Somewhere in a twentieth century world a six year old girl is tugging at the insufferable dress her Momma has her in. The neat braid her maple brown hair had been weaved into is no more than messy, flat locks laid against her shoulders now. She's standing in the family room, face to screen with the television. She shouldn't be standing here, because her brothers - thirteen year old Mason and nine year old Jett - are already in the car. It's a strategic attack in the current battle against Momma; she'd told her over a dozen times this week alone not to stand so close to the TV. "You'll ruin your eyes. You'll have to get glasses," she'd said, "Is that what you want?" She doesn't; Tommy Miller in Kindergarten has glasses, and he looks like an ugly frog. Ugly frogs don't go very far in life. But that's not why she's rebelling. It has more to do with the terrible dress she has on.
She's not usually this close to the screen though, even when she is disobeying Momma. It's an uncomfortable way to watch Steve look for clues, and her eyes sort of hurt, but she is willing to risk possible frogginess for a few minutes, just until Mommy can make it downstairs and see her. She giggles, because Blue on the screen looks less like a dog and more like sparkly, mashed up playdough this close up, but she is quick to put on her angry pout again when she hears the distinct descent of Momma's footsteps down the stairs.
It'll only take a few seconds before she rounds the corner and sees her clever front. If only Mommy wasn't so persistent about the proper distance one has to be to enjoy Blue's Clues, she'd probably be proud of her ingenuity.
"Willow Miracle Dean!" There it is. "What are you doing? How many times have I told you not to stand so close to the screen? You'll spoil your eyesight, young lady, now turn off the TV and go put your shoes on."
Now is her turn.
Now is when Momma will try to reason with her, just like she'd planned. She'll probably crouch down so she can look her in the eyes, and try to explain to her that watching this close to the television will harm her eyes, and that "although we don't call people frogs, if you don't want to look like Tommy Miller, Willow, you'll probably want to sit on the couch back there". Willow will then deploy her stubborn arm cross, and explain to her mother in return that the only way she is stepping away from the television is if she can take off the stupid, poofy dress that makes her look like a stinky mushroom and wear her favorite t-shirt instead. Not the one with the penguins on it but the robot one she'd gotten as a hand-me-down from Jett.
"Willow", Momma chimes when there is no response. Momma's voice is tinged with the spicy aftertaste of a stressful morning, but Willow is too young to recognize it. Mother sounds angry to her, is all, an uncalled for anger that she only processes as a challenge.
And so she lets out a "Humph" and rocks onto the balls of her bare feet, but she doesn't budge. She merely stares at the television, and attempts to enjoy her program. She's starting to watch a bit cross-eyed, but the discomfort is all in the name of justice. Mommy is not pleased to see this.
Frustrated, she approaches her daughter with her clip-clop heels and grabs her tiny little hand. She tugs her forcefully away from the television, pressing the little round button and Willow watches speechless as the screen goes black. She is being led away, to the garage where all of her shoes are lined up orderly on a shelf by the door for convenience. She hadn't expected her mother to use force. It's not natural, not how things normally go. Momma's never grabbed her like this before. She didn't even get to pitch her bargain.
She recuperates. Her heels skid across the ground and she claws at her mother's hand, growling the way any ferocious six year old throwing a temper tantrum might. "No! I don't wanna go to school in - in this stupid dress!", she grunts through her clenched teeth, trying now to physically outdo Mommy rather than try to outwit her. It's no use. Mommy is stronger, bigger, older, and it's really not much of a fairly matched attempt at all.
Momma stops, turns on her heel just before the garage door and this time she does crouch to Willow's level, but it's not calm and soft the way she was hoping, and Mommy is definitely not trying to reason with her. Her eyes are set, and in them Willow sees in something she had never before witnessed from her mother. Sadness.
"Do you want to be the only little girl in the whole school that's not dressed up for picture day? The teachers will all think you're a messy girl, and all the other girls will look better than you. Is that what you want, Willow?" It's not what the distressed mother wants to say to her daughter, but it's been a long and corrosive morning, and they're already late for school. Willow doesn't know that much. It's true that she doesn't like the dress; she prefers the tee and some pants to it's obnoxious skirt and frills, but being the odd one out between all the rest of the girls is not something she wants either, and she likes her teachers too much to alienate them from herself.
Willow grumbles and gulps down the lump growing in her throat, then looks to her bare feet and shakes her head 'no'. She slips out of her mother's hold and trudges to the door, where she steps into the garage and begrudgingly plops down on the stool placed before the shoe shelves. She picks out the pink flower sandals that match the pattern climbing the skirt of her dress and the rose colored cardigan she has on, because that's what Mommy would have picked, and she knows best. Willow slips them on without another word. Momma does the buckle, and they both get in the car, Willow in the car seat beside Jett, and Momma behind the wheel of the front seat.
