Red Dress

Today is the day.
I sit on the park bench, in my new red dress and wait.
I am nervous, but determined.
No more pretending, no more stale existance.
Nearby, the sounds of children at play grab at my heart strings and wrench me there.
How happy they sound. How free.
The day is sunny, and I close my eyes, luxuriating in the warmth.
Yes, this is the beginning of my new life.
I can see it all, stretching before me like a golden path. The people I will meet, the places I will roam within. No more net curtains and suburbian fairytales for me. No more evenings gathered around the houses of those I despise, attempting to fit in.
It's a godsend that I have never had children. I doubt I could do this if I did. It would be too reckless, even for me.
I open my eyes and observe a group of youths congregating by a tree. I tighten. I am alert, ready for insults and laughter. They stare at me a while, but say nothing- only whisper between one another and then turn their backs on me and carry on with their young pursuits.
Oh, I am an outcast, of course. Today, I am a
a strange intruder, something to fear, to deny.
Mothers pass their eyes over me for brief moments, horrified, shocked- yet still trapped within the codes of conduct that force them to attempt a polite smile.
One even stutters, "Where are you off to then, dressed like that?", and I laugh inwardly whilst shrugging ...let them fucking think what they want.
I light a cigarette. I gave up five years ago. My skin didnt start to glow and I still found it hard to run for the train. I noticed no improvement in my sense of smell. So to hell with it. Today, I start as I mean to go on.
My backside is starting to ache, so I stand up and stretch, observing my legs as I do so.
A good shape, nicely toned and the skin is soft and smooth. How wonderful it feels to shave one's legs! How liberating. I look up at the sky, thoughtfully, and ponder the delights to come.
Oh, I know it will be a troublesome journey of sorts. I am aware that I will have enemies after this day, and many hurdles to overcome- but still, that all seems wonderfully insignificant compared to the fascinating adventures and experiences I will surely delve into and consume.
I have tried hard, in my thirty nine years, to get it right. I have done University, and The Job, and marriage. I have tried to conform and believe. Every week I have driven the extra half hour journey to the unbearably pretentious 'Organic Shop LTD', rather than stop at the nearby supermarket, to satisfy the health conscious within the family (not me) and once a month I visit my father who lives in a comfortable Nursing Home, courtsey of yours truly- his oldest child- seeing as my younger sister wanted nothing to do with him- ("He can rot in hell for all I care, and take his stinking old cat with him!"). I socialise at weekends, performing like a highly skilled actor, to please and placate my Other Half- who is keen to be seen as a striking, develish and witty entertainer- and frequently succeeds, leaving me sobbing silently to myself as I wash up the plates that are revoltingly faux Regency, and make me want to hurl and smash them into the fucking orangey wooden floor that I despised, secretly, from day one.
Yes, I have tried.
Now it is my turn, to live and be true to myself.
I hear footsteps behind me, and I recognise the irritating, refined voice at once.
"Michael?", it cries- and the ghastly shrill pitch makes me reach for my cigarettes and smile.
"Michael? What the fuck is going on? What in the name of God are you wearing?" The tone has become desperate now and even higher, and I smirk to myself, enjoying the power I have over her.
The selfish, manipulative bitch has a lot to take in, I'll give her that.
I turn to face her, and my laughing eyes meet her furious blue daggers.
"Georgia," I begin, and it is hard not to chuckle, "There is something I need to tell you."