The Wounds that Saved My Life

Expectations

As Nanny tried to curl my coffee-colored hair, mother shrilly exclaimed, "Amelia, we're leaving in 10 minutes! Honestly, child, you should be ready by now. " She walked over to stand by my shoulder, shooting Nanny a displeased glance in the polished mirror, as if it were her fault my hair seemed bent on remaining straight. I didn't mind- straight hair is easier to put up. But mother wanted it fashionable, not convenient.

"This is unacceptable. Her curls will last for minutes and Amelia will look a fool. I'm not paying you for this," mother said while pinching a strand of my limp hair between two gloved fingers. She swept out of the room clucking her tongue. 

"Don't take it personally," advised Nanny with a sympathetic look. Cocking her head with a kind smile, Nanny said, "You look very pretty."

"Thank you Nanny," I said with a small huff. Mother had always been persnickety about appearances, but ever since she had remarried, it had gotten significantly worse. Why should marrying a duke, and an uncaring one at that, mean we have to strut around all of a sudden?

When I joined my mother and stepfather by the grand stairway, he gave me a look that said I would never be enough or fit in with his lifestyle. I recognized that look, for I received it everyday.

"Finally, it's about time,'' he said with narrow eyes. Branston, our chauffeur, opened the front doors, leading the way towards our topless 1901 automobile.

We sat down on the automobile's sleek leather bench, father in his suit and tie; mother in her dress, shawl, and feathered hat; and me in my pale blue dress and white gloves. As we drove down East Charles Lane, father and mother loudly discussed the success of their latest dinner party. 

Meanwhile, I was lost in thought. It was a dreary day; the clouds looked as if they could weep forever, and I longed for a change. I prayed that someone would notice my anxiety to return to the mansion, to shackling expectations and stifling status quos. 

My wish was granted, although not how I imagined. 

I was so consumed in my thoughts that I didn't notice I was sliding towards the bench's edge. Even the rumbling engine and the bounce of the tires on the cobblestone didn't shake me from my daze. It was only when I felt my stocking rip on jutting metal that I realized I was falling.