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As the sun timidly rose, casting a golden glow over the quiet town, Vivienne's heart echoed the anticipation that reverberated through the cobblestone streets. A single thread of excitement wove through the fabric of her being as she stood before the mirror. Today was no ordinary day; for the first time ever she will share a classroom with boys. Now, that's something you don't see every day.
Her fingertips traced the edges of her dress, feeling the familiar lilac fabric that has seen its fair share of special ocassions. It was the most expensive dress she had in her closet and Vivienne specifically saved it for this day. Part of her felt like she was dense for trying to leave a good impression ─ especially on the boys. Vivienne had that tendency to pick up on little details other people would tell her about herself. Once, in middle school, a boy who was her neighbour told her she looked good in purple. Weirdly, the color had stuck with her. It's not like she wasn't used to compliments; her mother's friends would always comment on the fact Vivienne would find a suitable suitor with no problem. As if her only job in this world was to be pretty and get a husband.
On the contrary, Vivienne's main goal was to get decent education. One that didn't include her learning how to cook or how to turn on a stove. What good is that anyway? That is part of the reason why her parents decided to send her to Voltaire High. It was a good school and previous years only boys had the luxury to study with the best professors in the town. It was no secret that schools for girls were lacking... Well, most of the resources that all─boys schools had. Fuck, half of the France (maybe not areas near Paris, but she was far away from there) was still hell bent on the fact that girls don't belong in schools, rather in kitchens.
Vivienne sighed, taking her school bag with her. She started making her way downstairs, each step feeling heavier than the other. She was nervous ─ this wasn't like her, but then again this wasn't a day like others. Her parents were already up when she entered the dining room.
"Look at you," her father was the first one to speak, "you look beautiful like always, Vivi. Doesn't she, Dianne?" In moments like these Vivienne was happy she had a father like her own was. She remembered how her girl friends would always whine about their fathers being typical fathers ─ having anger all fathers had; loud and terrible. Her father was not like this.
Dianne, her mother, doesn't say a word about how beautiful she looks, but Vivienne can feel a lesson coming really soon. Her mother was different than her father. Dianne was a stern woman ─ too stern for Vivienne's liking. Yet, she cannot blame her. In this society, there is no safe place for a mother to vent her rage. And so often it comes out unconsiously to one's children. She knows she is a target for her mother's rage because she hasn't given up her personhood for motherhood yet.
