Ashamed... by Lauren Colman (moboreader TXT) 📕

I woke early, sunlight peeking through the curtains, I lay still as I didn't dare move because of my husband sound asleep beside me. His snores were quiet but then stopped. He grumbled," Stop moving, charlotte, damn it, go back to sleep and stop waking me up," It was habit of waking up early, it was barely seven but the children were older now and didn't wake early. My babies had grown up, once loved me but treated me like dirt because of my secret. It was so shameful, me and my mother shared the same secret, she was had passed away a few years ago. I got out of bed, ashamed to let the day waste away . We never know how long we have left.

I climbed out of bed and my husband Derek shouted,"Charlotte get your ass back in here, great you have woken me up now,"


I sighed then brushed my withered blonde hair out of my face, it was knotted and frayed from the winter weather, I tugged my pale blue dressing gown around me then made my way into the kitchen, there sat on the windowsill was the daily newspaper, I avoided it and made my way to the kettle. The kettle boiled, making hissing noises, I poured the scalding water into my up then sipped it slowly, the steam wavered about. It was hot which made me more alert, I walked into the bathroom to get ready, I studied the foreign objects on the shelfs. They were all my daughter alice, she always brought these strange bottles of smelly toiletries but then never used them, I studied the pink bottle, not knowing if it was for my face. I shrugged my shoulders then applied it to my face, it was a runny liquid and a pinkish colour. It smelt like roses, which brought back memories of my childhood.


My mother lay on the orange dirty foul coach, she held a bag of frozen peas to her face, she was dressed in a pale grey dressing gown which was dirty much like the rest of the apartment. Smashed bottles lay on the floor, a stain lingered on the wall from a bottle thrown last night. All that could be smelt was the stench of alcohol, my father was an alcoholic and he took his drunken rages out on my mother. I usually stayed off school and stayed with her, she had no friends and couldn't take refuge in a book as she couldn't read. She was born in on a small farm in Ireland, the local school was a catholic school, by the age of eight she didn't even know her alphabet but by thirteen she left and yet couldn't read but all she knew was religion and her basic numbers. She could never do anything above the ability of cleaning, she could have taught catholic religion but for that she should have been able to read and write but she couldn't . It shamed us both, I also had no friends, because they would find out soon. It was a miracle, I married my husband, he saw me when I was sixteen. Sat at the local park with mother, tossing stale bread sold cheaply for throwing to the ducks, the ducks greedily swallowed up the bread then wandered off to attack some breadless old man. Wanting for something they could never have, I saw him sat across the lake, leaning against an aged tree, he was drawing. He smiled back at me, his soft looking brown hair fell into his brown eyes but then he got up and came towards me. I swallowed nervously, my palms were damp and becoming sweaty from nerves, why would he talk to someone like me?

It was a surprise we ever married and had two children but maybe he found the advantages of me not able to read, he was controlling and persistent.


I got ready, put my tacky orange uniform on, my sensible shoes then made my way to work, it was a small local shop and the wage was bad and they worked me hard but I enjoyed it. At least there I wasn't judged, I worked in a shop, doing cleaning, sorting out the shelfs, et cetera. The family that owned it were called the Chandra's, they had immigrated from Pakistan, they were a kind family, Mrs Chandra could only just speak english and she couldn't read or write english. Mr Chandra could speak and read and write fluently in english but they treated me like a part of the family. Mrs Chandra had long black hair, she was quite tall, deeply tanned skin and dark brown eyes, she was a very jolly woman but a lot of the time she was yelling in her foreign language to her children. Mr Chandra was busy all the time, Mrs Chandra would often yell at him when he paid my wage because sometimes he would pay it short by a few pounds, but it didn't bother me, I only did the job for something to do and the responsibly of being able to earn money. Which Derek thinks is beyond me, he thinks I should stay at home and clean rather than " work at that flipping Paki shop" He doesn't like the Chandra's but he defiantly doesn't like the idea of me doing anything which proves me intelligent in any shape or form.


Mrs chandra looked at me tutting, her thick accent make it hard to understand her but I had gotten use to it," Charlotte you are too skinny, you need fattening up," She offered some of the curry and I gratefully ate it, she always cooked pots of spicy, herby curries. I started sorting the shelfs, I had learnt the shapes of the words and which were which by colour so I knew the differences. The day was long because I spent a long time clearing all the rice from a burst packet which had spilled onto the floor. I sighed and Mr chandra paid me, I waved goodbye then walked home. Nobody was home when I came back, the house was empty. I quietly walked upstairs and lifted up my secret floorboard. Underneath was a shoebox which held all the money I had saved up over the years, there was a couple thousand pounds. They were all neatly bundled up, all in twenties and counted up in piles of hundreds. I had 4,025 pounds. Not that much but enough, I wasn't sure what I wanted to spend the money on but maybe one day he might drive me to leave and that will come in handy...

Publication Date: 03-09-2012

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To all those on the slow path of learning, good luck, don't let people walk all ever you just because you ain't like em.