The Town of Splintered Bones

Chapter Three

 A week before my sixteenth birthday, the sky was overcast, and the rain thudded down relentlessly. It masked all sound and made it seem much earlier in the morning than it actually was. The sound of water hitting the old slate roof, the grass, and the long curving paths around the house muffled the sound of my alarm, and continuously lulled me back into sleep. It wasn't until Mother shouted up the stairs that I jolted awake.

Sleep left an unpleasant taste in my mouth and a soporific heaviness to my eyelids and limbs. I dragged myself out of bed, and thudded over to my closet. It was enormous, and bursting with clothing; Mother constantly buys new outfits for me, as if hoping that an impeccably styled wardrobe would distract people from my predilection to plainness (it didn't, and kids are cruel). I gazed tiredly at the countless shirts, skirts, and camisoles, all hung up orderly rows.

I finally selected one of my favorite outfits: a soft white cotton camisole, with a heavy silk blouse (water green), and a perfectly broken-in pair of blue jeans. I tucked in my camisole and sleepily buttoned the jeans across my belly button before selecting a pair of navy-blue sneakers with a spunky red stripe across the side. I ran a silver-backed brush through my thin, frizzy hair and didn't bother to look in the mirror before rushing downstairs.

Mother was sitting at the kitchen table in a cream-colored satin robe, with slippers on her perfect feet and her air caught up in an impeccably done chignon, despite it being just past eight in the morning. Her creamy-pale skin glowed against the deep auburn of her hair and her thick, dark lashes and brows. Though she didn't need it, her face was made up with the latest Chanel makeup, to accentuate her God-given gifts of large, luminous eyes and full lips. Her eyelashes were coated with a dark brown mascara and rested against high, sharp cheekbones. Clara daintily sipped her coffee without leaving a speck of dark red lipstick on the rim of the delicate china cup.

"You're runnin' late," she drawled lazily. I could never understand where Mother had gotten that drawl from; having been raised in California, it couldn't have come naturally. I could only assume that the deep accent of Southern aristocracy had blossomed when Mother started her new life here, along with all the other trappings of old money and good breeding.

"I know, I'm sorry Mother. It's the rain - I could barely hear my alarm..." My voice trailed off. Nothing I said would make a difference, if Mother was dissatisfied about something.

Mother looked up slowly from her paper. I could feel her deep green eyes taking in different points of my face before finally making contact my own dark eyes. Her suddenly clipped, sharp tone was at odds with her peaceful expression

"You weren't up late, were you? You know how you need your beauty sleep."

I could immediately feel myself begin to sweat. My body, betrayer of emotions since 1990.

"No, Momma." I stammered. "I went to sleep plenty early, like you said. It's just the rain, I promise."

Her eyes bored into my face for a moment longer, as if sizing my up. Clearly deciding that nothing untoward was going on, Mother returned to her paper, murmuring about getting my windows triple glazed to reduce the noise of the rain outside. There were few things more important to Mother than her beauty rituals, and getting enough sleep was a big one.

Feeling quite clearly that I had been dismissed, I gratefully grabbed a piece of buttered toast, slicked it with raspberry jam, and dashed out to the hall. As I jammed the toast into my mouth, I quickly put on my dark blue rain jacket and sensible rain boots, in anticipation of the watery trudge to school.

Outside, I breathed a little easier. The damp and fresh air was perfectly to my taste, and I breathed deeply as I trod carefully through the deep, clear puddles that formed along the ancient bluestone path outside the house. At the end of the walk, I turned on the long, winding gravel drive that would take me the full mile into town. I walked slowly, picking my way around branches that had fallen from the ancient maples, and deep puddles that had formed in the road. Really, I was savoring the time I had to be alone before arriving at the viper's nest that was my school.

Eventually, though, I made it into town. Even with the poor weather, it was a bustle of activity - mostly wealthy housewives popping in and out of artisan bread shops, fromageries, and ice-cream parlors, picking up special treats for lunch or dinner. All too soon, though, I arrived at the school.

An imposing brick building, the Fairview Falls Academy was as old at the town. At one time a boarding school for the extremely affluent, now it was a chic private day school for those in the area. Knowing that I was already late, I bypassed a stop at my locker and hurried to my first-period class. I set my bag down just as my science teacher, Mr. Ogden, was handing out the day's lab assignment. 

I should have known that I couldn't enjoy such a pleasant morning without paying for it eventually. As soon as I sat in my seat, I could hear the sneer in the voice from the chair behind me.

"Can't you even be on time? You need something to make up for all those spots on your face," It was, of course, Elizabeth Hamden.

Against my will, my body cringed with embarrassment. Elizabeth, with her dark hair and sparkling blue eyes, was generally considered to be the most popular, pretty, and well-liked girl in school. Naturally, she used me to sharpen her claws on a daily basis.

"Ms. DuBois. If there is a conversation that is so important it cannot wait until the end of class, then please, take it outside."

I felt the sting of betrayal at Mr. Ogden's reprimand. Ordinarily my favorite teacher, even he was not immune to Elizabeth's charms all of the time. Already embarrassed to feel the class's eyes on me, I slunk down in my seat. However, that wasn't going to be enough today. Knowing now what I was expected to do, I stood from my desk.

I swallowed before announcing, in a shaking and quiet voice, "I apologize, Mr. Ogden. My conversation -" 

Hearing stifled laughter, I glanced back in Elizabeth's direction.

"My conversation was not important. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

I thought I saw a flash of pity on his face as I made my apology. Perhaps he realized, too late, that he had given Elizabeth exactly what she wanted. "Very well, Ms. DuBois. That's fine. Sit back down, please."

Although this exchange and my punishment were over in a matter of seconds, I felt the embarrassment like a dull ache for the rest of the class. I could barely concentrate through our lecture on cells, which, besides genetics, was the topic I had been most looking forward to this year. To escape the humiliation, I let my mind wander instead. I stared out of the ancient, wavery glass windows and re-imagined my life.

What would it be like if people didn't snicker or laugh with uncomfortable pity when they saw me? I felt only dull resignation as I reminded herself that it was impossible to change my face, my body. They were mine and I would have to live with them, no matter the reactions they drew from everyone around me. But after a morning like that, I couldn't stop myself from imagining what it would be like to look like someone different - someone like my beautiful mother.

I imagined busy weekend nights, and lazy Sunday mornings spent in the company of other young men and women. I imagined having mother who would be proud to walk down the street with me. I imagined a father who wouldn't have run out, who would have been so enthralled by his beautiful daughter that he could never imagine leaving.

Before I knew it, the bell was ringing and I was walking out of my last-period class, looking just the same as ever.