Word count: 2645
Prompt: Ginger
Notes:
• Cordelia Hall, and her Uncle are OC's by StorySnippets SaharaCastine and myself
°
Along the pathway, leaves chased themselves around into little tornadoes of rustic amber and cherry, the air smelled like cold and fall and the chill made her toes curl in her boots.
It was always so easy to forget all the bad on these types of days.
On the days when Cordelia Hall's coat covered her up in a warm, fuzzy feeling of safety, disguising the bruises on her arms that were fading because her father hadn't come around for a week.
Today, because her uncle had brought her here- away from home, life seemed like it could be so easy, so pleasant, so much like the stories she read.
This autumn, he brought her to a small Fall Festival in his hometown, far from her house, so, the car ride was long, and her parents couldn't come. She was completely content.
And she had brought along the pretty pink book that her uncle had given to her, tucked carefully away in her satchel.
As they walked to the entryway of the festival, she noticed how the archway was decorated with fake leaves and branches for the fall season.
Her eyes traveled each place the festival had to offer. It was wonderful and cozy.
Beside her, Uncle walked with a bit of a limp, his left leg never quite reached the ground as his right one did.
But unlike her father, he dressed better, wearing a flannel and jeans, and work boots, caked in dry mud.
Father always wore the same clothing, and it was torn and disgusting. And he always smelled like beer. Uncle Hall on the other hand always smelled like hay and hard work, like the outside.
Like safety.
Reaching the center where a large fountain was set up, the frosty water dribbling out from the concrete spout, Cordelia, in awe, let out a gasp at her surroundings. Never in her life had she seen anything more beautiful.
"Would you like a caramel apple, 'Ginger'?" Her uncle asked, startling her a little and leaning down to her level to point out a stand full of juicy red apples, their bottoms covered in a thick, sugary glaze.
She marveled for a second and then shook her head, disappointment edging her voice, "Mother doesn't like me having sweets..." But her stomach growled for the apple, her tongue wanting to taste the sweetness. It had been so long since she'd had candy that she could scarcely remember the taste.
Laughing, Uncle Hall waved a hand, "She will never know, you might as well eat as many sweets as you can fit in your little belly today." He winked before adding, "And I'll pack you a little baggie full of goodies for the trip home."
Nearly bursting with excitement, Cordelia nodded fiercely, he was right, she would stuff herself so full that the flavor would last in her mouth until next year when maybe he'd bring her here again.
Slowly, hand in hand, they approached the seller behind the booth and she pointed to the biggest caramel apple she could see from her height. "May I please buy that?"
Turning to greet them, the woman smiled, "Hello, Dale, nice to see you."
Her uncle nodded, "Hello, Amy."
Then she directed her piercing blue eyes to Cordelia's level, "And who might this sweet little thing be?"
Giggling shyly, she half hid behind her uncle, "My name's Cordelia. I like your eyes, they're pretty." Compared to her mother's dull eyes, this woman had prettier ones and she was so much more cheerful than her mother.
Why couldn't she have had Uncle Dale and Amy for a mother and father? They would've let her have all the candy she could ever imagine. And maybe they'd tuck her in, or even, say good night.
"Thank you," Blushing slightly, Amy turned, getting a napkin out of a box to select the apple Cordelia had pointed to.
Uncle Hall grinned teasingly at Amy as she spun around with the apple folded away safely in a paper bag that crinkled when she moved. "I agree. You do have pretty eyes."
Giving the bag to Cordelia, Amy shook her head, "Scurry along now, you don't want to miss the hayrides over there." She pointed a long finger in the direction of the pumpkin patch and the large wagon stuffed full of hay and lined with benches for the little ones to sit on.
Jumping up and down, Cordelia clapped her hands together and imagined the bumpy ride going all through the festival- with her and Uncle Hall in the front, smiling happily.
This day kept getting better and better!
She bit into her candied apple, her mouth slipping a bit at the waxy surface and she was surprised at how hard it felt. And while it was delicious, it was sticky and messy, getting all over her fingers. After a while, she handed it over to Uncle Hall and made a face, "It's too sloppy."
He nodded and put it back in her bag.
Hand in hand again, she and her uncle made their way down to the spot where the hayride was, arriving just in time to get on with the rest of the kids and their parents.
Her stomach sank a little bit at the sight of another little girl and her mother, holding hands and laughing. Happy.
How could she make her mother laugh like that?
Was it because she had red hair that her mother didn't like her? Did that make her ugly?
But then she looked around again, twisting on her stack of hay, and she saw a little red-haired girl, about her age, with both her mother and father. And they were all laughing. Together.
Maybe it wasn't the color of her hair that her mother and father didn't like- but maybe it was just... her.
"Are you ready?"
She whipped back around to see Uncle Dale sitting next to her on the hay, hands in his lap.
"Yes."
"Make sure to turn around so that you can see the whole festival and the pumpkin patch when we ride past."
She hadn't realized she was again staring in the direction of the red-haired girl and her family, and she nodded, situating herself by the side of the wagon, overlooking the whole festival grounds.
"Ginger?" Uncle Dale asked, leaning nearer to her, "You seem distracted, are you alright? You keep gazing at the other people. Are they making you nervous? Do you want me to ask the driver to stop?"
Her belly hurt. Yes, they made her nervous, but just because she could not figure out why they were happier with their parents than she was. What did they do to please their parents? They probably weren't beaten or slapped if they didn't listen- or if they made too much noise, or were, just in the way.
"No." Shaking her head, she put her hands on the side of the cart and felt it begin to roll over the pathways down to the pumpkin patch.
She shouldn't be complaining about her life, or, at least verbally to anyone. Mother would flip out if she told anyone that Father beat them. He didn't mean to. Mother said it was only the effects of drinking. Yet, Mother sometimes drank and she didn't get as bad as Father.
Maybe it was just the way her dad was wired in his brain. Maybe it wasn't a bad thing.
But, then why didn't Mom want her to talk about it?
Whatever the case, she would still keep quiet.
However, Uncle Dale already seemed to know what happened to her even though she had never really told him anything.
She didn't even want to imagine the punishment she'd get for telling on them.
Yelling. Hitting. Locked in her room. Cordelia shivered and bit her lip.
Uncle Dale smiled encouragingly her way, the dimple in his right cheek standing out as always, "After this, I'll buy you one of those stuffed animals they were selling on the booth by the pumpkin carving station."
Nodding, she tried to push away all the scary thoughts that dominated her mind. She wanted to have fun today. She wanted to be his daughter today.
So, she'd pretend for a day. It was better than real life.
°
America wasn't just the land of opportunities, it was also the land of sparkling lights, magnificent cities full of tall buildings and water fountains, and small places to shop.
Light and airy spring days, the sky turning bright and sweet with summer, beautiful autumn evenings with tangerine and rust trees, wonderfully cold winters with the weather so frigid your nose, ears, and cheeks would blush.
America was Wonderland.
It had that feeling. The one where you felt like you could conquer the world just by dressing in a fancy red dress with crimson lips to match.
But that America was all a dream in Cordelia's mind- all a moment of glorious imagination.
For the America she knew was, yes, not just the land of opportunities; but it wasn't Wonderland either. No, America was a sort of dark and gloomy place.
Grey all year round if you looked at it the right way. Scary and lonesome. All fake. Appearances mattering more than anything else.
America was awful.
°
Cordelia slumped on her couch and peeled the sweaty pair of high heels off her feet, flinging them onto the floor.
Bright red blisters marked her heels and she shrugged, this kind of pain was the life of a girl like her. A showgirl, a bartender, an alluring flirty girl who kissed too many men in a night.
And maybe drank too much. She clutched her stomach and grimaced. She was tipsy, but not completely drunk, she still knew how to function and do the basic things she needed to do.
But right now she could use a nice hot meal and some television.
Getting up, she tottered to the kitchen, and on tiptoes, she reached for the nearest cupboard handle.
As she swung it open, she admired the lovely dark stain that covered the wood, and the gorgeous silver handle. She was glad she had picked out these cupboards.
But then she saw the inside.
Nothing. Like a showgirl. Pretty on the outside, empty on the inside.
She sighed and stomped the floor. Looked like tonight would be dinner at the restaurant down the road. It was a good thing she was let off early so it would still be open.
Not what she had in mind, but- it would have to do.
But she couldn't very well go as she was, dressed like a showgirl, she needed to change into something more presentable. Or she could just slide a coat and some slippers on.
Maybe she'd do that.
She grabbed a fur coat off her coat rack, slipped it on over her short red dress, snatched her favorite pair of slippers from under the table, carefully put them on, and relished the soft feeling on her sore feet.
Then she was out the door in a flash, her purse in one hand and the other on her aching head.
The outside air didn't help her headache to drain, instead, the cool fall air seemed to slam into her, making her headache worse. Autumn didn't help anyone to feel better.
She sighed and signaled a taxi, stomping her foot impatiently, watching cars pass on the road before her, the noise of them almost unbearable. The noise was unbearable.
Finally, the taxi slowed to a stop in front of her and the man waved grimly. He didn't open the car door for her. Typical.
Opening the door for herself, she slid in on the seat and handed him a five-dollar bill.
He took it, "Where to?"
°
It was better than she'd remembered. The chandelier was beautiful and it lit up the room in a starry night effect.
The ceiling was large and the ridges along it every couple of feet reminded her of a carousel at the fair, individually wrapped strings of lights twinkling on and off against a pink and yellow colored wood.
Under her hands, the table chipped a bit, and dared to stick splinters in her palms. They were old but still beautiful. Give them a good furnish and they'd be good as new.
To her left, the window was large and circular, giving the restaurant an open feel, providing a sensation of a much bigger place than it truly was; and the view was wonderful.
People rushed about outside in the blackening evening, clutching hats to their heads, tightening coats around themselves, holding their children's hands, women and men with carefully chosen outfits in dull colors hurrying to their workstations.
Then there were quiet people. A girl sitting on a bench with her school books stacked on her lap. A man smoking a cigarette, loitering by the side of a small shop, shady eyes watching everyone pass by. An old woman fed a dog, sitting by the girl, her cheeks flushed pink.
"Ma'am? Are you enjoying your food?" Clearing his throat, the waiter ran a hand through his slick, dark hair, fixing one of the tails on his tuxedo.
She smiled his way and picked up her spoon again, the engraved details of the silver sliding across her fingers, "Yes. Thank you."
He nodded, "Good to hear," Then he was off, scurrying about to ask the next customer what they wanted.
Cordelia clenched her jaw and blew off her steaming soup, careful not to splatter it everywhere.
The soup tasted wonderful. Creamy and cheesy and it had the most exquisite bites of basil and tomato, the perfect compliment to the cheese. Dipping bread sat to the side of her bowl, she liked to eat that plain. Dipping it in the soup only made everything taste bland and tasteless.
Uncle Dale had never dipped his bread either, she supposed he had sort of taught her that. She laughed to herself and then held her stomach. Not just because she was a little hungover. Because she remembered Uncle Dale- and he was gone. Gone from her life, taken.
Her childhood had been lonely, and frightening, but at least her uncle had been there most of the time.
Then, one day, he hadn't been there. She'd gotten the news from her parents. Dead. Her only light was outed.
Ginger. His nickname for her.
Suddenly the food didn't taste as good anymore. Suddenly the lights didn't seem as bright anymore. Suddenly, she didn't want to be here.
Turning in her seat to get up and leave, her breath caught. There sat a red-haired girl with her mother and father, smiling and eating a late dinner.
Smiling.
She breathed out heavily, her throat aching with sobs as she stood from her chair and headed for the door, stepping outside into the October chill. This is why she didn't like going to restaurants. Families came here too; happy families.
Cordelia had thought the same thing when she was young- maybe it was her red hair that made her unwanted. Maybe it made her ugly and so that was why her parents weren't like everybody else's parents and didn't show affection.
But no, she had also come up with that answer when she was young.
Her parents didn't hate her because of her hair color, it wasn't because of her face. She wasn't ugly.
It was because she was... her.
And she wasn't good enough, not even for the men at the bar, not for her friends at the bar, not for her parents. Sure, she was pretty, sure she had an enchanting smile, and sure she was always dressed in the newest style.
But she was like the cupboards in her house. Beautifully finished wood on the outside, functioning as it should.
Empty on the inside.