FOREVER

Wretch

Wretch

"I was born in Rochester in 1915. My father had a secure job at a bank and as a result we were upper middle class. It was very important back then, class. And rest assured that we had plenty of it. From the time I could walk I learned posture, balancing books on my heads. My mother was strict and not a kind woman. I'm not entirely sure if she loved me or not but it doesn't matter now. She raised me to be a lady and she succeeded. For I grew into the stately grace and my looks followed suit. I may not have been the most beautiful woman in the world back then, but I was a head-turner. Mere fact, not conceit. Men came from all over it seemed, meeting with my father and mother and then grazing their eyes over the beautiful Hale daughter. It made father proud and at the time, I was happy to oblige. Anything to get a glance from the man.

"If I may be blunt, my family wasn't loving. I'm sure they did love me somewhat, but back then it was just understood. And love didn't make the family, wealth did. Wealth and class made the love, happiness and security that everyone wanted. The Hales were no different. Every day was a constant struggle to be better. You'd think it would have taken its toll on us, but we were strong. We were Hales.

"Father decided to use my looks to his advantage. He'd often parade me around at parties, asking wealthy men if they'd met his lovely daughter, Rosalie. I was only eighteen at the time but I would smile and curtsy and look just as innocent as I could be. I'd gotten several offers, but father denied them all, thinking that he could do better. He said that he could do better and that I wasn't trying hard enough. I asked him once just how he expected me to become more beautiful for his wishes. He merely scowled and headed into his office. I can still hear the ice tinkling in his nightly drink that lasted well into the morning.

"Then one morning, I was awakened by mother. She stood over me, standing tall, and looking down her nose at me, instructing me to get dressed. Father had forgotten his lunch and I was to take it to him. In all of my eighteen years, I'd never once heard of my father forgetting his lunch. Then again, I suppose if he had forgotten it, a servant would be instructed to take it to him. Mother hauled me out of bed and ripped my nightclothes off of me. I remembered that my gown snagged on my hair and pulled it. I called out in pain and she just looked at me. I absolutely hate the memory of that look. You might have thought me cold, or still do, but I am nothing compared to my mother. Or if I am, then I apologize to you here and now.

"She tore off my clothes and then threw new ones over my head. I'd never seen them before and they were a rich crimson color. I told her that I loved it and she nodded, buttoning my dress and telling me to suck in my stomach, which was as flat as it is today, by the way. After the dress she allowed a servant to handle my hair, brushing it in loving strokes. Normally I would engage the servant girl in conversation, simply out of boredom. But today, with my mother's eyes on me, neither of us felt like saying anything. To this day I still can't remember that girl's name. Perhaps I never learned it in the first place.

"From there I was plastered with makeup of my mother's doing. All the while she did my face there was an expression of contempt. It burned to see it so prevalently in her eyes and yet I couldn't look away. My own expression of unhappiness tried to rival hers. She won that day. And I was sent out the door with a lunch pail in my hands. I entered the bank, flashing a grand smile to the doorman who blushed in my presence. Father was standing a few feet away with some men, chatting idly with them. I made my way over, placing my arm on his shoulder and curtsying my apology for interrupting the conversation. 'Father,' I said as sweetly as I could muster, 'you've forgotten your lunch this morning. Mother instructed me to bring it to you. Where would you like it?' I asked sweetly, my eyes darting to the men that had encircled around us.