The Periods of Being

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVII

    Julie bandages her hands with such ease it almost feels as if she has done this every morning for her. She doesn't ask about the tiny shards of glass in the creases of her hands as she tweezes them out or about the broken teacup on the floor. All she does is call for a maid to come by pulling on the red rope beside the fireplace. The maid comes up and does her job and then leaves in time for Olive to change for the day— another mourning dress.

    She slips it on and Julie helps by zipping it up for her in the back. Olive whispers a thank you to her as she observes her hands. Julie bandaged them tight and tried to do her best by hiding each little scar. Today the will is going to be presented and with her hands bandaged up, she couldn't help but feel like a widowed fool.

    "Is it possible I could wear gloves today? Not the long ones, but the ones that stop at my wrists?" Julie nods and looks around in one of the drawers of the vanity to pull out a pair of white ones rather than black.

    "What about these ones? To contrast from the black?" Her voice wavers as she suggests the white gloves. Julie already knew the answer to such a question yet she saw the need to ask it. Olive purses her lips and shakes her head.

    "The black ones," she says, pointing into the drawer where she can see the desired gloves.

    Julie sadly smiles at her request and sets them into the drawer again and reaches for the black ones. Olive can see the disappointment laying on Julie's shoulders. Olive can't wrap her mind around where the disappointment could've come from. Black is the color of her life now. It's her blanket. It's not a safety one, but more like the blanket to shield her as if she is naked, seen and vulnerable.

    She opens her hand to grab the gloves and she slips them on without a thank you. It's rude of her not to, but she can't find the words to thank her. All she can focus on is her scars disappearing as she slips the gloves on.

    "How does that feel?" Julie asks, gesturing toward the gloves.

    Olive flips her hands over and over again, looking down at them. The color of midnight is disturbing in a frightening way. Her black gown today has long sleeves, making it look like the dress is now swallowing her. She is being eaten alive from the color. Her heart remains red. Her cheeks remain the color of permanent shame. Her eyelids hold her eyes in a tight grip like a padded room she once read about in a book. The color will soon disappear any life inside of her. If the color doesn't, the mourning will.

    "Perfect," she whispers.

    "When does Neil come today?" Julie questions as she closes the drawer and tidies up the vanity. Olive watches her hands work instead of her facing her.

    "I'm not sure. He said he would catch the earliest train this morning."

    "Are you excited to see him?"

    Olive swallows. The question reminds her of Mr. Hadden and his absurd question about being excited to go home. Excited is not a word to describe her emotions. She isn't sure how to describe her emotions about it. Maybe numb.

    "It'll be nice," she says nevertheless.

    Julie turns to face her with a frown. Her frown reminds her of Mrs. Lillian's fake smile that was meant to help her in some way. Julie's frown is true. Julie is a true lady's maid of telling the truth and telling her lady what she is feeling. Mrs. Lillian is there for the money and to live the life of caring for someone other than herself. Olive can't decide if she would rather have one over the other.