Even as an adult I am always caught by the sheer magic of snow.
As a child, it used to fascinate me. I would stare for hours at each tiny little snowdrop; how every one was made out of thousands of shimmering crystals. They fell casually to the ground, some of them lingering in the air, as though rather enjoying flight. I would then gaze at the pure white blanket that lay on the ground. If I got up early enough, I would be able to see it's untouched , innocent state, otherwise it would be imprinted with the footsteps of life. Whether that be a busy worker, a playful dog or a curious child.
When I was nine, Christmas day began with my early awakening and longing gaze at the frosty windows. Time passed and eventually my mother came in. A proud woman, a tired woman. A lady. Her pride was that of someone who was completely paranoid of what someone 'above' might think about her for a passing moment. Her exhaustion was that of someone who's only job was to order others. Of course her pride meant that her daughter always had to be of a certain standard, and her tiredness made her very often irritable and impatient. She did not process the traits of someone who might be considered 'cold', however she was not a warming figure, and she honestly believed that everything she did was for the best. Whether that be for her, or her daughter.
Well this is my knowledge now that I am an adult with an open mind, at the time, my mother was perceived as a nagging dragging voice that always started it's sentences with "A lady must always..."
But despite my annoyance with her, I very much wanted to be a lady; It was something I constantly reminded people. Arguments would always end with 'Well I'm a lady' and I would blush happily when people called me 'Lady Abigail'.
My mother took me down to the living area, where the christmas tree had been set up. Of course, I had had no worries about whether or not Father Christmas would deliver me presents or not. After all, a lady is always good. I was very pleased with my presents, they were entertaining and pretty. My main present was my favourite though. It was a red dress, with ruffles on the bottom, a dark green ribbon and broach on the front. Looking back, I realise that it was a rather simple dress, but from then on I would wear that dress whenever and wherever I could, until it would eventually get too small for me, and I cried for hours. It is hard to say what I loved about it so much, maybe it was the sheer confidence of the red, the grace of the ribbon and broach. It was just so..... lady like.
I wore it to christmas lunch. My face pink with the delight of the dress and of my life. The whole world was beautiful. Or at least, mine was.
I'm sure that there is a time in every child's life, when they suddenly realise that not everybody has the same life as you. It is the first step to the loss of innocence, when you suddenly see the sharp edges of the round world, and you catch that fatal snip of ice within the soft snow.
This happened to me when I managed to slip from the table between the main course and dessert. I ran with the sneaky ease of a child who is naive enough to believe that there will be no fatal consequences for mischief, to outside, where I would be able to survey the snow in all it's wonderful glory.
Expecting to be alone, I skipped and danced in this beautiful blanket. I especially loved the crunching sound as I jumped, tarnishing the spots with hadn't been touched yet. It took a while to realise that someone had be observing me. A boy, my age. He was wearing trousers which cut off at the knee and a shirt. Both were ragged, torn and filthy. He had snow white skin with patches on blue, and a bruise on his shin, his hair was a brown mess, and his eyes monotone and hardened. For a second, he had been wearing a small smile on his thin lips, but after registering that I had noticed him, he gave a apologetic, almost fearful, look before turning away.
For some reason or another, I used to believe that part of being a lady was giving short statements and questions. My first one, out of many, was "Were you spying on me?"
The boy looked up, he didn't make eye contact, in fact he would make eye contact with me for at least six months, and shock his head violently.
"Good, because you shouldn't spy on a lady."
A curt nod.
"I am a lady"
A curt nod.
His lack of knowledge on conversing irritated me at first, but I would eventually get used to it, and even love it. But for now I said "You are freezing."
That got no response.
"I will help."
And with that I ran up and hugged him. Although this might seem like a rather sudden and foolish move now, at the time it was like I had seen an adorable furry animal that needed my help and I hugged it. Nobody would have had a problem with that.
Of course, the boy was so shocked. Once I let him go, he stood frozen still, uttering embarrassed whispers and turning a slight pink at the cheeks. I then smiled what my grandmother called my loving smile, and invited him to have desert with us. How lady like.
But he could not, for he had work to do. I protested, thinking of how cold and tired he must be. But he explained to me in a manner of fact tone that this was his life. Neither christmas nor snow, would excuse him from work, and that was his life. Eventually I got round to helping him, if I remember correctly it was something to do with digging, but mostly I listened as he talked about his life. It had been a life so different from mine, one with hard work and punishments, but he didn't seem bitter about it. Although the thought of anyone having a life where you had to work on christmas terrified me, I realise that it was probably for the best that from that day on, I was less ignorant about the world, and people around me. It didn't matter that my mother called me in fifteen minutes later, furious at my state and who I was with, or that I would nearly always spend my time blocked out from the outside world where that boy lived. Because that day, I had learned empathy. And I met someone who I would have a relationship with for the rest of my life, a relationship with was beautiful and difficult, and started with a snowy day.
Well this is my knowledge now that I am an adult with an open mind, at the time, my mother was perceived as a nagging dragging voice that always started it's sentences with "A lady must always..."
But despite my annoyance with her, I very much wanted to be a lady; It was something I constantly reminded people. Arguments would always end with 'Well I'm a lady' and I would blush happily when people called me 'Lady Abigail'.
My mother took me down to the living area, where the christmas tree had been set up. Of course, I had had no worries about whether or not Father Christmas would deliver me presents or not. After all, a lady is always good. I was very pleased with my presents, they were entertaining and pretty. My main present was my favourite though. It was a red dress, with ruffles on the bottom, a dark green ribbon and broach on the front. Looking back, I realise that it was a rather simple dress, but from then on I would wear that dress whenever and wherever I could, until it would eventually get too small for me, and I cried for hours. It is hard to say what I loved about it so much, maybe it was the sheer confidence of the red, the grace of the ribbon and broach. It was just so..... lady like.
I wore it to christmas lunch. My face pink with the delight of the dress and of my life. The whole world was beautiful. Or at least, mine was.
I'm sure that there is a time in every child's life, when they suddenly realise that not everybody has the same life as you. It is the first step to the loss of innocence, when you suddenly see the sharp edges of the round world, and you catch that fatal snip of ice within the soft snow.
This happened to me when I managed to slip from the table between the main course and dessert. I ran with the sneaky ease of a child who is naive enough to believe that there will be no fatal consequences for mischief, to outside, where I would be able to survey the snow in all it's wonderful glory.
Expecting to be alone, I skipped and danced in this beautiful blanket. I especially loved the crunching sound as I jumped, tarnishing the spots with hadn't been touched yet. It took a while to realise that someone had be observing me. A boy, my age. He was wearing trousers which cut off at the knee and a shirt. Both were ragged, torn and filthy. He had snow white skin with patches on blue, and a bruise on his shin, his hair was a brown mess, and his eyes monotone and hardened. For a second, he had been wearing a small smile on his thin lips, but after registering that I had noticed him, he gave a apologetic, almost fearful, look before turning away.
For some reason or another, I used to believe that part of being a lady was giving short statements and questions. My first one, out of many, was "Were you spying on me?"
The boy looked up, he didn't make eye contact, in fact he would make eye contact with me for at least six months, and shock his head violently.
"Good, because you shouldn't spy on a lady."
A curt nod.
"I am a lady"
A curt nod.
His lack of knowledge on conversing irritated me at first, but I would eventually get used to it, and even love it. But for now I said "You are freezing."
That got no response.
"I will help."
And with that I ran up and hugged him. Although this might seem like a rather sudden and foolish move now, at the time it was like I had seen an adorable furry animal that needed my help and I hugged it. Nobody would have had a problem with that.
Of course, the boy was so shocked. Once I let him go, he stood frozen still, uttering embarrassed whispers and turning a slight pink at the cheeks. I then smiled what my grandmother called my loving smile, and invited him to have desert with us. How lady like.
But he could not, for he had work to do. I protested, thinking of how cold and tired he must be. But he explained to me in a manner of fact tone that this was his life. Neither christmas nor snow, would excuse him from work, and that was his life. Eventually I got round to helping him, if I remember correctly it was something to do with digging, but mostly I listened as he talked about his life. It had been a life so different from mine, one with hard work and punishments, but he didn't seem bitter about it. Although the thought of anyone having a life where you had to work on christmas terrified me, I realise that it was probably for the best that from that day on, I was less ignorant about the world, and people around me. It didn't matter that my mother called me in fifteen minutes later, furious at my state and who I was with, or that I would nearly always spend my time blocked out from the outside world where that boy lived. Because that day, I had learned empathy. And I met someone who I would have a relationship with for the rest of my life, a relationship with was beautiful and difficult, and started with a snowy day.
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