A Goodbye At Boarding School

Constance walked around in circles anxiously, both her hands clutching her hair frustratedly. It was one of the many nervous responses of hers, alongside obsessively cleaning and watching episodes of the Flintstones for extended periods of time. 

“Mom, you don’t have to do this. It’s still not too late.”

“Yes mom,” a younger voice piped up from the settee- “You can just take us home, tell the dean you changed your mind, put a stop to all this- please.” Her voice wavered slightly. It usually signalled that a major tantrum was on its way.

“Please mom, you have to see how bad this is. Even Cathy hates it!”, Constance continued. Cathy shook her head up and down violently as a way of agreement. 

“I hate boarding school! I don’t want to live here!”, Cathy suddenly cried. “Why don’t you want us? Is this because I ate the last candy bar? Because I didn’t know it was the last one, I swear!”, she ranted, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks, obviously distraught.

“Catherine.” A deeper, calmer voice spoke up. Jocelyn was in her mid-thirties, and she smiled in a warm way that seemed to be laced with pain before continuing. “Darlings. I want you to look at me,” she said, gesturing to the chairs in front of her. 

They grudgingly settled into the uncomfortable red throne chairs, grumbling as they did. 

She looked at them earnestly.

“First of all, we’re in the Principal’s office of your new boarding school for one last goodbye before you settle into your dorms. I think it is safe to say it is too late to change our minds.”

Constance looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it, sensing her mother wasn’t finished.

“And second of all, Catherine, all that is nonsense. Don’t be silly. Of course this isn’t your fault. You know very well that I love everyone one of you? Is that understood?”.

Someone scoffed. Jocelyn ignored them.

“Yes, mother.”

“I want you to know that your father and I will always want the best for you both.” She wiped an imaginary speck of dust from her eyes and looked at them adoringly. “Always. And Carnegie’s offers the best education in the entire district. It is only natural for parents to want the best for their children, isn’t that right?”. She laughed, a half-hearted attempt at easing the tension. 

This time Constance did speak up.

“But why? Why now? I only have two years to go before graduation. Surely admitting Cathy would be enough?”

“Hey!”, interrupted the ten-year-old, indignant, looking at her sister with hurt, not unlike a betrayed soldier.

“Why now?”, Constance continued, paying no heed to her sister. “It makes no sense! And now of all times, you should be there for us..’ she drawled off.

“Constance.”, her mother interrupted. 

“It would do you well to think before speaking. I am doing my best.”, their mother stated, firmly and conclusively, a strict mask in place. “I simply have a couple of business matters to attend to, and boarding school seemed like the most efficient option.”

“But did you think about what we wanted? Did you think for even a second, mom?”, she ranted, refusing to let go of the topic, leaning forward in her chair, her face the epitome of resentment.

 

“Did you think?!”, she yelled.

Jocelyn did not even flinch. She was used to her eldest daughter’s taunting ways. She simply stood up, gathering her rose-gold Prada purse in one, quick aristocratic motion. “Alright, children. I came here in the hopes that we would be able to have a civilized conversation like adults, and you both have very well proved that is impractical. I shall be leaving now. Anything you wish to say?”, she said, her eyes quickly flicking to the corner of the room.

Both the children refused to make eye contact, instead choosing to look down at a very interesting portion of the carpet instead.

“Still sulking, I see. - she observed while putting on her retro sunglasses- “Well. I shall be off. Ta.”, she announced and walked off on her 3 -inch- stilettos with a small wave. She was almost out the door when suddenly a third voice spoke up.

“Is it because I remind you of him?”, the person said. 

Everyone froze. The room fell silent. No one breathed. Constance looked at her brother, pleadingly, as if she were willing him to maintain his silence. 

“I do own a mirror, you know?”, Christian continued, not at all bothered by his sister’s warning, instead choosing to stroll to the centre of the vast office, looking up and down at the high-rise ceilings like he was admiring the architecture as he did so. He came to a stop. 

“I have eyes. I can see the resemblance. Anyway, everyone says I look like him all the time.”

“Even the receptionist thought she had seen me somewhere before. I had to tell her that she was thinking of someone else”, he reasoned.

“Chris, don’t do this...”, Constance tried to stop her brother from speaking any further in one final, half-hearted attempt.

“No, Constance, I need to know!”, he suddenly yelled. “I have to know! I cannot go on living like this!”

She fell silent.

“Day after day after day,” -his voice morphed into one of extreme bitterness- “I have to wake up and see him staring back at me in the mirror. Every single part of him, I see in myself.” He took a deep breath, to steady himself and collect his thoughts, before continuing.

“I used to love looking like him. Now I hate it.”, he stated flatly, shaking his head.

He walked up to his mother. She conveniently avoided his eyes. 

“Is that why you didn’t talk to me? Haven’t been talking to me since? You’ve been avoiding me. You hardly look at me, let alone speak to me. You said I would make the girls go crazy, mother. That I was one of god’s most beautiful creations. Now you hate looking at my face. You now flinch when looking at something you once found the most beautiful thing in the universe”, he finished dramatically, half-tempted to laugh at the irony. 

His mother simply whimpered in response.

“Did you think I don’t see it?” he continued, looking straight at her. “That I don’t notice every time you call me by his name by mistake? Or that I don’t see the looks of sorrow you give me when you think no one’s looking?” he spat, looking her up and down accusingly. Jocelyn seemed to shatter, sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor.

He turned around, his robes swishing as he did so, walking to his siblings briskly.

“He’s gone!”, he screamed at them, “He will not come back! Ever!”

Terrified at this outburst, Catherine clutched her sister’s shoulder in hopes of assurance, but Constance was way past consolation, with her face buried deep in her hands, obviously grief-stricken. 

Their mother sniffled into a flower-patterned silk handkerchief in a corner, her elegance and charm disappearing, just like that, like a gown that could be dropped. She looked absolutely destroyed, her mascara running and lipstick smudged. 

“Our father is dead!”, he yelled at them all. “He is dead!”.

The dean’s secretary chose that exact moment to walk in to check if the children were ready to be taken to their dorms, glancing down at her notepad as she did so. It had been a busy day for the dean. Just today he had four important meetings to attend, two conferences to hold, and a dinner date at Nobu’s with his new girlfriend. The girl had reeked of cheap, off-brand perfume the few times they had met. She was probably just another college dropout star-struck about the idea of dating the dean of one of America’s most prestigious educational institutes. Hmph. The kinds of women you got around this place these days.

The 26-year-old shook her head lightly as if to clear her thoughts and looked up tentatively. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her; a raging 17-year old boy dressed in long, black robes examining his fingernails, a middle-aged woman blowing her nose loudly into a flowery handkerchief somewhere in the corner, a 10-year-old girl lying on the floor, staring up at the painted ceilings with the intensity of someone who had lost everything, and a 16-year-old teenage girl having a mental breakdown on the expensive Persian carpet.

“I’ll just give you some time then”, Anna uttered before walking out as quickly as she came in. 

She would never understand the rich.