Behind the Barricades

One Day More

MILLICENT: 20 years old

I walk in through the back door and everything is dark and silent. No movement at all. Everyone must have gone home or be asleep already. Jaques sleeps on sight most nights because he has a really hefty commute.

I creep in the kitchen in time to see Rose hanging up her apron. Simone is beside her but he already has his jacket on and apron hung. They are married and he walks her home but that means that if Rose needs to stay late, he has to stay too because he can't leave without her.

"You're home late," Rose tells me.

Oh shoot. I'm done for. What excuse can I use to try and talk my way out of this? I could say that I was just outside for fresh air.

"You got lucky. He's not home yet. Be careful next time. Those boys shouldn't let you walk home by yourself at this hour," she tells me.

I feel my jaw drop. How did she know? Why does she seem so calm about this?

Simone opens up his jacket to reveal a floral broche with the French colours. It's our symbol of the revolution. Provaire made them and he hands them out at rallies.

"Vive la France," they whisper with a secret smile.

I repeat the chant in response as the two of them pass me on their way out the door. They're revolutionaries. It makes sense. This revolution is supposed to benefit them.

I walk upstairs to go change into my nightgown before papa gets home. This would be so much easier if Kay were here. Why do girls have to wear clothes that require a team to put them on when boys get to just where one layer of a shirt and trousers. I wish I could wear trousers like the boys. Is it too late to add that to our revolution agenda?

Tomorrow's our revolution. I can wear whatever the hell I want.

I walk into papas room and look through is old clothes. It's all just uniform clothes. I can't show up to a revolution against the king and law enforcement dressed as a police officer. Why doesn't he have any casual clothes? I wouldn't fit into any of his clothes anyway.

I turn to walk away when an idea pops into my head.

I grab a pair of his blue trousers and I run to my room. I take my needle and thread and start embroidering our floral broach, that Provaire designed, onto the rolled cuffs of his pants. Hopefully this will take away from the fact that they are very clearly police blue trousers.

His trousers may pass for fitting me if I cuff them and wear and belt, but there is no way any of his shirts would fit me. It would take hours of alterations and I only know how to fix patches, hems, and embroidery. I don't want to wear a bulky men's shirt anyway. I don't want to disguise myself and try and look like a boy. I want to look like me, but in trousers. I don't want to disguise myself.

The people should see that they have a diverse social class of support so they feel they have everyone on their side. Part of why this revolution will work is because of the resources that all of us have access too.

I grab my meeting dress, that I do carelessly tossed on the floor, and a pair of scissors. I cut off the skirt and hem the top half of it, creating a lovely blouse. This will be perfect. I can just wear my regular meeting boots. They're comfortable and I know they'll match.

I hold everything up to my body and look in the mirror. It's missing something. It looks nice now but it needs something to tie this look together.

It needs a jacket.

All of my jackets are dress coats and I can't use any of papas. Even if I take out the patches, blue jacket with blue trousers is so obviously a police officer, my own friends would shoot me from a distance.