Between Now and Then

You have to give her credit for creativity, Amelia thought to herself as she dusted Bondi Bronzer across her enhanced cheekbones. Plath’s method of putting her head in the oven seemed like a dire and rather tormented way to go. Amelia thought, if she were to do it, she would probably go with Sylvia’s first method. An extended sleep induced by pills. Amelia felt tired most days, so she flirted with the idea of an extended sleep.

“Mum! What’s for breakfast?” Josh shouts from downstairs as he dribbles his soccer ball down the hall.

“Eggs and spinach are in the pan darling.” Amelia looks herself deeply in the eyes as she recites the same lines as yesterday, to her own intense reflection.

A little more Gabrielle Solis and a little less Bree Van de Kamp.

These same lines were spoken each morning among the family of four, lines so engrained like those feet around the eyes. Each day a slight variation of the last. What’s for breakfast? How’d you sleep? You stopping in at the post office on your lunch break? Mum, can I have some money? Amelia pursed her lips, gave a smile, and then frowned to test drive her botox. Smooth.

“Josh, don’t kick your ball around inside please.”

“I’m not kicking it Mum, I’m dribbling it.”

“You know what I mean Josh.”

“Josh, stop it you’re so annoying!” Katie slaps her brothers’ hand away from her dutch braided hair. She’d woke up early to watch StellaStyles youtube video on ‘how to dutch braid for shorter hair’. As it was her first day as a grade seven senior at primary school, she was determined to make a good impression. Standing on either side of Katie you’d think the job was flawless, step behind her and you’d see the part down the middle of her head wasn’t - down the middle of her head, nor was all of her hair in two braids. Strings of blonde wispy hair dangled out at the back which gave a more ‘slept in, bed head look’. Katie proudly defended her braids from her younger brother’s hair ruffles.

“Alex, leave your sister alone please.” Amelia said over her shoulder as her husband walked into the kitchen. Dressed in a crisp white Armani shirt and pointed Kross leather shoes, Amelia was taken back to a time when she thought that look was sexy. A time when the smell of sandalwood and ocean breeze on Derick’s neck would make the gaze of her eyes soften, and her lips part ever so slightly. Her face didn’t have the movement to soften nowadays, it hadn’t the freedom to harden between her brows or forehead - thankfully. Amelia had read an article in the Medical Review a year ago, about the emotion-expression relationship and how they influence each other. This overall consensus of the article suggested that if you are unable to express anger or sadness, you are less likely to feel them. Experiments on participants willing to receive botox to limit expression; revealed they were more content and less likely to feel upsetting emotions than those without the treatment. It failed to discuss whether that was due to them just feeling better about their looks, or that vanity was at the forefront of their priorities. That didn’t stop Amelia from going out and getting her first treatment. At least the botox wouldn’t have weight gain as a side effect, unlike the anti-depressants she’d been advised to take.

“Dad, can I have some money?” Alex bounced up onto the counter stool as he asked the question with a mouth full of eggs on toast.

“Good morning to you too, son.” Derick came home late last night. Despite only having five hours sleep he looked as fresh as he always had. As a senior advisor at Frasier Financials, he earnt a healthy wage and supported the children he’d begged Amelia for. Before his children were too old to notice he bought a Santa’s outfit and woke up early every Christmas to surprise them with “Santa” in the morning by the tree. He had names for his children before he met Amelia and a life drawn in detail in his mind, of how he wanted his to be. This is what he wanted in life. Children, wife, secure job, clean clothes, and leather pointed shoes. Derick got the things he wanted. Amelia, not so much. She thought that if she dropped subtle cues of instability, maybe they wouldn’t be too badly affected should she decide to try anything. They could say things like ‘Oh but yes, she hadn’t been herself for some time.’

Hindsight noun

1. understanding of a situation or event only after it has happened or developed.

“I have ten dollars Josh, how’s that sound?”

“Thanks Dad.”

“Are you taking us to school Dad?” Katie asks as she checks her hair in the hallway mirror.

“Yeah kiddo, you ready? Oh, you missed a bit.” After kissing his wife on the cheek goodbye, Derick lifts the stray strands of hair up into Katie’s view in the mirror as he walks past for the door.

“Ha-ha.” Josh smirks as he follows his dad out the door.

Alone in the home, just as she preferred it. Amelia sat down for her morning coffee and a catch-up meeting with Alexis. It had been a hectic weekend, with the Sutherlands' going away party and all.

After living on the city’s fringe for seven years, the Sutherlands' had opted for a more “authentic existence” and had bought a lifestyle block which required a second mortgage. Since the self-aware pair both had a gluten intolerance and Mrs Sutherland was on a candida diet for the second time this year, they reassured their guests to not bring a thing along to the party. The Sutherland’s looked down their noses at Amelia’s gourmet bliss balls she’d bought from the Macro Select section. Mrs Sutherland’s eyes squinted, and her lips pursed just enough to reveal her unmet expectations. Amelia could see that Ms James from down the street at number 19, had the same idea as she. Only she had bought the more palatable ‘Elevated Snacking’ balls for $10 a 5 pack, as oppose to the Macro pack of 10-the-texture-of-hardened-marbles-for-$8. Despite all the pretentiousness, Amelia admired the Sutherland’s dedication to image.

“Alexa, tell me what my schedule looks like.” Alexa’s on button flickered emerald as she shone a green hue out in front and below her base. Her eye illuminated, signalling life.

“Good morning Amelia, you haven’t anything scheduled for today.”

“Am I picking up the children at three?”

“You haven’t anything scheduled for today.”

“Derick collecting them?”

“Calling Derick.”

“Don’t call Derick.” Amelia had the whole day free, something she hadn’t planned for (according to Alexa) -it would have been scheduled otherwise (a free day). Taking a sip of her coffee she tried swallowing the news of nothing to do, nowhere to be. It tasted bitter, her coffee. She’d read an article in NOW magazine whilst waiting in line at the grocery store, it claimed that over time coffee consumption dulled the palate and made certain tastes no longer detectable. Amelia thought that if she made eating boring and removed the joy of taste and texture, she mightn’t be so inclined to eat as much. She wanted to lose five kilos.

“Alexa, can you notice the difference?”

“Please be more specific.”

“In my face, do I look better.” Amelia circling the air in front of her brow and her subtly stung lips.

“Try rephrasing.”

“Am I pretty?”

“According to Google, ‘Women Don’t Owe You Pretty’ by Florence Given, a feminist book published in 2020, discusses self-image and societal expectations of genders.”

“I know I don’t owe anyone pretty, but am I a pretty woman?”

“Playing ‘Pretty Woman’ by Roy Orbison”

Roy’s seductive lyrics roll on out of Alexa as she sat there mocking Amelia from the benchtop, her On button winking at her, as Roy confesses;

“Pretty woman, I don’t believe you

You’re not the truth..”

“So, you CAN tell my lips are fake?” Amelia pouts at Alexa.

“..Are you lonely just like me?”

“Maybe”

“Rwar-r-r-r-r-r-r”

“I’ve heard this one before.”

“Cause I need you

I’ll treat you right…

…Be mine tonight”

“Eh, you sound like Derick when he proposed, Roy.” Amelia reflected on that night, as she recalls giving up her life ambitions. What were they again?

The driver’s seat of Amelia’s Prado has one of those lightly beaded seat mats, supposedly great at gently relieving lactic acid in the glutes and hamstrings. The beads massage the entire pelvis, and if Amelia positioned herself right, she could massage the areas Derick always seemed to get close to but could never quite get. She thought, the mat was thought up by either a perverted man or by a woman who spent her mornings coinciding with her Google Alexa, labelling her chance of legitimate intimacy as – disintegrated. Amelia was more than happy to take the longer route down the corrugated road this week, with its 20-kilometre speed limit and men with hard hats and the women who hold eye contact. She felt the tension from the Sutherlands party and her husband’s absence…. build…up….slowly…down..the….ro…ro..ro…OOOad. She knew which roads are most satisfying.

Pulling up at the childrens’ school and watching them play was something she loved to do. Amelia would alternate between closing her eyes and listening to the magical worlds of make believe, and simply watching. She could spot Katie sitting in a circle with her friends. They socialised like primates. The same picking and gently pulling strands of hair from each other’s updos, trying hard to look relaxed (cool girls). She noticed Katie’s hair had been redone from this morning. It now sat in a messy bun, just like two of Katies friends were wearing theirs. Awkwardly high and almost to the front, the bun was trying to escape its ties and roll out of place. The messy bun was tagged as an iconic look in Katie's feed.

#updo #whimsiclebun #beachbun #messybun #perfectlyimperfecthairstyle

sprezzatura

noun: sprezzatura

1. studied carelessness, especially as a characteristic quality or style of art or literature.

#indiefashion #genz #carefullycareless

Katie noticed her Mum’s car in the corner of her eye. A little concerned by the far away gaze on her Mum’s face, she pretended not to notice at first. When the bell rang to signal the return of class Katie slipped away from her friends and walked to the edge of the school grounds, over to her Mum.

“Mum? What are you doing here? Did Josh forget his lunch?”

“No sweetheart. Where is your brother?”

“Emm, he’s just over there.” Katie pointed to her brother who was running with his chest extended forward and arms out his sides like aeroplane wings, his tongue flapping in the wind.

“I’m proud of you both Katie, I hope you know that.”

“Uh- ha” Katies eyebrows raised as she was confused by what her mum was saying, and her brothers attempt to – fly?

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Go get him.”

Nostalgia knocked at the forefront of Amelia’s mind as she watched her children grow young, replaying the last fifteen years of her life. Remembering Katie as a five-year-old, and how she insisted on feeding her newborn baby brother and tucking him into bed every night. She pictured every evening at six o’clock, when Derick walked through the door. She could smell the last fifteen years’ Sunday roasts, with creamed mashed potato and store bought Gravox. Amelia felt as cold as her expression. Goosebumps peppered her arms at the thoughts of another fifteen years of Sunday roasts and gluten intolerant neighbours.

Amelia looked out at the tunnel which divided the city hills, and the million unknown prospects she yearned for. Katie studied her mother’s expression for clues of where they might be headed. The thick framed GUCCI sunglasses and frozen lines Amelia had bought for $699, kept hidden truths, even from Katie and Josh.

“You look pretty Mummy.” Katie offers.

The glowing hue from the illuminated lights on the tunnels roof, highlighted Josh’s face as he pressed his nose against the window and tongued the glass. Amelia’s only response to Katie was “I have a free schedule.”