by S. Walden
Clara nodded remembering the doors torn open and angry curse words flung at her for reasons she didn’t understand.
“I was broken,” Ellen whispered. Her face streamed with tears, but she didn’t wipe at them. She sat immobile except for the movement of her mouth as she told the story she hoped she would never have to. “I took up with a man. He was an asshole, but he gave me a place to stay. I had no self respect so it didn’t matter.
“I . . . I tried to kill myself,” she confessed. “I’m not proud of that. I overdosed on pain medication and the asshole took me to the emergency room. I’m surprised he did that. I thought afterwards that perhaps I had something to live for. Someone. Well, two someones,” she said smiling sadly.
Clara was silent. She studied her mother and saw a possible future for herself, the pain and anguish of a mental disease she could neither will away nor control. She thought she could hate her mother for doing that to her—giving her something so devastating that accounted for the voices, the sadness, her inability to cope with anything.
“When did you learn you had depression?” Clara asked suddenly.
“What?”
“You heard what I asked,” Clara snapped.
“I knew in my early twenties,” Ellen replied, confused.
“So before I was conceived?” Clara asked.
“Just before.”
“And you had me anyway?” Clara went on. Her skin went hot with the realization.
“What do you mean, Clara?” Ellen asked.
“Isn’t depression hereditary? Obviously it is if I think I have it,” Clara said.
“I suppose. It’s not a definite.”
“No, but a possibility?”
“Well, yes,” Ellen said softly.
“So if you knew you were so fucked up, why did you have children? Didn’t you know that you could pass that on? Did you think about that, or were you too busy being selfish?”
“You’re asking me why I gave birth to you?” Ellen asked, bewildered.
“Yes. You had a choice. And you made the wrong one. And guess what? Now I have to deal with it. I have to deal with your fucking selfish choice to have a child when you knew you could pass on your fucked up depression and—”
The slap was swift and biting. Clara put her hand to her cheek and stared at her mother in disbelief.
“Never talk to me like that again,” Ellen said. “I had you because I loved you!”
Clara sprang from the bed. “That’s rich, Mom! Love? You loved me? Did you love me when you left me with all of your debt? How about when you missed my birthday? Beatrice can forgive you because she’s young. Her heart isn’t a fucking stone in her chest like mine is. But I can’t forgive you. The hell you caused us. You’ve never even thanked me for taking care of Bea! I don’t care if you were feeling sad! I don’t care if you tried to kill yourself! I don’t care!” Clara screamed.
She wheeled around and stomped to the doorway. She heard Ellen sniffle behind her and turned around.
“I thought I could stop hating you. I thought it could go away. But then you slapped me and reminded me why it never will.” Her words were calm, like she was working them out as she spoke, discovering her feelings for the first time. “I think I’ll always hate you.”
Ellen let out a stifled cry. “Clara,” she whispered, but her daughter was already walking out of the room.
***
Clara was determined to go alone. Her mother pleaded over and over, but Clara was unrelenting. She thought Ellen hadn’t earned it—the privilege of spending time with her—and she wanted to punish her mother, believing she could hurt Ellen even more than when she said she hated her. And she was right. She heard Ellen crying that night in her room after Clara told her for the final time that she couldn’t go.
She watched the women talk behind the counter. They were speaking in low voices, trading jokes about their husbands and giggling softly. She wanted to approach them but was scared. She didn’t understand why she was scared. All she was doing was shopping for a dress.
“Can I help you?” she heard from behind her. She spun around and was greeted by a tall, slender woman. The woman looked nice enough—she smiled sweetly at Clara—and Clara relaxed a bit.
“Well, I’ve been asked to the prom,” Clara said. There was a note of uncertainty in her voice like she didn’t believe it. “His name is Evan.” She felt the need to say his name out loud. If she said his name out loud, it made it true.
The tall lady smiled. “Well, I think that’s wonderful.”
Clara smiled nervously. “I’ve never been to a prom before. I’ve never dressed up.”
“It’s no problem at all,” the woman said reassuringly. “We’ll get you all fixed up. Come with me.”
Clara hesitated for only a moment before following the woman to the back of the store. She was led to a section of racks with an assortment of evening dresses of all shapes, sizes, and colors. She watched as the woman hunted through the dresses, pulling out several and handing them to her.
“I’m Jesse, by the way,” the woman said.
“Nice to meet you,” Clara replied. “I’m Clara.”
“What a pretty name. You don’t hear that name too often,” Jesse responded as she continued her search through the racks. She pulled out several more dresses and threw them over the arms of a nearby club chair.
“My grandmother’s,” Clara explained.
“Well, it’s really pretty,” Jesse said. She stopped hunting and looked down at her client. “Do you like any of these?”
“I do,” Clara replied, feeling overwhelmed. “Do I try on all of them?”
Jesse smiled. “Well, isn’t that the fun part?”
Clara shrugged.
Jesse stood considering her for a moment. “Are you a senior?”
“No, a junior,” Clara said. “The boy who’s taking me is a senior.”
Jesse smirked. “Are you nervous about it?”
Clara nodded. She hung her face to hide her flushed cheeks. They burned with embarrassment. “I still don’t know why he’s dating me,” she said softly.
“I do,” Jesse said.
Clara looked up then and furrowed her brow.
“I know exactly what you need,” Jesse said. “Wait here.”
She hurried off as Clara stood holding the dresses. She felt awkward and out of place among the beautiful satin and chiffon fabrics and designer brands. She told herself not to look, but her eyes were already roving over her outfit: jeans that were slightly too short and a T-shirt that sported a few light stains. Thankfully the shirt was a dark gray, so the stains were almost imperceptible. She looked up and caught sight of herself in a mirror. She hadn’t noticed it was there. She bit her lip as she took an inventory of herself: uncertain hazel eyes, plump lips, long wavy brown hair that she used to shield her face in most of her classes. She wouldn’t have to look at her classmates, and they wouldn’t have to look at her.
The old insecurities were resurfacing, but then she remembered Evan’s sweet words to her, the way he held her hand walking down the hallway, the way he twisted his fingers in her hair when he kissed her hungrily. The way he told her time and again how beautiful she was. She told herself to snap out of it, to find a dress that would make her proud to be with him and one that would make him proud to have her on his arm.
Jesse returned holding a tray with two champagne flutes and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. Beside the bottle was a tin of chocolates wrapped in a red velvet ribbon.
“This is a celebration,” she said. “Your first prom.”
Jesse beckoned Clara to follow her to the dressing rooms. She placed the tray on a nearby table and popped the cork of the bottle. It flew out and bounced off the opposite wall, the girls ducking to protect their faces. Jesse laughed and apologized. She poured the juice and handed a glass to Clara.
“Cheers!” she said tapping her glass with Clara’s.
Clara grinned and took a sip. She’d never tasted
sparkling grape juice before, and the carbonation hit her nose hard making her eyes tear up involuntarily.
“Now, Clara,” Jesse said. “I’ve got to figure out what you like best. We’ll put the dresses in order that way. No sense in having you try on the dresses you like least first. Know what I mean?”
“Sure,” Clara said.
Jesse placed her glass on the table and started sorting through the dresses, asking Clara to rate them on a scale of one to ten. Once all of the dresses were sorted, Jesse shoved five in Clara’s hands and pushed her gently into a dressing room.
“I’ll help you zip up. Just get them on first,” she called to Clara.
Jesse chatted with Clara as she helped her try on dresses. They shared the chocolates—Clara careful to keep her fingers clean around the dresses—and Jesse finally made Clara laugh and open up a little bit about Evan. Jesse squealed like a teenage girl when Clara told her about the first time Evan talked to her in the cafeteria.
They were six dresses in before Clara stepped out wearing a soft yellow floor-length dress. It hugged her body, dipping low in the front to show just a little bit of cleavage and cinching her small waist with a band of ruby-colored jewels. The back of the dress was breathtaking, fabric plunging to her lower back just above the band of rubies. Right under the band, the dress gathered and tumbled to the floor in a short, sweeping train. Jesse stood stock still, staring at her customer.
“Oh Clara,” she breathed. “This is the one.”
“Is it?” Clara asked.
Jesse replied by turning Clara around to face the full-length mirror. Clara didn’t recognize herself. The soft yellow of the dress was a perfect contrast to her dark brown hair. The band of rubies sparkled around her waist. She thought it was silly, but it made her feel like a princess. She fingered the jewels one by one as she listened to Jessie explain how the dress oozed understated elegance. Clara turned around to look at the train, wondering how she would walk around with it. Jesse sensed her uncertainty.
“Look,” she said, picking up the end of the train and turning the material inside out. She hooked her fingers around an elastic band sewn into the fabric. “It’s a wristband, see? You hook it around your wrist and then you won’t trip as you walk in your dress.”
Clara nodded feeling much better. She turned to look at herself again.
Jesse handed her a pair of strappy sandals. “We’ll need to alter it just slightly. The length needs to be taken up a bit.” She pulled a small box out of her pocket and flipped the lid while Clara fastened her shoes. “Stand straight up,” Jesse ordered and knelt down to secure pins around the hem of the dress. She glanced every now and again at Clara and smiled. This was her favorite part about her job, when a girl who thought she couldn’t afford a pretty dress for prom finally found it and felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
“Hair definitely up,” Jesse said standing up again. “You have a beautiful neck and need to show it off.”
Clara nodded.
“And soft make-up,” Jesse went on. “Don’t overpower the dress. Let the dress do all the talking. And no jewelry. You don’t need it with that band of jewels around your waist. Not even earrings.”
“No, I have to wear earrings,” Clara said.
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” Clara insisted gently. “They’re from a good friend who died recently.”
“I see,” Jesse said. “Well, not to sound completely heartless, but do they match?”
Clara grinned. “It doesn’t matter.”
***
“Okay, Clara. You go first this time,” Beatrice said.
Clara sat beside her sister outside among the honeysuckle vines. They grew faster and fuller this year, overtaking the flowerbeds and choking out the few perennials that attempted a comeback. The vines were more fragrant, attracting an assortment of bugs that flew around Beatrice and Clara. Beatrice swatted at them and told them she and her sister weren’t going anywhere and that the bugs would have to learn to share. Clara grinned. She plucked a flower and held it to her mouth.
“I wish for a fun prom night,” she said and sucked the end of the flower.
“And romantic, too, right?” Beatrice asked. “Is Evan picking you up?”
“Yes,” Clara replied.
“Are you nervous?”
“Yes,” Clara admitted.
“Well, you shouldn’t be, Clara. You have the prettiest dress in the world, and you’ll be the prettiest girl there.” Beatrice said it with such certainty that Clara didn’t object. “I wish for Angela to stay my best friend for life,” Beatrice said sucking down the nectar of the flower she just plucked.
“I wish for a good senior year,” Clara said and tasted the sweetness on her tongue.
“I wish for acting lessons when Mom can afford them,” Beatrice said and drained her flower.
“I don’t know that you need acting lessons, Bea,” Clara pointed out. “You’re pretty good.”
“One can always improve upon their craft, Clara,” Beatrice explained, and Clara nodded with complete understanding.
Clara paused considering her last wish. She thought it may be too personal for Beatrice to hear, but she wanted to make her wish in the honeysuckle grove, believing that if she said it out loud surrounded by the magical flowers then it was certain to come true.
“I wish to stay in love forever,” she said finally, and sucked down the nectar.
“Oh, you will, Clare-Bear,” Beatrice said. “You and Evan will get married.”
Clara grinned. “We’ll see,” she said and fell back into the yellow flowers, crushing the sweet sugar all around her.
Chapter 22
Clara was unsure if she could ask her mother for help getting ready for prom after she told her mother she hated her. She didn’t know how that worked, if parents truly loved unconditionally. Past experiences convinced her that Ellen didn’t, and she thought she should feel ashamed to even ask her mother for help. It was ballsy, and Clara knew it.
But she asked anyway, and her mother agreed excitedly. Perhaps she took Clara’s request as a sort of truce, and it only made Clara feel worse. She secretly wished Ellen had said no, slammed the door in her face, and left her on her own. She thought she deserved it. She also thought she should apologize, but she didn’t know how. Or maybe for Ellen it didn’t matter. Being asked to spend time with her daughter whenever she could was apology enough.
Ellen wanted to make a fun night of it. She popped popcorn and cracked open Dr. Peppers and shoved Madonna’s Greatest Hits into the CD player. Beatrice danced around Ellen’s room singing Lucky Star and trying not to spill her soda while Ellen rolled Clara’s hair with steam curlers.
“God, you have the prettiest hair, Clara,” Ellen said. She wasn’t trying to flatter. She really meant it.
Clara smiled shyly. She let her mother do her make-up as the curlers set, making sure to tell her that Jesse suggested something light and natural.
“Well, I’m not an idiot, Clara,” Ellen replied. “The dress is the statement tonight.”
Beatrice ate the entire bowl of popcorn as she watched her mother work. Ellen finished the make-up, then removed the curlers from Clara’s hair.
“Jesse said I should wear it up,” Clara said to her mother.
“I agree completely,” Ellen replied. “We need to show off your beautiful neck. It’s like a dancer’s neck,” and Clara cringed remembering the exchange over Christmas with Beatrice about The Nutcracker.
“Clara? Are you completely and utterly excited?!” Beatrice squealed. She took another large gulp of her soda.
“I think you’ve had too much caffeine, Bea,” Clara replied.
“That’s not an answer!” Beatrice said. “Tell us what you’re feeling!”
Clara grinned. “I feel really excited and really nervous.”
“Well, when everyone sees you in that dress, they’re going to stop cold,” Ellen said. “Are you prepared to have all eyes on you?” She
laughed as Clara’s face froze in fear. Beatrice saw it, too.
“Oh Clara,” she said. “Relax! There’s nothing wrong with being the center of attention every once in awhile. Especially when it’s good attention.”
Clara tried to relax. She watched her mother in the mirror as she pulled her hair towards the nape of her neck, securing strands of it with pins until it was fastened into a messy chignon. She gave Clara a hand mirror to look at it from behind.
“What do you think?” Ellen asked.
“It’s so neat. How do you do that?” Clara asked, tentatively touching her hair.
“Well, I always wanted to be a hair dresser,” Ellen said. “And an actress. Bea, that’s where you get your acting bug. A singer and a writer. Oh yeah, and a sculptor.” She winked at Clara. “I’m not quite finished yet,” and she disappeared to another room.
She came back with a few red roses that matched the rubies on Clara’s dress exactly.
“What do you think about pinning some of these in your hair?” Ellen asked.
Clara nodded, and her mother pinned three roses in and around Clara’s chignon.
“Oh, Clara,” Beatrice said dreamily. “You look so elegant.” She sighed and finished her soda then plopped herself down on Ellen’s bed. “Isn’t she elegant, Mom?”
“Beyond elegant,” Ellen answered. She looked at her daughter wistfully. “Clara, you’re all ready. You just need to get dressed.”
***
Beatrice grabbed Evan’s hand and pulled him into the house.
“Now you’ll want to faint when you see her because she’s so beautiful, but don’t,” Beatrice said. “Otherwise you’ll be late for the dance.”
“Naturally,” Evan replied. He stood in the center of the living room looking handsome in a black tuxedo and closed his eyes at Beatrice’s command. He was apprehensive about seeing Clara dressed up. He’d never seen her that way and wondered if he would even recognize her. He wondered, too, if he would like it.
