This Wind Me Up, One More Time freebie story was the result...
Rain trickled down in streams along the window pane of the gift shop, blurring Christina Weaver’s sight of the streets of Verity. The bright red of a stop sign was visible amidst the gray, vivid against the paleness.
In that direct lay the school where Vivian Grumple taught, wearing a blouse and skirt as colorless as the sky, teaching math or history in a way which sucked all the excitement from the subject.
Had she truly become so dull or was her dullness deliberate? Once Vivian had been all about finding the excitement, the heart in everything.
“What does it all mean?” She’d make this demand of her teachers, Christina, anyone who couldn’t move fast enough. “Why do we learn these things?”
It was to learn this why that Vivian had followed Morisotte off to a distant land, the same land which the artist returned from with her daughters, Nathalie and Grace.
Vivian returned to, only completely altered.
“The world isn’t willing to answer my questions.” She looked away from Christina, refusing to let the other woman touch her. “Sometimes it’s better to learn when and where to hold your tongue. I’m going to teach this to the little girls of Omphalos, so they’ll be prepared for what waits outside, so it won’t take them by surprise.”
Gone were the rainbow shawls and bright colors Vivian once wore. She dressed in gray, stiff, high colors and long, tailored skirts, which gave Christina the impression of a military uniform.
Vivian was at war with someone or something. Whom the enemy was she wouldn’t say. Marrying Fred Grumple seemed more like a tactical decision than anything.
“There’s something to be said for old-fashioned values.” Vivian looked down at her hands. “You can hide behind them. You can use them to confound other people’s expectations.”
Rare were the moments when she and Vivian spoke, especially about things that mattered. Only her daughter, Heidi was reaching out for that lost past, by reaching out to Vivian’s daughter.
The two girls became friends. They talked about starting a business of handmaking their own toys when they grew up. Even getting married.
“What utter nonsense.” Vivian sniffed, not quite meeting Christina’s eye. “Two girls can’t get married.”
“It sounds familar, though, doesn’t it?” Christina dared to tease her old friend. “Remember when we used to talk about getting married?”
“We were just girls.” Mrs, Grumple gazed down at her wedding ring. “Sooner or later, girls grow up. They’re forced to become women and forget their dreams.” Her lower lip trembled. “Even if they fight against that fate, the world will force them to.”
“No one forced you to do anything, Vivian.” Christina reached out a hand to touch her friend’s arm. “Did they?”
“There are places where boys can just kick little girls whenever they feel like it. Adults allow it because they’re boys.” Mrs. Grumple clenched her hand into a fist. “There are places where a woman is shamed in public for trying to protect her daughter from a pervert. I thought if I asked the right questions, got people thinking, I could change these things, but people don’t want to change.” She raised her quivering fist in front of her face. “Morisotte is a fool for missing out on a life with her daughters in order to change such a place.”
Vivian walked away without speaking a single word.
They hadn’t talked since that day, only to exchange a few words by chance when their daughters met. Too many unspoken things lay between them.
If only they could talk, really talk again. Christina missed talking to Vivian. Only Vivian didn’t seem to want to speak.
Not to her.
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