A call from the school principal was most unusual. Bertha was such a good kid no one ever complained about her. But the call was not about the girl, it was about her, Clara. The principal felt it was his duty to plead with her to let the girl come to the school dance night. 'Only decent music!', he assured her.
Clara had no use for modern music. She'd been raised to believe that good music was that written before the twentieth century.
'That's not music, that's noise. Garbage!'
That's what uncle Franz used to say when garbage came on the radio. Which is why they only listened to the news in the house. Uncle Franz and aunt Ethelbertha who took her in after her parents' death were true music lovers so their evenings were spent to the sounds of Vivaldi and Mozart. Once a month, they went to the Opera. Clara loved those nights as she got to wear her finest dress and elegant black shoes. As they made their way to the big Opera house, uncle Franz would sometimes tap her lightly with his cane - a reminder to keep her back straight. 'You don't want to end up with a bent back, do you?'
She'd walk a few steps in front of them, head held up high, looking straight ahead in such a way as to never look somebody in the eyes. Uncle Franz had a profound dislike for the common people and their trivial distractions. It was not the cane that she feared, her uncle never used it to hurt her - it was the look in his eyes and the stern voice he used when she did something wrong. Like the day the other girls talked her into coming with them and have her hair cut.
After all they had done for her, Clara felt she was forever in their debt and strove to be the perfect daughter they'd never had.
Uncle Franz was long dead now. Times had changed. She had to make allowances. She knew nothing really bad could happen at the dance night, Saint Thomas was the best Catholic school in town. Still, she'd seen some of the girls in Bertha's class putting on lipstick and sun-glasses - those horrible glasses with big colored plastic frames that were all the rage - the moment they were past the school gate. So vulgar!
After talking to the principal she was left with no choice as Maurice would surely side with the girl. Her husband was a good man, but too soft when it came to their daughter. 'Decent, but a bit common' - as uncle Franz had said on the day they got engaged.
A compromise was reached - Bertha could go to the dance, but she won't get a new dress just for that occasion - the blue skirt with a white silk blouse was a perfectly good outfit.
The music was far too loud for her taste, but at least she didn't have to talk to the other mothers. She watched the kids dancing, mesmerized by the girls who swayed their hips with such expert impudent moves. No one seemed to mind, though. After a while, she caught herself tapping to the music with her foot and she looked around to make sure no one had seen that. She spent the rest of the evening leaning against a wall, her back straight as always and a strained crooked smile on her face.
Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was: cane. Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.
Image: Pixabay