As the door closed with a resounding click, I resigned myself to what was coming to me.
"Where the hell have you been?!" my mother yelled at the top of her voice. "You could have been taken off the path and had god knows what done to you!"
I allowed her to continue her tirade of the same old thing and desperately wished to be a million miles away. All I wanted was one hour away from her constant surveillance, was that so selfish? Was it so awful to want to get away from feeling like I lived with jailers? I half expected to see my older brother and father installing a lock on my bedroom door or my mother watching me from behind a tree as I walked along to my grandmother's house. She had long, curly blonde hair that was tied up in a messy bun and green eyes that flashed with anger. Her delicate frame had the strength and poise of a lioness and her voice boomed across the small living room of our wooden cabin.
I could not look to my father or my brother Jacob to help. My father sat in his chair by the fire and stared at the book he was reading whilst Jacob stood by the fire warming himself pretending not to laugh. I didn't know why he couldn't at least pretend to be sympathetic. I suppose they knew going against my mother was not to be undertaken lightly and actively avoided the burning of her acid tongue. I groaned in silent frustration and set my jaw tight, clenching my fists at my side. As boundless as the love I had for my mother was, I knew she wouldn't understand my reasons and held my tongue despite the burning need to slam the door and never return. She yelled at me until I was nearly deaf. I felt more like a scolded child than a grown woman.
My father looked up from his book momentarily, wincing in sympathy. His eyes were a deep blue and had the look of a man old before his time. His face was lined by the years and he lacked the youthful energy he once had. He would often stare out of the window and long to be back in the forest despite his bones screaming for rest. My mother was a woman of a fiery temper and whilst his rational, calm nature often kept her from being too overbearing with me, it could not help me now.
My mother then led me into my bedroom, holding my hand like I was still a little girl. She dressed me in my nightgown and sat down beside me on my bed as she scraped a comb through my ebony hair, pausing occasionally to kiss the top of my head.
"I say these things only because I love you and want to see you safe, my dearest one. There are monsters out there who would take my precious jewel away from me."
Her words, although intended to be kind, felt like rubbing salt into a wound. I said nothing and let my head hang as she continued to comb the knots from my hair. She then pulled back the sheets on my bed and plumped my pillows. I climbed into bed and laid my head down into the deep softness. As I closed my eyes, I could feel her finger trace across my cheek and kiss my forehead as she sang me to sleep.
Or rather, my eyes would remain closed and my chest mimic the movements of sleep until I heard the click of my bedroom door...
***
The forest floor crunches beneath my feet as I walk slowly through the trees. The scent of the pines and the fresh mountain air are intoxicating to my senses. The weight of the basket on my arm makes me drop it onto the floor and I remove my cloak from around my neck so I can sit on it.
Spread out on the forest floor, it is the colour of fresh blood and it makes my skin look even more ivory than usual. I run my hands through my long black hair and twirl it around my fingers in my habitual way. As I do, I stare at the green and black patterned skirt that reaches just past my knees. My bodice is laced as tight as my mother's hands could manage, and I feel the occasional chafing around my chest and waist.
Who says that desirability isn't painful?
I wonder idly.
I look down at my black leather walking boots, which are the only practical thing that I am wearing today. With my eighteenth birthday only days behind me, my mother has suddenly decided to change my wardrobe to corsets and skirts that show the length of my legs from my usual plain cotton blouses and skirts. The corsets are painful and restricting to wear but they seem to keep the daggers in her eyes at bay.
"You will make your mother very happy, my dear" she would say with clear authority in her voice.
I look at her other present of a small mirror in my hand as I remove it from the basket. As I stare at my reflection, I recall with embarrassment the rituals my mother has recently taken to. The washing of my face in goat's milk, the constant combing of my hair and her irritating surveillance for what she calls my 'Red Flower'.
I think about the numerous bunches of flowers and hand written notes at home and my mother beaming with ecstasy as if they were left for her, not me. The annoying frequency of the gifts made me want to hurl them out of the window. As a result, she has followed me everywhere I go now like a guard dog, something that has gotten increasingly worse over time. Her only exception to the rule is when I visit my Grandma, with Jacob taking me halfway through the dangerous part of the woods. A stipulation on my part.
Today is an exception though. The journey isn't particularly long and I take joy in my rare moments of solitude. Yet guilt plagued my thoughts. It's not my brother's fault that my mother is so overprotective and I imagine the bellowing of her voice coupled with my father and brother's worried expressions. I make a mental note to make it up to my brother later and to explain everything to my father whilst sitting next to him by the warm fire. I imagine holding his hand like I always do and him looking at me with that loving and yet lost look in his eyes before stroking my cheek and giving me a long kiss on the top of my head. It was an unspoken conversation between father and daughter.
I was walking alongside Jacob in companionable silence and I could see the look upon his face that came from being the elder sibling tasked with being a watchdog to the youngest. The look of annoyance and yet extreme smugness that what he said went. He swung his axe against the side of a tree as if he thought that it would take down such a giant pillar of nature so easily. With my father's energy not being what it was, it was natural for my brother to believe that the responsibility would eventually fall on him.
Jacob was tall and strong, with long arms and short blonde hair. His strong jaw and blue eyes made him by far the most attractive man in our village. He was a carbon copy of what I imagined my father looked like at his age, coupled with my mother's bold personality and golden hair.
I suppressed a giggle as he made a further, futile attempt to knock it down. "Come on Jacob! I have to get to Grandma's house!"
"Just a minute!" he said impatiently, the axe barely making a dent in such a monstrous tree.
I stared at the space between the trees and tried not to fidget too much. Then, although I am ashamed to admit this, whilst his back was turned, I went with my urge to run... as fast and as far away as I could.
Sighing at the memory, I take out the latest volume of poetry and open it up to the first page. Whilst she hasn't forbidden me to, my mother is of the opinion that I should have 'more important things' to occupy my time with. As my eyes scan the page, my mind begins to devour all the wonderful words.
Every night, after I was sure that my mother had gone to bed, I would reach under my bed for my books and read for hours by the light of a dim candle. The strain on my eyes didn't matter as I read stories of pirates, mermaids, daring young maidens and handsome princes with gusto. The world would fall away and give way to magic and adventure.
Reading was something my Grandma thought vital to teach me teach me instead of what she calls 'Tiresome Needlework'. I laugh at the sound of her voice as I remember our visits. Her gifts of borrowed books in my basket were always a secret bargain made between us. She is a wonderfully witty and clever lady but it often keeps her reclusive and she has very little in the way of visitors. Yet, my visits to her gave me a chance to indulge my need for adventure. Her deep dark eyes were made even larger with her glasses and her silver grey hair shone in the dim light as she told me stories of her youth travelling the world. She would often make a point to tell me stop dreaming and actually do something but I think even she knew where her words would be ineffective with my mother. They were a mystery to each other at the best of times.
I imagined the lives of the young maidens, beyond the pages, and what wonderful experiences they must have had. I must confess to you, my reader, that I have often thought of what they do in the deepest part of night and I would feel a tingling below and the tightening of my nipples under my nightgown. So much so that I would be moaning into the pillow as my hand wandered under the blankets to my secret place.
