Monday, 1 August 2011

Root to some sort of emotion.



June. 1995
It was noon and my twin sister and I sat in our dressing gown's, staring out the window at the results of a classic Scottish summer. The effulgent beauty the downpour had cast on the normally hectic scene outside, was lost on a couple of blasé young children.
Mum- able to sympathize- popped her book onto the top of the piano and smiled at us as she walked on past and up the stairs: my sister and I both oblivious as to where she had gone.

A half hour had past before we heard of her again, her foot steps heavier, and a little slower now, she popped her head through the door- smiling again- her face a little rosier.
"Come on then girls!" In she dragged a tattered looking cardboard box.
"Go on then, open it up."
Warily my sister walked over and pulled open one of the flaps, and as she did, her face brightened a little. She pulled out a dress: blue and reminiscent of Grace Kelly: underneath the dress hid all sorts of other outfits, dresses, and also shoes. We shared the feeling of that 'night before christmas adrenaline' often spoken about. You know, butterfly's in ones tummy, feelings of excitement.

The rest of the day we played dress up in the living room with our elder sister; and ate dinner as we tried to figure which shoes might go with which dresses, and also which of them we could integrate into our own wardrobe of pinks and powder blues; Mum listened, laughing in the background, realising how alike we all where- including her- and how little attention we now payed, to what exactly was happening beyond our living room window.

Sixteen years on, I can hear the rain splashing onto the rooftop, as I sit on an old rug in the cold loft looking through a pile of old books- with an old desk lamp sitting at my toes- and I come across an old, tattered looking, cardboard box...

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