She puts on her mother’s dress. It hangs off her small frame, the straps falling off her shoulders but she doesn't seem to notice. She puts curlers in her hair and red lipstick on
her lips, accidentally smearing it across her right cheek. She ties the clasp of the pearl necklace around her
neck. Exactly like a grown up. Exactly like her mother. She looks in
the mirror and smiles.
Her mother looks in from the doorway. Her clothes flung around the
room, expensive dresses strewn across the floor. Her makeup scattered all over the dressing table. And she looks at the
child smiling at herself in the mirror. She feels something pull at her
heart.
Stop. Don’t. Stay a child. Don’t grow up. Don’t have your heart
broken. Don’t face life. Just curl up in your bed and pull the covers
over your head. Stay there for as long as you can. Believe
that you’ll be safe there. Believe I’ll protect you- from anything and
everything. Know that you’ll be safe there and know that I’ll do
whatever I can to keep it that way. There’s nothing good for you over
here. So just stay.
She opens her mouth to speak. To say all the words she wants to. She
wants to run to the child and take her in her arms and keep her there
forever, where she’ll be safe. Where she’ll be able to protect her. She
clasps her hands in front of her heart to quell the ache. And she
straightens up. There’s no time for weakness.
“Clean up the room.”
And she watches the smile disappear.
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