps my hand and brings it to his lips gently kissing the …… “You always be my chosen one my beauty I will always love you.” And then it’s me who begins to cry. All the emotion, the shame and rage that I have felt for years and kept inside, spills out of my eyes and floods down my cheeks. My tears flow so fast and hard that I can feel them running down my neck and chest. I want to tell my Dad that I love him, that I am so grateful to be his daughter and so proud of him but the words can’t get past my tears and stick in my throat. All I can do is cry.