She's a Woman

Chapter One - Brown Suede Boots

"For God's sake, Michelle!" Mum cried, charging into the living room like a whirlwind.

"What's wrong, Mum?" I asked, my voice as casual as I could make it. Being confronted by my mother was a dangerous thing to have happen because she can get really vicious sometimes. It wouldn't help to let Mum know I'm just like everyone else in our neighborhood - dead scared of her.

"How many times have I told you not to put your filthy boots on the coffee table?" Mum shrieked, pointedly snatching up my feet and plonking them on the ground. It hurt quite a lot, especially since my ankle hit the side of the table, but I didn't even flinch.

"I'm sorry," I said, not really feeling sorry in the slightest.

Mum sighed heavily and shook her head at my disinterested state. "I don't know what's the matter with you, Michelle. You're such a bright, beautiful girl, and yet you don't even make an effort to make yourself look nice!"

"I prefer to focus on more important things," I replied coldly.

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Like... Like my music."

Mum cruelly burst out laughing, her entire body quaking with it. I stared at her in contempt. My mum has never accepted me or my passions, and was always looking down her nose at me, so I'd grown to dislike her. I couldn't leave because I had nowhere else to go, and if I did I would have cleared off in a heartbeat. Mum couldn't leave either even though I knew she really wanted to. She was stuck with me until I was old enough to move out and make my own way. For the meantime she bided her time by making my teenage years a misery.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"You and your music, Michelle!" Mum cried, tears dribbling down her bright red face. She wiped them away, still chuckling. "You'll never make a living from music, you know."

"Oh, I don't know. I might."

"No, you won't," Mum said, suddenly serious. "Look, the world we live in today won't accept women for a lot of things - the music industry being near the top of the list. Men do everything these days and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Maybe someone should do something about it," I said scornfully.

"Keep dreaming, darling," Mum said, ruffling my short scrubbing-brush hair. She let out a sad little sigh. "You need to start growing your hair again, Mish. It looks awful."

I ran my fingers through my fluffy brown locks. My hair used to be really long and wavy, and Mum was always styling it in different ways with ribbons and hair clips and other things. I hated it and always wanted really short hair, but I didn't dare cut for fear of Mum's black rages. Luckily for me I got into a rather sticky situation with some bubblegum and - hooray, hooray! - my hair had to be chopped off! Mum cried but I didn't care one bit.

"I like my hair the way it is, Mum," I said indignantly.

"You look tough and tarty," Mum snapped.

"Good," I muttered under my breath, then I added aloud, "Why do you care what I look like? Why can't you care so much about someone other than me for a change?"

"I wish I could, but you drive me up the wall with your awful haircut and your dreadful clothes. You need to wear something different. You make me look bad, parading around in your stupid leather outfits. Imagine what the neighbours are saying about this!"

"To hell with the neighbours," I grumbled. "They're too nosy for their own good."

"They're very respectable people and they care about us," Mum said curtly.