Bitter A Prequel: the Marjorie and Siobhan Backstory

Moments to Memories

Marjorie

Marjorie sat at the vanity brushing her hair. She felt a flutter in her chest, but she wouldn't cry. She refused. She missed her friends. She missed her dad. Her mother had made no qualms about what was expected of her today. And everyday moving forward.

Her first day at a new school. She could have continued to go to her old school and been with her friends, but Her mother was convinced that she needed to be with people of their new status. It seemed to her that everything was about status these days. Her mother had met and married her stepfather merely three months after her father died.

She was sat there deep in thought wondering if life would ever be the same. In her ten years life had already been so difficult. Two years ago, they found out her father was sick, and they watched him slowly wither. She felt almost sure that her mother didn't have a care in the world during that time, but the little girl was devastated by the loss.

They never had much but what she had was her father's love. Her mother had hated her for that. But she was far too young to realize that her mother's behavior was powered by jealousy. Now, in her stepfather, Marjorie's mum had all the attention and money she ever dreamed of. Even at ten, Marjorie was wise enough to realize that her mother didn't love her stepfather. He was a means to an end for her, and the end for her, was money and lots of it.

Her mother had given away or thrown away everything that had belonged to her father. There wasn't even a single picture of him that remained, save one. Her eyes moved to the jewelry box on the vanity and a small smile crossed her face.

"Marjorie, it is time to go." Her mother was standing in the doorway. "Wipe that goofy grin off your face. You look absolutely ridiculous." She fixed her face and trailed behind her mother eyes to the floor.

Once she stepped from the car, she felt the flutter in her chest again. "Don't cry, Marjorie, don't cry" she chastised herself as her mother just pulled away.

The first part of the day went by slowly, but smoothly. Mealtime was another story. She didn't know anyone and finding a place to sit took ages. She had tried a number of tables only to be shooed away by its occupants. She eventually settled in with a curly haired brunette.

"You might not want to sit here" Marjorie once again got up to go assuming she wasn't welcome. "No, you can. You just might not want to. I am a scholarship kid, and this lot don't like a charity case like me."

Marjorie quickly sat back down. "I think I would rather take my chances with you." They chatted animatedly throughout their meal and Marjorie left the table feeling like she might have made her first friend in Ella.

Ella wasn't wrong about the association though. For the rest of the day, she heard other children in her classes talking about her and the "charity case." She felt a pit of fire in her stomach as she walked out of the building for the day.

She got into the back seat, and her mother sighed in exasperation. "Marjorie how was your day?" There was not a lilt of love in her tone. It almost sounded like a business transaction amongst strangers. Marjorie didn't care. Not anymore. "It was fine, mother."

That seemed to satisfy her mother as the rest of the trip home was made in silence. She went straight to her room to change out of her uniform. She pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans and a starting to get too small Spice Girls shirt from a concert she attended with her father before they knew he was sick.

She snuck down the back stairs and out the back door. She knew she did not want to bump into her mother on the way out. She already knew she would be marched back up stairs and forced to put on a dress or skirt that fit her mother's idea of who she should be now that they lived on the swanky side of town.

She pulled her bike from its hiding place. Mr. Van Gould believed that bicycles were for boys only, and she shouldn't be allowed to ride. A girl of her status wouldn't be caught on one he had said. She didn't understand most of his rules, but as long as she could hide it, she was going to try.

She rode to the same park she had every chance she got. It wasn't really much, but she could ride along the footpath down to the little pond. It was almost always devoid of people. They preferred the park that had all the colorful, brand-new playground equipment that was on the other side of town. That suited her just fine. She preferred having this place all to herself. As she pedaled up to the pond, she realized she wasn't alone today. There sat a girl. She was probably around her age. She was wearing a dress and looked out of place by the pond. In contrast everything about her was. Not even a strand of her silky blond hair was out of place.

Siobhan

Nothing really horrible had happened in her life yet. Not by ten anyway. That didn't keep her from being a sad little girl. That is what her mother told her father. She was a sad and withdrawn little girl.

Her father was the pastor in the most well-known parish in their area. She was expected to always look and act a certain way. It didn't matter to him if she was in public or private. She must obey at all times. It was a crushing obligation as a small child, but Siobhan hadn't really found a way to manage the load any better by ten. She doubted she ever would.

She was forced to go to the best schools because her father felt they should appear to be of a certain status in the community. She couldn't relate to those kids. They all had loads of money at their disposal. They were poor and made even more poor by her father's insistence on paying her tuition fees.

Her mother was a mousy, submissive woman. Her father was handsome, and charismatic. That had helped him get where he was with his parishioners. How they adored him and idolized his ability to have such a subservient wife. A woman who embodied what they thought the Bible dictated for a wife.

Siobhan was a beautiful young girl. One that many people in his position might have hidden away, but not her father. He flaunted her. He made sure she always looked and acted the way he wanted her to. It was all a façade. Her mother made her little dresses and stitched designer labels in them. They also frequently dyed her hair to keep it as blond as it had been when she was little. She had to look "perfect" for him. Always perfect.

When she saw the young brunette pedaling toward her and the pond, she had the urge to flee. As the girl got closer, she could see the sadness in her eyes. The same sadness she saw in the mirror.

Little did they know all the moments of the next decade and a half would become the memories that both soothed and pained them in their toughest times.