Writing for Fun
January 2019
Reflection - Anne Wilson
She awoke to the sight of the summer sun streaming through the window and snuggled down into the bed, wiggling her toes in contented anticipation at the prospect of the glorious day ahead of her. What a lucky little girl she was, she thought, not only Mummy and Daddy’s little treasure but also the prettiest thing anyone had ever seen, with her adorable, cherubic face framed by corn-coloured hair, tied fetchingly (so everyone said) in little red bows. Today she was a year older and Mummy had arranged a big party for her. All her friends were coming and she would be the centre of attention. What could be nicer?
The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance. She smiled to herself. Mummy was coming to wake her up. The door handle turned slowly as if the person behind the door was afraid they would disturb her sleep if they were more forceful. A figure came into the room, tiptoeing across to her bed. She pretended to be asleep but opened her eyes slightly and squinted – just enough to see that familiar, reassuring face as it bent down and touched her shoulder gently.
‘Good morning, Dorothy’, the face said. ‘Time to wake up.’
She stretched. ‘Hello, Mummy,’ she said. ‘It’s my birthday today, isn’t it?’
‘What a clever girl you are,’ said the face. ‘And are you going to be a good girl on this special day?’
‘I’m always a good girl,’ she yawned. ‘Don’t be silly, Mummy.’
The face sighed deeply as if it disagreed and she was puzzled. Wasn’t she always the best little girl in the world? Mummy and Daddy’s best girl?
‘Look what I’ve got for you,’ the face said, smiling and patting a pile of envelopes which she put down on the bedside table beside her. ‘You’ve got lots of cards. Everyone’s remembered.’
In truth, there were not as many envelopes as she had expected. Perhaps there would more when her friends arrived in the afternoon. And there would be presents too. And jelly. And cake.
‘Will there be jelly and cake this afternoon?’ she asked, feeling hungry already.
The face hesitated before speaking.
‘I don’t think there’ll be jelly,’ it said slowly. ‘I don’t really think anyone will want jelly. But there will be a big cake. And lots of candles.’
Her face went hot with emotion.
‘I want jelly,’ she whined. ‘I want jelly.
‘Let’s brush your hair,’ Mummy said as she touched her arm. ‘We want you looking your best for today.’
‘Don’t want you to brush my hair,’ she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
‘Don’t pout, Dorothy,’ said the face but she didn’t understand the word, so could neither obey nor disobey. Mummy picked up the top envelope in the small pile she had put on the bedside table beside her and waved it in front of her. ‘Look at the top right hand corner and the special stamp,’ she said. ‘Inside, there’s a card from a very important person.’
‘Don’t care,’ she said and turned on her side in the bed. ‘I want jelly at my party.’ The turning was painful and she winced. Why did her body hurt so?
‘Dorothy, can you sit up for me?’ asked Mummy, turning her on her back again. ‘I want to brush your hair and then I can show you how pretty you’re going to look.’
The strokes hurt her skull as the brush went through her hair and she yelped, but she knew it was in a good cause. She would be her usual, pretty self again soon.
‘Sorry,’ said Mummy. ‘Your hair is very tangled. And it’s very thin. That’s why it’s hurting to brush it. But you must look your best this afternoon.’
‘Is anyone special coming, Mummy?’ she asked. ‘Is that why I have to look my prettiest?’
She felt the grip on the brush tighten.
‘Don’t keep calling me that, Dorothy,’ replied the face irritably. ‘You know I’m not your Mummy. And don’t talk in that silly, little girl voice. Yes, there’s a man coming specially to see you and to have a piece of cake with you. He’s going to be wearing a big chain that has a shiny medal on the end of it. Have you ever seen anything like that before?’ She shook her head in bewilderment, although something in the back of her mind then made her jolt perceptibly. She had seen someone wearing something like that before, at someone else’s party, in the living room of her home. It could have been a month ago. It could have been a year. The passing of time was a mystery to her. There had been a fuss and a big cake. Why would another little girl be celebrating her birthday in the same house? She shivered. It wasn’t cold, she had seen the sun earlier on. Was it fear? Why did she feel uneasy?
The woman who had said she wasn’t really Mummy walked over to another table and fetched something from it that glistened in the morning light. She brought it over to the bed.
‘Listen, Dorothy,’ she explained solemnly. ‘There’s going to be a man with a camera there this afternoon too and he’s going to take a picture of you and the man with the medal on a chain. That’s why you must look your best. Look into the mirror and you can see how pretty you look this morning.’
She took the thing called a mirror warily. Her body ached all over but she raised it in front of her anyway and stared into it, preening herself in anticipation. It was a trick mirror surely; the pretty little girl had been replaced by someone quite ugly. The face staring back at her was emaciated and wreathed in lines. Adorned by grey, straggly hair, the matted strands were so thin she could see underneath them to her bony skull. Suddenly she knew the significance of today. It was a special birthday but not a child’s one. The envelope bearing a unique franking mark and the important people coming to visit her told her everything she needed to know but only sometimes could remember. She screamed and screamed with the realisation and the woman who wasn’t Mummy shouted out for someone to come and help. Within seconds a uniformed figure was bending over her bed and something sharp penetrated the skin of her arm as she sank back onto the pillows in grateful oblivion. She was a little girl again.