Mirifical Catharsis

Chapter 3: An Infuriating Encounter

"Non, c'est fou! Insensé! Fille stupide!" The furious woman exclaims, rubbing her forehead with one hand that's being held up by the other. "I am lost of words! Oh, Jesus... Young ladies like you are not supposed to stay out drinking and partying! Two AM?!" She paces back and forth.

"Tata, I'm sorry, alright? You've been at this all day. But I simply cannot be locked in a house for days! I can't-"

"And why not? You make it have such a negative connotation! When I was your age, my mother didn't even need to tell moi the chores that needed to be made."

"Times have changed. I'm sorry but doing nothing but chores and smoking cigarettes around the house is no longer considered a good thing and definitely not something to be proud of. I'm sorry, Tata but-" Lilian watches her aunt sulk into the sofa across from her with a hopeless look, loathing and quite obviously disagreeing with every word her niece utters.

"Yvonne! Bring some tea for me. C'est sur la table." She calls out to her daughter who sighs but manages to mask her frustration on her way to the kitchen. "Your mother and I never did such things. She used to be so mannered and proper. Why are you not more like her?"

"Oh, lord..." Lilian pushes herself to her feet when Yvonne comes to sight, struggling. Quickly she lifts the teapot from the tray to lighten it for her.

"Your father brought you here for a reason and not for fooling around like you did in Saint-Nom." She takes the ceramic glass of scorching tea with unstable hands moistening her wrinkled lips that have been wilted over the years. "He wouldn't be very proud, would he?"

"No, please, don't say that. You are being unreasonable." Lilian's heartbeat quickens and she fists her sweating hands.

"You're not going out tonight. That's fina-"

"No..." She whines, putting on an irritated, resentful face, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "What if I promise to be back early?" But all she gets back is an unsatisfied look. "Come on, Tata. You are blowing this way out of proportion, I'd say.

"Mama, you are," Yvonne remarks, straightening her slouched body. "How about I go with her? If you don't trust her, you trust me."

The wrinkled woman eyes carefully between the two of them, both girls only months apart in age with similar heights and build.

Yvonne's hair has a slightly warmer undertone, with a golden shimmer when sun rays hit. Her lips are large and plump, contrasting her smaller eyes and skinny, arched brows. "I'll go put on my shoes. Come on, Lil."

Lilian smiles and quickly thanks her aunt who mutters profanities, barely audibly, under her breath, and hops out of the room with a growing smile on her flushed face. She slips on her black gloves to match the black, feathered headband that encircles around her forehead. Over the lid of her olive-green eyes, she had smoked a mix of earthy tones that complement the warm undertones of her skin.

"Can we stop at a cafe down the street? It's not far but I totally forgot my earrings there last night." Lilian shuts the large front door behind both girls. Her cousin accepts as she places on her, the washed-out pink toque hat.

The streets roar in life. Men and women of all ages, of all social classes coming together to celebrate the night. The bars begin to fill and the bottles begin to empty. Jazz and Blues blast throughout every establishment and every street.

The cafe has remained the same as Lilian recalls it from the previous night which she still remembers luckily.

She arranges the feathered boa around her arms and tells Yvonne to wait outside if she prefers. She does. The not very tall heels click against the freshly mopped, tiled floors loudly and, as usual, many heads turn to gaze at the bright ball that partly skips across the room.