Keeping to the broad idea of 'fractured' for Write...Edit...Publish...
Lite still. Another old hat of mine (from 2012!) repurposed for the prompt - tad over word count
this time, sorry.
Not Exactly a Fairy Tale
Cindy came into the room limping a little, her feet were killing
her. This particular pair of evening shoes was wickedly
uncomfortable, she really didn’t know why Rex insisted on her wearing them on
every possible occasion. She didn’t know why she continued to pander
to his wishes in this either. She sank down thankfully, glad
to take the weight off her feet.
Mannie
was still waiting up, bleary-eyed. She moved in to help, but Cindy was
irritated beyond measure just now by her subservience, by her toeing the line
unquestioning, much as she, Cindy herself, was used to do. That’s
all they did, each woman of them, from top down to the last poor
female chit in the staff.
“No,
leave it,” she said, rather roughly, ”Go to bed now. Leave me
alone.”
“Yes,
ma’am,” Mannie looked like a whipped puppy,” Are you sure, ma’am?”
“Yeah,
yeah, sure. Go get some sleep, you do look you could use it,” and when the girl
still hesitated, ”Don’t stand there, my dear. I’ll be fine.”
“Good
night, ma’am.”
“Good
night.”
God,
she was exhausted. And angry with a vague rage. She
wiggled her toes, folded her legs to tuck her knees under her chin and massaged
her instep with the tips of her fingers. Her feet were still lovely,
beautifully shapely and small, though not as narrow as they once were, the long
toes with their delicate whorls of fine skin on the knuckled joints still
ridiculously pretty. She wished she had asked Mannie to run a
footbath, a good soaking would do the trick. Splash away her blue
funk. She got a basin, filled it with hot
water and a dollop of shampoo, she couldn’t find the gel she wanted, who cared
what went into the water so long it was hot? She brought it back and
wriggled out of her dress. Leaving it pooled in a minimalistic mass of silver
lace on the floor, she curled back into the sofa with her feet immersed in the
foamy hot water.
How
had she landed up at that gala this evening? Wearing those uncomfortable old
shoes that sparkled coldly and beautifully, and pinched her now coarsened feet;
that Rex was so insistent that she wear everywhere, as though she still needed
to prove anything. Why did she go to the gala even? When all
she had wanted to do was to spend the evening in with her children, play at a
board game, get some vastly greasy, sinful meal eaten together off trays,
huddled in the boudoir while watching trashy telly. But no, she had
dressed up in that silver lace, done up her hair and looked mind bogglingly elegant.
Rex
had said in his typical mild voice, "You look your usual beautiful
self, my dear. I hope you’re wearing the Timmy Woo
shoes? They are just made for that shade of silver grey.” And soured
her pleasure in the dress.
But
she hadn’t protested. Or to coin a bad pun, hadn’t put her foot down. She
had set aside the exquisite grey and emerald suede statement shoes she had had
custom made and worn those cruel old heels again and gone tripping out on his
arm and stood and danced and made small talk as though her feet were
resting on fleecy clouds. It was beyond stupid. She
couldn’t imagine the conversation even in her head. It’s been 15
years, my feet are 15 years older, have you noticed? I have had three babies, life threatening
illness, minor and major surgery, chin hair, moles, wrinkles. I don’t
want to wear Timmy Whoever shoes, I’ve evolved beyond them. Jeez, whoever heard
of a marriage becoming stifled because of a pair of shoes? It was insane!
Cindy sighed and got up. Best go to bed, otherwise she
would fall asleep here. She changed into an ancient nightdress, the
fabric worn and softened with many washes. She slipped under the
covers, but still couldn’t sleep for the wound up thoughts in her head kept
going round like clockwork mice. Except for his blind spot about
this shoe business, Rex was otherwise such a good egg. He’d been a
caring husband and father, within his constraints. He loved
her passionately still. She couldn’t imagine her life without him,
what trajectory it would have followed had he not sought her out the way he
had, had she not been out that evening at that specific dance, or not worn that
specific pair of shoes. How tiresomely random it all was; and how
tenacious habits became; and how impossible to go on for 15 years wearing the
same inflexible shoes grown uncomfortable over time. Old shoes that didn’t wear
down to accommodate ageing feet.
Rex
came and climbed into bed just as she was drifting off, but he touched his lips
to her forehead and she bobbed up, instantly awake and fully lucid, picking up
the threads of her anger from where she had left off.
“Rex?”
“Yes,
my dear?”
“I
hate those shoes! I just hate them, I always have. I’m not going to
wear them one more time. Not one more time!”
He
remained quiet for a long moment before speaking, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well,
what’s there to tell? It’s bloody crazy to make those shoes in the first place,
or hasn’t that occurred to you? My feet were dead sore the first time I wore
them too.”
“No
need to get excited. Chuck them if you don’t want them. I wouldn’t
want you to wear anything you aren’t comfortable with, you know.”
“Really?!
You mean that?!”
“Yeah,
of course. They’re only shoes, not your wedding vows.”
How
strange! It was suddenly done, in the wee hours, just like that. She
had broken the spell of the shoes, though now she was no longer sure that there
had been any spell at all. All these years. Putting up with so much
discomfort, and all for nothing. She got out of the covers and
walked to the closet. The shoes twinkled up at her, as dainty
as they were on that far off day when she had first slipped her feet into
them. She took them out and holding one in each hand, moved to the
window. The summer darkness was balmy and a million stars winked at her. She threw out the shoes one
after the other – each curved a high arc in the air and fell on the paving far below. A satisfying tinkle of glass shattering wafted up into
the room. Cindy stood for a few moments breathing in the summer fragrances.
“Come
to bed now, Cinderella. It’s almost morning.”
She
turned then and ran across the room and leapt into bed beside her king, as light of
foot and heart as she had been once upon a time.
WC - 1140
FCA
Read the other entries here -
