A Collection of Short Stories

The Caged Songbird

"Clothe yourself in these garments and meet me at the oak tree beside the Willard Shop at precisely 9:30pm."

said the inky curled lettering that sprawled across the creamy parchment. She read the message twice over before setting it down on the space beside her. She shifted her body to face the dreaded pieces of cloth that lay on her bed, the churning in her stomach growing stronger as time passed by. The clock hands ticked a few minutes past 9. Hadn't she told Elizabeth, her good friend, that she longed to do this all along? To be like the other girls in the neighbourhood?

With great effort, she stood up, the hems of her skirt threatening to trip her feet over. She peeled off her garments, layer after layer, forcing stubborn buttons through their catches and loosening ties that restricted and left red indentations on her skin. The contoured cage that created her corset was abandoned, leaving her form flat and boyish. She lay the clothes carefully onto her bed, with intent to wear them again, if needed.

Slipping the tasselled dress over her naked form, she was shocked and pleasantly surprised at the lack of restriction at the waistline. She was able to breathe! As she viewed herself on the mirror, she noticed the formless nature of the dress, the way it hung on her body. She turned bright red at the sight of her legs, unused to exposing so much of her skin, her flesh. She paced around her closed room, getting used to such freedom of her body.

Why did her mother hate this form of fashion so? If only she could understand the liberty she felt, tassels brushing loosely over her legs, tickling her as she walked. The young woman recalled the amount of detours her mother took in order to avoid the "flappers" and their evil influences on her only daughter, the harsh criticisms of her friends' attitudes, forbidding her to interact and converse with them at all. The clock struck 9:17. The young woman made haste, afraid to disappoint her friend for her lack of punctuality. The last thought she had whilst looking at herself on the viewing glass was how ugly the dress looked with her luscious, lengthy locks of hair.

The young woman noted the way the wind was able to caress the skin on her thighs and legs. She shivered, adjusting to the lack of fabric on her skin, especially at her ankle. Every step she took felt unusual and alien to her, there were no limits to the size of her stride, however, a small part of her liked it. She noted, as she neared her destination, quiet, melodious laughter and deep pitched chatter. Rounding the corner, her heart fluttered in disbelief. Scandalous! was the first word she thought of.

Young men, around her age, mingled freely with young women her age, including her best friend, Elizabeth. What shocked her the most was that the girls unabashedly revealed their legs to the men. There was no mention of young men attending this event, or whatever this was. She could choose to stay for a bit, to accustom herself to this new found freedom, or she could quietly slip away, concealed in the dark, and no one would suspect her to have changed her mind, let alone given a thought to this ordeal. Alas, it is too late. Elizabeth had spotted her and was now beckoning her towards the group. All attention was directed at her.

As she emerged from the darkness into the sharp light of the street lamp, the girls gushed over her, complimenting her dress, how she looked like a genuine flapper, how all she needed to complete her look was to chop her hair off in a bob, like they had done. The young men were silent, but looked on approvingly. Once she met with them, the ladies instantly flocked around her, wasting no time remaking her face, highlighting certain features that could be deemed decent. In no time, she was ready; they proceeded to walk towards a little shop, where the mellow tones of a bass could just be picked out in the stillness of the night.

Walking in, she became immersed by the overall vibe of the place. Young men were dancing with young ladies, swaying their legs with such great gusto, she marvelled at how they were not ashamed at their public indecency. Heat spread through the back of her neck, through to her cheeks. A giggling Elizabeth swept her away to the centre of the floor, much to her protestations, intent on teaching her the ways of the flapper. For the first few seconds, she felt soaring joy as she slowly began to learn the steps, looking down at Elizabeth's feet and matching them with her own. Finally, Elizabeth stepped back, beaming at the work of art she made of her good friend. When she looked up with a smile pasted on her lips, able to keep in step with the notes of jazz, she was not met with an identical one of her own. Elizabeth had slipped away, run off with some handsome beau for the night.

Like a bird rendered wingless, her confidence dived. She looked upon the dancers surrounded her. They jived smoothly and oh so expertly wove themselves between other dancers. Her dance was one like a disjointed puppet, jerking at obedience...to what? She stood still and stiffly navigated herself to the wall, inching her way towards the door. She observed the dancers with a sort of envy. So desperately did she want to join in the fun, to relate to what they were feeling. For a moment, she closed her eyes, pretending that she was one of them. Free. Like a song bird fluttering from its cage.

But in her mind, the bird was once again tethered to its previous confines. She could not shake off the feeling that it was wrong. Dancing unabashedly with young men without chaperones was wrong. Wearing makeup paint was wrong. Sneaking out at night without the consent of her mother was wrong. Wearing the dress itself, without proper binding of one's body was wrong.

She stormed out of the room and out onto the street. Dread consumed her from her stomach to her head, filling her mind with nasty thoughts. She reprimanded herself over and over again. She could already imagine the rumours that were sure to circulate from the lower classes and eventually to her mother. The rebellious daughter of the mayor of Hampshire.

Sneaking back into the house was no small task. She almost cried out in desperation, as she attempted to silence the grating of the metal door knob, the creak of the timber frame of her bed. She breathed in a sigh of relief as she undressed, flinging the weightless dress towards the far corner of her room. Donning her nightgown, she paced around her bedroom floor a couple of steps, relieved and comforted by the brushing of the hemline at her ankles. As she slipped into bed, exhausted from the night's unnatural events, one final thought slipped through her mind.

Her mother was right all along.

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