Butterflies in Glass Cases

CHAPTER 8: The Routine

The cold sound of Ms. Pierre's firm knocking on my door snaps me out of my trance-like state. Before answering, I quickly check to make sure that all my buttons are fastened and that my sleeves are hiding my scars, giving one last pat down to the creases in my smock.

As I turn towards the door, I hear Ms. Pierre impatiently knocking again, prompting me to scurry across the room to answer before she feels compelled to knock a third time.

Much to my surprise when I open the door, I see a mildly satisfied look on Ms. Pierre's face, likely in response to my willingness to conform to the system of the household.

In response to her seemingly pleasant demeanor, I playfully curtsy which, in turn, successfully drains any tiny fragments of momentary levity from her face as she sharply pivots and begins striding down the hallway while saying, "Come along, Miss Woodall. We have many things to discuss and we're already running behind schedule."

I hurry to catch up to her as she leads me down the stairs and into the kitchen, towards the breakfast table, where she has strewn out a series of hand-written lists across the table's surface.

Before I'm even seated, Ms. Pierre is handing me the first of many pages, and launching into her detailed dissection of each task, "The house is to be dusted, first thing, every morning. You will start at the top of each room, and work down to the bottom using lateral flicks. Understood?" despite the simplicity of the instruction, she repeats it slowly while patronizingly physicalizing the instructions, "Top...to bottom with Lateral flicks. Otherwise your efforts will be rendered futile and you will have to start over again."

I smile and try not to crack a joke, despite every fiber of my being wanting to make a cynical comment towards the obsessive-compulsive nature of her training methods.

Ms. Pierre proceeds down the list, "After you have finished dusting the second floor, each window must be cleaned. First, wipe them Horizontally...then Vertically, otherwise they will streak and you will have to start over again. After you have finished the upstairs, you will move down to the main floor where you will start by dusting each room, top to-"

For the sake of my own sanity, I quickly cut her off, "-bottom with lateral flicks, before washing the main floor windows horizontally, then vertically to avoid streaking."

I watch as Ms. Pierre's lips momentarily purse at my interjection into what feels like an over-rehearsed training regime, "...Once you have finished with the windows on the main floor, you will tidy the kitchen from breakfast, including both washing and drying the dishes, wiping and drying the counters and then taking a quick inventory of the pantry, refrigerator and cellar."

I can't help but give in to my instincts and cynically state, "Sounds easy enough."

Ms. Pierre gives a momentary pause as if to silently ask if I'm finished with my attempts at humor before she shifts gears, "Tell me, what is your preferred method of education?"

I hesitate in response to the question, unsure of the answer she's looking for, so I answer with ignorant sincerity, "Well... schools usually do a pretty good job."

Before I'm even finished speaking, I can tell by Ms. Pierre's face that this is the wrong answer. She promptly crosses her hands in front of her waist as she thinly veils her contempt towards me, "The Morgan Children have been home-schooled for countless generations, utilizing the family's extensive library and a customized curriculum both created and conducted by matriarchs such as myself."

I feel my face scrunching in response to both her stubbornness and the act of labeling herself as a 'matriarch'. I try to break the tension by jokingly inquiring, "The books in the family library, they aren't five hundred years old too, are they?"