Rokitansky

Chapter One

ONE

Moira stared at the fifteen year old girl in her bedroom mirror. She neither liked nor knew what she saw. She could hear them talking about her down below. Muffled, displeased voices. She washed and dressed then cautiously crept downstairs, lingering on the bottom step, uneasy and unnoticed. The front door slammed and Mother muttered and blasphemed. She stood still where she was and listened to Father crunch his way across the snow-covered gravel driveway. A driveway much like the one leading to the house next door. A house which looked much the same as all the other houses on the street. A street lined with the same houses, filled with the same people doing the same things at the same time, over and over until the beginning skipped past the middle to an end.

Moira shuffled her way towards the kitchen door and stood, unconsciously chewing on her lower lip. She watched Mother, hunched over the kitchen sink, her hair scraped back into a small knotted bun. The odd grey wisp escaping in a static dance about her elf-like ears.

"Morning," Moira whispered. The word lingered in her throat, as though not quite ready to be born into the world. A hushed statement of the time of day rather than a satisfying greeting of any kind. She forced the word out of her mouth and watched as it flew away on wary wings in the direction of Mother's good ear. The word landed safely at the designated destination and Mother stopped her furious scrubbing. Without turning to face her daughter, her body stiffened, then sighed and released some words of its own.

"You don't have to do this you know," said Mother. And now that the words were out there, floating in the space between them, she turned to face Moira. Their eyes could not and would not meet. "It's not too late to change your mind," Mother added. It was as though the words themselves drained and exhausted her. There was nothing more or less to be said. Moira stared at Mother, who in turn stared at the floor. The floor had nothing to say. It was time to leave, so Moira left the wordless vacuum and returned to her room to fetch her things. 

They sat in the taxi. There were things to be said now that the journey had begun, but Moira knew that Mother would never say them in front of the man driving the car. She was grateful then for the ten minutes of peace the snow and a cancelled train had bought them. Her leather seat had retained the heat from the previous passenger, it was strangely comforting to feel the warmth of another human being, albeit indirectly. The driver puckered his dry, chapped lips and performed a lacklustre whistle for the duration of what was always going to be an uncomfortable journey. His eyes met with Moira's in the rear view mirror to confirm that all was far from well. Their final destination echoed the sentiment as the driver pulled up outside the hospital. Mother disliked hospitals. Mother disliked whistling. She grumbled at the fare, there would be no tip.

Moira climbed out of the car and was hit by a wave of apprehension. Mother bum-shuffled across the back seat and followed her daughter into the outside. She mumbled an empty thank you and slammed the car door a little harder than was necessary. They stood still then for what seemed like a long time, while life moved on around them.

"Well come on then, unless you've changed your mind," barked Mother. Willing and able to make a scene, now that the audience had driven away. Moira had not changed her mind. Mother didn't require an answer to know that. "Selfish through and through, just like your father. There's nothing wrong with you, you're just an attention-seeking little bitch." The words stung. She looked at Mother then. Reluctantly, their eyes met. Moira could see her mother's fear, see her anguish, see her guilt. Mother could see that Moira had no intention of turning back, she had come too far now. Neither could cry, though both felt that they should. Mother's face relaxed and softened ever so slightly. The army of angry lines around her mouth temporarily ironed themselves out for the sake of appearances. "Let's go in then, get this over with," she said, before abruptly turning on her heel and leading the way towards what the day had in store. She was not a thoroughly unkind woman. She was capable of love once, but life had changed her, as life sometimes does.