litlinks 2020

Within The Ashes

by Emily Rae-Brinsden, Canberra Girls Grammar School

I know that a lotta people would shame me for doing what I’m doing to George, but I know dozens of girls doing the exact same thing. It’s not exactly uncommon ’round these parts. Marriage means nothing in this day and age,  ‘scuse the few new couples I’ve seen arriving in the valley lately. They seem like they’re truly in love; reality will get to them soon. Reality is the only thing anyone ’round here can cling to, It’s not as if any of us have cash to hold onto like those eggs down in New York.

Reality sold me short, so I suppose I should blame it for all my runnin’ around with Tom Buchanan. Yes, the Tom Buchanan who is married to the wonderfully pure Daisy. If my Ma could see me now, she’d be proud of my role as Tom’s mistress; she died a few years back, ’rents didn’t have enough money to pay for medicine, so she died like so many of the other poor sicklings. She always said that I was meant for greatness and I believed her. Namin’ me after the star-shaped flower she once saw in the papers. Dressin’ me up all pretty in clothes we could barely afford once she saw how pretty I turned out. Every day she told me how pretty I was and how I was going to be rich one day; able to buy her and Pa a big old house out in the country, just like they always wanted.

Maybe if I worked harder, didn’t go off with a man I thought was well-bred, I could have achieved all that greatness. Oh well, I’m making up for all the lost potential now. Just you wait Ma! Tom’s gonna help me get out of this dump, maybe up me and Cathy’s status just like we deserve, too. Every day spent in this shoddy valley is worth it when I think of what me and Cathy could have; shoulda’ listened to her when she told me not to marry George. She could tell he wasn’t as well-off as he kept insisting he was.

In the valley, days seem longer than they are. The endless rumble of trains, machinery and traffic. The endless uninspiring faces that walk up and down the street every day. Everything seems endless. I wake up and it’s cold and grey; George and I stopped sharing a bed long ago but sometimes I still think about invitin’ him in and off the couch. His warmth could probably do me some good. Anyway, every day I wake up, dress and go downstairs to find George already working. No one comes into our shop anymore, spare the few newcomers every now and then. Everyone in the Valley knows about our lack of customers. They say, “The poor Wilsons, gonna get booted any day now.” I’m sure the eggs do it too, if they even let themselves know about ‘filth’ like us. I hear the way people whisper when they see me and Tom walk by. “Did you hear, Tom’s new girl is from the Valley of Ashes.” “I hear that she’s going to get booted from her house soon. No wonder she’s sleeping around with him.”

The only unique part of my day comes when the Thompsons get back from whatever business they do in New York each day. They’re new neighbours, a family of three kids and a single mom. She’s not gonna survive the year, everyone knows it. Somehow, they all trundle down to the train each morning to catch a ride up to New York, from there… no one really knows. I don’t have the time to care ’bout the Thompsons. Too much work to do myself to keep our small business goin’ but sometimes I give her sympathetic looks as she walks past the store. Kids are a menace and to handle them all by herself… she really won’t make it through the year. I’m always off talking to Cathy about it, our sentiments aren’t gonna do her any good but the least we can do is talk about her. Get her name out there. It’s all anyone can really hope for now days, to be mentioned in society. “If your name’s not being spoken, there’s no point in you living,” is what Tom always says to me, tryin’ to justify some smart words he says to me about whoever’s on his mind. As if I’m gonna act smart with him, well, when we’re both sober anyway.

I think somethin’ about the Thompsons make George go all soft ’cause whenever they go past, children runnin’ while poor Mrs Thompson has to rush after them, he looks over and smiles at me no matter what he’s doing. Something about his smile must make me go soft too because I always find myself smiling back at him, no matter how utterly boring he is. Something about his simplistic smile reminds me of a time way back, before I married George and got involved with Tom, where maybe I did love him. Sure, back then I thought he had cash but there was something sweet about him, too. He was so… sincere compared to anyone else; still is I guess, not that either of us have time to show off our ‘sincerity’ or whatever. I remember the night before our wedding, I remember the way he looked at me all sweetly. If I could have seen my face, I bet I would have been smiling sweetly at him too. That night, the two of us sat outside on the porch of the house Cathy and I used to share. It was freezing, but George offered up his jacket and held me close.

I asked him, “Aren’t ya’ cold?” but he said nothing in response. He simply sat there, staring up at the stars.

“I think… I think I’ll love you forever, Myrtie,” he said after some time had passed.

His words took me off guard. I laughed at him before leaning into him and replying, “Me too, I suppose.”

Lookin’ back on it now, it’s sad to think just how wrong the both of us were. While I can’t say it isn’t either of our faults, I think the world we live in has somethin’ to do with it too. The unfair… the unfair ‘dream’ or whatever everyone’s been callin’ American life lately, I think it deserves some of the blame too.