Purity of Your Smile

A frail woman of twenty sits in the wooden chair, the creaking red mass is as small and breakable as she was. Strands of her greasy hair fall down her neck in a tangled mess. The skin beneath pieces of flaking makeup is patchy and bruised. There are dark circles under her eyes, her complexion, even with the help of the badly applied makeup, is unhealthily yellow. Her entire being trembles as her chapped lips stretch awkwardly into a nervous smile, a display crooked and stained teeth. She gingerly presses a bandaged hand to the thin, red slit on her face, a new addition to the scars that run across her paper-like skin.

A glass of water crashes to the floor.

The woman immediately shrinks into her seat, her head between her knees and her hands over her ears.

The tremble of her fingers give away her awaiting tears as her desperate eyes look up into those of her counselor.

"My name is Scarlett Swan, and I just got out an abusive relationship."

- - -

Estella showed her drawings to her Preschool teacher – the picture of her mother and her wearing pretty dresses and dancing in a clear meadow. The woman stared at the drawing, her smile wavering. She resisted a look of disgust as she slapped a shiny star-shaped sticker on the paper and handed it back to the little girl. She muttered a few unenthusiastic words of encouragement before walking off to the other teachers, mouthing silent words that made the other women lift their brows. Estella stared at their backs and held her breath. Seconds later, she silently settled back into her little plastic chair.

On career days in Third Grade, kids would proudly bring in their parents, completely unaware of the judgmental eyes of the other adults. Estella would sit alone, but watch tentatively with a smile as the other parents slowly shifted on and off the stage in turn. She imagined that the scattered applauds belonged to her, and pictured her mother bowing in that bright red dress she loved. When Estella had asked her mother to come to career day, the woman broke down in tears. Estella stood faithfully next to her her and waited for her tears to stop, like always. After minutes of sniffles and choked laughter, her mother slowly forced a smile.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, mommy is too busy."

The teachers always took that answer without another question. They looked at the young girl with sympathy and disgust. A lot of parents stared at Estella too, how big and tall they were.

One day in Fifth Grade, the children on the playground encircled Estella. They laughed and threw crude comments at her, cruel words dancing off their innocent little tongues. The tiny girl simply stood with a smile that never wavered, like a rock bombarded by waves; it was how her mother always smiled. It wasn't until a boy pushed her down and jumped on her when a teacher finally came and dispersed the group; nobody was punished.

When the parents came to pick up their children from school, they all frowned when their eyes, unconsciously searching, caught Estella sitting near the monkey-bars, a book in hand. They whispered to their little boy or girl to stay away as they glanced at Estella with scrutinizing eyes. Eventually, the hushed words reached Estella's ears, but she simply shook her head and denied it with a smile. Estella went home with the thought in her head, but she always laughed it off. Life is beautiful. To have friends, you must first act like a friend – that's what her mother always taught her. The glass is always half full.

Several times, she would watch silently as her mother made her way through the kitchen. The little girl sat nervously on her hands, countless questions sitting on her tongue: AMommy, why do the kids say that you are a bad person, and why did Tommy's mommy tell him to stay away from me? She swallowed the words every time.

Estella passed elementary and middle schools with flying colors. She was a straight-A student, and her wooden box overflowed with her honor-roll awards. The crude comments persisted, and her friendships stood like dandelions as gossip spread. Sometimes she wondered if she should be thankful, since the disgusted stares were now far more public and the whispered comments deliberate – she would know who to stay away from now. Some people would duck out of her way when she came near, while others openly harassed her. She avoided walking through crowded hallways, waited until the lunch line was empty before lining up for food, and tried her best to hide the location of her lockers. Some teachers gave half-hearted warnings to bullies, while others tried wholeheartedly to stop the abuse – until they lost their jobs. Eventually, she was all alone. Estella was but one student out of many, and apparently not a very valuable one to society. She never asked why; it didn't matter to her… no, of course not.

Estella never blamed anyone, at least, she never gave hint of it. She brushed all the comments off with a smile, perhaps a jagged one now, and passed through the staring crowds with her head held up high. She forgave every push and whisper, and when nobody wanted to be her partner in science class, she silently began the project alone. She never brought anything home to her mother except her stellar test and report card grades.

Estella was accepted into a top high school; her mother even took a day off of work to celebrate. Estella now had a wish, a dream. It was a simple dream that, like everything else in life, seems far easier dreamt than done. She would graduate college, become a doctor or lawyer – or any high-paying job – and buy a large house for her and her mother to live in. Estella never complained about their run-down little apartment in the less popular part of town.

During one cold, winter day in her Freshman year, Estella was attacked on her way home. She doesn't remember any details, or maybe she simply forced herself to forget. Estella doesn't remember how she got home, but she does remember the tears that marked her path. It was all over the newspapers and news broadcasts the next day. She refused to see them. Estella simply walked out of the room when her mother, with tears in her eyes, stared frozen at the paper three days after it came out:

"TEEN RAPED AND ASSAULTED ON THE WAY HOME"

Estella never smiled again.

Estella never told anyone this – not even her mother. After the rape, Estella attempted to clean herself. She was going into the shower, but froze as soon as her bathrobe hit the floor. Her mind went blank, and soon the running water became nothing but a white noise. There were thick, ugly words scribbled all over her soft, white skin in black permanent marker. They stole her heartbeat like leeches and bugs wriggling and clinging onto a dove.

"Stop acting all damn pure and innocent! Ass-kissing ho! All the teachers noe already so stop trying!" the words burned, sinking deep into her flesh and sucking her dry. There were other words too, obscene ones that cut, twisted and torn. Hatred is a rabid beast, and cruelty is as cold as a sharp, black-stained knife.

"We all know your mom's a stripper, (the word was crossed out and replaced in a different handwriting) a whore, so stop acting all high and almighty. We're gonna put you back in your place, you –"

Estella stared into the mirror, terrified at the sight of her own face. Slowly, slowly she sank to the floor until she couldn't see the mirror anymore.

"Why?"

That was when Estella discovered that the only road she was allowed to walk on was downhill. Soon enough, she found out that she was pregnant. Estella refused an abortion. She dropped out of highschool and walked away without another look back. She worked as a cleaner, cashier, anything that offered more than a few loose change. She was constantly changing jobs until she found a waitressing job that slowed down her life, just in the slightest bit. The days that went by began to turn black. Nine months later, Scarlett Swan was born, not soon before Estella's mother was out of a job.

Estella knew that her small waitressing job couldn't support her whole family; it was barely enough to cover the rent. She simply couldn't brush off the weight that sat so heavily on her frail shoulders, no matter how hard she tried. Her delicate skin began to become rough with wrinkles and wounds; her hair was now a bundle of straw sitting awkwardly at the back of her head. She rarely cried, but nobody ever saw her smile either.

Time toyed with her, as did hope. They were determined to make each second that passed as painful and slow as the last, but rushed by before she even noticed it was gone. Somewhere between the next fifteen years that whipped past her, Estella's mother died. Estella was devastated, but also sickened by the fact that she actually felt glad that there was one less mouth to feed. Estella went though many boyfriends, got married a few times, none of them really legal. She took up drugs, now that her body belonged only to her again. Day after day, month after month, year after year. It all became just one big blur to her. The scars on her body became numerous, a distraction from the much deeper ones etched into her heart. As the boyfriends and husbands came and went, she became used to the daily abuse of words, sometimes even physical. Estella never complained, as long as none of the bastards dared to beat her daughter.

Estella never paused to asked "Why." The only thing she brought home to Scarlett were plates of food and a bedtime story.

Estella found a new job, one that paid much more. Every morning she would force herself to wake up, smear the makeup across her face and drag herself out the door in her bright red dress. Now Estella had finally realized that, nobody would've known her mother's profession if none of the fathers ever saw her on stage.

Estella always kept a smile for Scarlett, the only person she cared to smile for anymore. In her heart, Estella cursed herself countless times for not remembering much of Scarlett's early life, and she swore and promised that everything would be better. They rented a house, not much nicer than the one she had growing up, but in a much, much better neighborhood.

Scarlett did great in school; a straight-A student, just like her mother was. Estella was always curious to why Scarlett never asked her to go to parent-teacher conferences or parent-work-days. Though Estella didn't mind, she couldn't possibly have gone anyway. Scarlett would come home, show her mother the work she did at school, and have little chats with her. They would smile at each other; sometimes laughing so hard they can hardly move.

Still, Estella wondered what happened at school, she wondered if Scarlett had to suffer through the same things she did. Scarlett never uttered a word, and whenever Estella saw her, she wore a dazzling smile around her teeth. Estella didn't ask – why should she instill unnecessary fear or shame into the poor girl's heart?

Everything would be better. Scarlett would grow up, get married, and live happily ever after. Estella always thought, she always knew.

One day, Estella was changing, and Scarlett walked in. The girl saw the scars that covered her mother's body for the first time in all her fifteen years. Scarlett was rigid, but stared with her wide, emerald eyes. Through her trembling lips slipped the trembling whisper, "Mom."

"This is the price of innocence." Estella said with a smile, sadness clinging onto the bright-red lipstick.

"I know," after a long pause, Scarlett finally broke the silence, her smile mirroring her mother. Tears swarmed out of her eyes and splattered like acid rain onto the floor. She stretched out her arms and pulled a sobbing Estella into a tight embrace.

Scarlett never made another sound.