5.
846 Words
For the first time in my life, I’m going to have to gather some things for my trip.
Packing a suitcase when you have nothing seems pretty simple to me. The notary is right. The clothes I wear aren't worthy of a young woman of my age. My age? You may have guessed it… Let’s say I’m in my thirties. Well, I admit… I even went to the dark side of my thirties. But I can’t get used to it because… there are so many things I haven’t known yet. I’ll know soon enough.
Anyway, I can’t decently look like a seventy-year-old lady! Fashion is the least of my concerns, of course… But that has to change! Like many things now.
Mom bought our clothes by mail order, twice a year, during the sales. She subscribed to various catalogues. From the living room, she shouted at me: “Madeline, it’s a good time to buy clothes. You don’t need anything, huh?” The answer was in the question and therefore, I didn’t ask for anything. What could I have needed anyway?
Very often, I was content to collect second-hand things that were given to us, that we bought at low prices during garage sales. And considering what I had to do with it, it suited me pretty well. Mom and I have always lived modestly. We rarely went out. We didn’t give a damn about the image we sent back. I was far from suspecting that my parents could have any property anywhere, and even less in London. And I highly doubt that our neighbourhood would have known about it.
I guess the capital is full of places to shop. I look forward to it.
It’s best to travel light. The bare minimum will suffice. I will equip myself up there.
I open mom’s closet. A smell of mothballs hits my face. Yuck… Why do old people insist on making their laundry smell? Lavender, pass again. Soaps hid here and there, why? But, this smell, it’s disgusting!
I extract from the cupboard a small piece of luggage that Mum kept preciously in view of her possible trips to the hospital when she was old. She had taken care to put a few things aside, just in case. But the luggage was never used, just as her clothes remained untouched. There’s a floral nightgown, a very soft dressing gown, fleece socks and a few cotton panties in size 40, all neatly folded. Very good, this will do the trick while waiting for my future purchases. I put it all in the suitcase.
I go to my room to complete my luggage and find that I haven’t made my bed. What’s the point? Mom is no longer here to ask me the eternal question of the morning: “Have you made your bed? It always needs to be made! It is a sign of cleanliness.” These were her first words, sometimes even before a simple “hello”.
Well, I must be very dirty since she died. My sheets are upside down. My floral quilt from another era is lying on the floor. My dirty things from the last few days are in a ball at the foot of the bed. Everything is fine! She would be proud, I thought wryly.
“There! You left me all alone! From now on, I’ll do what I want. And if I don’t feel like making my bed, well, I won’t!” I say looking at the light.
I look around my room. The decoration has been unchanged for at least two decades. It’s a very small room. I still have a single bed when I always dreamed of having a king size. There’s a small desk that I haven’t used since I left school and on which clothes and other things are mixed up.
It’s a kind of rebellion compared to my orderly life before. Since mom died, I’ve left the bathroom. My hygiene level isn’t the best. It’s barely 5 a.m. I won’t spend twenty more hours in this house… Tomorrow, or rather later, I’ll take the train and go up to London. However, I have to wash.
I’m excited about the adventure I’m about to live – you can imagine, a girl like me, who has never moved her behind from her provincial surroundings – I rush to take a shower.
I wash thoroughly from head to toe and take the opportunity to shave the hair off my legs. Because you never know. I may well meet people up there! Mom didn’t want me to shave them, but she’s no longer here to stop me!
Suddenly perky at the prospect of a new start, I even sing a song under the jets of hot water. I don’t choose just any singer. It’s the great and unique James Brown who takes hold of me: “I feel good! Lalalalalalala! I gobble the wood, now! Lalalalalalala! A feeeeel good! Lalalalalalala! I gobble the wood, now! Lalalalalalala! So good! Tintin! So good! Tintin! I gotta poop!”
- Writer
