One Long Thread Read Online Free
identical.â
âTwo wings grown from the same beginning,â I said.
A few days later Dad and I watched a taxi pull out of our driveway taking Mum and Sally away. Sally and I waved frantically, watching each other through the rear window until the taxi turned the corner and they were gone. Standing there, that day, I felt like Sally was being torn from my skin and there was no way I could ever fly free, without her right beside me.
It was later that night, after they had left, I discovered an envelope on the carpet under my desk. Sally must have leant it up against my lamp and it had fallen in between the desk and the curtain. Her handwriting was unmistakable, my name scrawled quickly and without complication on the front. Inside the envelope was a newspaper clipping advertising the annual Young Designer of the Year Award . On the back of the clipping she had written, . . . and the winning label is Ruby Moon. I would like to have hung it on the refrigerator door, like we used to do with all our achievements and aspirations, but it seemed wrong at that moment. So I taped it into the back of my sketchbook. That was the last thing Sally ever gave me. And itâs the only thing I have left of her as Sally had already sold that midnight-blue dress for two hundred and fifty dollars to a friend of a friend through school.
5.
âDo you miss her, Dad?â I asked soon after they had gone.
âI love you both the same,â he said. âI just donât have the right to regret how things turned out. Iâm sorry for you,â he said. And that was something, at least.
For our first birthday apart, Dad sent Sally a present and money for a visit but she spent the money on something else. Mum only sent me a card and thatâs the way it continued. It hurt thinking that she didnât care enough to think to send me something. I wouldnât have minded what it was, it neednât have been anything expensive, I just wanted something from her, to know she had been thinking of me, at least. I wrote her a letter asking why she never sent me anything and she replied,
Birthdays indulge our egos and God only needs our hearts. If I you were a grateful daughter you would think my letters were enough. I pray for your soul every day and ask God to look after you when I cannot. Iâd like you to read Luke 1:52.
Thereâs nothing you can say to something like that. Except, sorry .
With that letter came a pamphlet explaining the Aberdeen way. It was a fairly thick, professional publication complete with pictures of beautiful people smiling, happy, attempting to explain some of the more unusual rituals they observed. These included:
* Accepting and submitting to the authority of God and the Aberdeen Council
* Marrying within the Aberdeen community and wearing the white Aberdeen wedding dress (women, that is)
* Renouncing all technology
* Observing all rituals concerning Fast, Feast and Holy days.
It wasnât stated directly, but I was aware of an undercurrent through the literature suggesting that women were considered inferior and needed looking after by God and the Aberdeen Council. And of the twenty names listed comprising the council not one of them was a woman. It was sad to think of Mum and Sally subjecting themselves to that kind of domination. Because our dad never thought of women that way.
âDo you understand it?â I asked Dad, showing him a few of the letters Mum had sent.
âSome people take their religion very seriously,â he said. âShe was getting that way before she left. I think.â He started to say something but didnât finish. He put his paper down and took his glasses from his nose. He smiled and winked at me and he looked just like the man from our childhood. âItâs her choice, Button.â
I shrugged and smiled back. I liked the feeling of being close to him, sharing something together that didnât need speaking about. He didnât
âTwo wings grown from the same beginning,â I said.
A few days later Dad and I watched a taxi pull out of our driveway taking Mum and Sally away. Sally and I waved frantically, watching each other through the rear window until the taxi turned the corner and they were gone. Standing there, that day, I felt like Sally was being torn from my skin and there was no way I could ever fly free, without her right beside me.
It was later that night, after they had left, I discovered an envelope on the carpet under my desk. Sally must have leant it up against my lamp and it had fallen in between the desk and the curtain. Her handwriting was unmistakable, my name scrawled quickly and without complication on the front. Inside the envelope was a newspaper clipping advertising the annual Young Designer of the Year Award . On the back of the clipping she had written, . . . and the winning label is Ruby Moon. I would like to have hung it on the refrigerator door, like we used to do with all our achievements and aspirations, but it seemed wrong at that moment. So I taped it into the back of my sketchbook. That was the last thing Sally ever gave me. And itâs the only thing I have left of her as Sally had already sold that midnight-blue dress for two hundred and fifty dollars to a friend of a friend through school.
5.
âDo you miss her, Dad?â I asked soon after they had gone.
âI love you both the same,â he said. âI just donât have the right to regret how things turned out. Iâm sorry for you,â he said. And that was something, at least.
For our first birthday apart, Dad sent Sally a present and money for a visit but she spent the money on something else. Mum only sent me a card and thatâs the way it continued. It hurt thinking that she didnât care enough to think to send me something. I wouldnât have minded what it was, it neednât have been anything expensive, I just wanted something from her, to know she had been thinking of me, at least. I wrote her a letter asking why she never sent me anything and she replied,
Birthdays indulge our egos and God only needs our hearts. If I you were a grateful daughter you would think my letters were enough. I pray for your soul every day and ask God to look after you when I cannot. Iâd like you to read Luke 1:52.
Thereâs nothing you can say to something like that. Except, sorry .
With that letter came a pamphlet explaining the Aberdeen way. It was a fairly thick, professional publication complete with pictures of beautiful people smiling, happy, attempting to explain some of the more unusual rituals they observed. These included:
* Accepting and submitting to the authority of God and the Aberdeen Council
* Marrying within the Aberdeen community and wearing the white Aberdeen wedding dress (women, that is)
* Renouncing all technology
* Observing all rituals concerning Fast, Feast and Holy days.
It wasnât stated directly, but I was aware of an undercurrent through the literature suggesting that women were considered inferior and needed looking after by God and the Aberdeen Council. And of the twenty names listed comprising the council not one of them was a woman. It was sad to think of Mum and Sally subjecting themselves to that kind of domination. Because our dad never thought of women that way.
âDo you understand it?â I asked Dad, showing him a few of the letters Mum had sent.
âSome people take their religion very seriously,â he said. âShe was getting that way before she left. I think.â He started to say something but didnât finish. He put his paper down and took his glasses from his nose. He smiled and winked at me and he looked just like the man from our childhood. âItâs her choice, Button.â
I shrugged and smiled back. I liked the feeling of being close to him, sharing something together that didnât need speaking about. He didnât
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