The Layers of My Daughter
by Sally Curtis
The first strip comes off smoothly. It should be satisfying – no scraping at shreds, no wet sponge needed to soak away the years. Pink hearts beat between the black vinyl
either side. Underneath dance fairies and unicorns, and beneath those, elephants and
giraffes roam. I smile-wept when we covered each layer with the last.
When she was fifteen, she said she wanted black wallpaper – wouldn’t be dissuaded. For her, it was the beginning of first loves and first betrayals, the tang of rebellion sweet on her tongue, flaunting marks on her neck, and illegal tattoos. For me, hearing the front door slam, watching the hours tick by, scouring the streets, dragging her home. Crying, her vodka-breath accusations cut like glass, my retaliations savage. But now what I would give to rub that smeary kohl from her teary cheeks.
I pick at the bottom of the next sheet but I pull too hard. Only the sides rip away leaving a fragmented heart between them that one day must be papered over.
Sally is a burnt-out teacher who wants to be a full-time writer. She has been published on-line and in paper anthologies with micros, flashes, and short stories. Sally hosted a Flash Fiction workshop at the Bournemouth Writing Festival this year and hopes to do more like this.
This story was shortlisted in the July 24 Monthly Micro Competition.
This was a beautiful read!