What's mine is yours and yours to keep
No matter what you do,
All that I own was only ever mine
To give to you
—————
A familiar red door sat before my eyes. And who could forget the windows to match. It almost felt haunting, seeing it again like that. I realised that I had been standing there for quite a while as people passed behind me in a constant stream of commutes and errands.
I kept trying to convince myself that it would be alright, that there was nothing to be worried about. I could be professional, and I was sure that she could as well. All I needed to do was go in, collect the dress, and then leave. Nothing more, nothing less. And besides, it had been months since it happened. I could do this.
So I climbed the steps, all three of them, my pulse quickening with every move, and pushed against the door. Dangling bells chimed above my head, ringing in my ears before they settled and the door shut itself behind me. A recognizable voice shouted a greeting at me from the other room. I willed myself to answer back, but just couldn't.
The room felt larger than it had a few months ago, but then again, I might not remember it too well. I knew it was a cowardly thing to do, but I'd made great efforts to avoid that particular trip. A lot of the other girls at the manor were more than willing to trade a few of their chores for a day on the town, so I passed them on.
I had been staring at one of the mannequins when Mrs. Carney first appeared behind the counter, a grand smile splayed on her face as always. I hated the way it faltered when she realised who I was.
"Florence!" She said. "What a surprise."
All I could do was smile in return, not knowing what to say. I suppose her surprise was well founded, seeing as I'd avoided the store at all costs since Christmas. It took me a while, but I managed to blurt a "Hello", only it came out all wrong. It sounded worried, distressed, wobbly in the center and high-pitched on either end. Far from the calm and composed image I was attempting to project.
I'd convinced myself that if I acted like nothing was wrong, like nothing had ever happened, then that would become the truth. It was ridiculous, I know that now, but at the time it was comforting, and that's all I cared about. What followed was silence, only mildly uncomfortable, but I was still relieved when she decided to end it by saying,
"I'll go get the dress." She looked at me with sympathy as she said it. But I was too focused on the feeling of my teeth grinding against each other to dwell on her tone.
"I don't resent you."
My eyes snapped away from the floating specs of dust I had been watching quietly by one of the windows. I twisted my body around to look at her, but she wasn't looking back at me. Her hands were still busy folding the dress and packing it into the flat white box on the counter top.
"He never told me what had happened, or why it ended." She said, frowning to herself. "No matter how many times I might've asked."
She shook her head, chuckling subtly. The way she spoke about it- all of it- calmed me. As if she was reflecting on some distant memory that at the time of its passing caused pain, but was now nothing more than an anecdote to utilize if she ever found herself in labored small talk.
"I never did get it out of him."
I noticed her face fall, she must have been so confused, so lost on it all. But I wasn't going to be the one to tell her, not now, not ever. All I could do was offer her a sorry smile and hope that it was sufficient.
She placed the lid atop the box, pressing down on it gently until it sunk into place. I watched her as she reached for the ribbon, still yet to meet my gaze. Her hands fumbled around with the roll of fabric, passing it between her fingers before tapping against it once or twice. Only then did she finally look at me.
Her eyes held seriousness, demanding that she be listened to. But she wasn't being stern, she just needed me to hear- really hear- what she had to say. For my own sake.
"As his mother, I was upset."
I felt my gaze soften with remorse. Of course a part of me felt guilty for what I'd done. I didn't regret, not one bit, but knowing that it had effected others, people I didn't think were involved, hurt. I did what I thought was best, and so did he, I'd never intended to upset anyone.
"But as a woman, I understand."
Her words felt so powerful I wanted to cry. It felt like I'd been chipping away at the outer shell of my life for so long, and all of a sudden she'd come along and helped me crack it open. And I could finally go back to focusing on what's inside, what I want to do next.
"You're a sensible girl Florence, a kind one too," She reassured me. "I'm not going to blame you for looking out for yourself."
"I wish I could have done the same."
Mrs. Carney exhaled deeply, before returning to her task. She finished tying the ribbon around the box, topping it off with a crafted bow. She placed it in my hands and I thanked her. She nodded back at me and I could tell she understood.
That I was grateful for more than the dress. That everything she'd said had been exactly what I needed to hear. That she, and she alone, was responsible for the warmth that flowed through my body at that moment.
She bid me farewell as I turned to leave, ready to return to the manor. Picking up the dress had been my only task for the day, and I was looking forwards to spending the remaining daylight alone, some time to myself. I walked towards the door and reached for the handle with my free hand, the other one carried the package.
Pulling it open, a young woman, maybe only a few years older than myself, stood on the other side. She looked up at me in surprise, her hand still held out for the door. I moved the side to let her in, holding the door open for her. She offered me a polite nod, a silent thank you, and I returned the gesture. I noticed she was with child.
I was halfway out the door when I heard it from behind me. Mrs. Carney's voice, so filled with joy and glee, welcoming the woman into her store. "How's my grand baby." She had said. My heart clenched, warmed at the knowledge that the woman was going to be a grandmother, and a fine one at that.
Until I remembered that Jon was an only child.
I stopped where I stood, frozen on the stair of the shop. The door closed behind me and I felt a faint gust of wind press against my back. It blew hair into my face, around my cheeks and in front of my eyes. My mind was trying to race, figure things out, come to a reasonable conclusion. But all attempts were lugging around the plain, hard truth.
That that could have been me.
I felt the bile rise in my throat, my lunch demanding out of my stomach. I needed to be sick, I needed to empty myself, of everything. I turned the street corner and concealed myself in one of the alleyways to do so. Watching all of it leave me was a relief. It had been a part of me when I realised it, but now I'd left it behind. It was gone, and I could breathe.
But the sinking feeling remained, the weight of my brain swayed in my head and I couldn't stop the sudden tightness in my limbs. I had been so close to being that girl. So close to living that life. If things had gone differently, I could have been the one carrying that child, wearing hat ring.
When I arrived back at my lodging three quarters of an hour later, I felt the need to wash. To remove everything I had been when I found out, all that I had touched before I knew. I filled the wooden tub with lukewarm water from the pump with haste, and stepped out of the clothes I had been wearing. They sat in a pile in the corner of my bathroom, a lump of cloth that knew the things I wanted to forget.
Only once I fully submerged myself beneath the surface of the water, did my skin cool down. The feeling of being alight dissipating with every ripple that's swam across the blue. My hair, wet, stuck to my forehead as I came up for air. I pushed it back and off of my shoulders to see myself; legs pale and wobbly as I observed them through water.
Every time I shut my eyes, I saw her face. It hadn't been unlike my own, but her eyes were lighter, and her hair shorter. She'd looked happy, content in her situation, but I couldn't empathize. I couldn't see myself happy, not like that.
I thought of the bump, the life growing inside of her. Half her, half him. A whole person, a responsibility, and the permanence of it all scared me. Small bumps rose along my arms and up my shoulders. They stretched all they way down to my ankles to let me know I was getting cold. But I couldn't feel it.
Not when I felt like I was on fire.
I scrubbed at my skin, hard. First with my hands, then with a washcloth. I wanted to rid myself of it all, every though, every alternate life I could have lived. It's the feeling you get when you think of yourself as another person, and everything just feels wrong, and unnatural. I watched my body turn red and rough, beginning to reflect what it felt like inside.
The rag scratched against my skin, against every part of my that had been touched by another person. The nape of my neck, the sides of my rib cage, the center of my chest, my shoulders, hips, thighs, I felt dirty, I felt careless. I wasn't oblivious, I knew what life was; how it starts, how it's created.
Tewkesbury and I hadn't been careful last summer, we were reckless, unsafe. And what if- what if something had come of it. if I had ended up like that woman, then what? What would have happened to me. I imagine he would have hated me, that everyone would have, including myself. God I would have hated myself.
I stood up, leaving the water behind. Droplets fell from my fingertips and chin. It rushed down my legs and back as I rung out my hair, twisting it and squeezing out all the water. I dried myself of, patting at my skin, ignoring the sting on contact from all the scrubbing.
I pulled a soft white nightdress over my head and let it drop to my knees. The quilt I had made a few years prior felt warm against me, so did the bed. It felt like a hug, from myself. From the girl who had made it, young, so eager to grow up, be older.
But knowing what it meant, I wish I could go back and tell her- me, that all it does is bring you closer to the end. And at the time, no matter how hard I tried to visualize something else, something different, or tried to think of the present and live for the moment, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that the end of myself, as I was then, was near.