Chuka, Chuka, Chuka went the sewing machine as the needle punched through the shiny polyester fabric, stitch by stitch sealing Trudy’s fate. Her mother was no seamstress but a six-month stint in an overall factory had left her with an unwarranted confidence, especially when inebriated, as well as sufficient bolts of fabric to clothe Trudy for a lifetime.
“Mom, can’t I have the red suit for the party, the one in Frawley’s window?"
“For God’s sake will you stop with the whinging? I said no and I mean no”
“But it’s not fair. Michelle’s got one and you said…”
“Who ever told you life was going to be fair” barked her father snapping his newspaper to indicate the discussion was at an end. Trudy hoped the paper would tear in two one day, but it never did.
Dejected, she retired to her bedroom. She'd already told everyone she was getting a red suit like her best friend Michelle. Now they'd all laugh at her. She wanted to cry but at 10, she was far too big for that.
The year was 1972 and Dublin's local authority tenants were on rent strike. The tenants' association at Trudy's housing estate had collected and banked everyone's rent so they wouldn't spend it and find themselves in debt when the strike ended. With the interest earned, they bought each family a turkey for Christmas as well as throwing a massive party in the local cinema with Santa Claus and presents for all the children.
It was threatening to be a wonderful Christmas, was it not for the ridiculous outfit her mother had made for her for the party. Another of what her father called her sorry creations. A bright green skirt with a hem so uneven that it barely covered her bum on one side while reaching to her knee on the other and a green paisley pattern top so tight that any deep breath made the poppers pop open.
She had no full-length mirror, but standing on the side of the bath she could see she looked like a frog. She dared not say anything to her mother, in particularly bad form as the pubs were closed over the holiday season. She vowed to keep her duffle coat on at the party, with her hood up to hide the silly ringlet hairdo that made her protruding ears look even bigger and that her mother had forced upon her after watching Shirley Temple movie reruns on the TV.
And so Christmas day dawned and Trudy awoke to 4 packages with her name on them. A brush and comb set, the Bunty annual, a selection box and in the fourth package beautifully wrapped in delicate white tissue paper was the most exquisite dress Trudy had ever seen. A dress of pink satin with long cuffed sleeves and a swirly skirt. The card enclosed by her aunt read 'For a beautiful girl'. Holding the garment to her she twirled around the room almost tearful with delight.
"You have Christmas clothes already" her mother snarled grabbing for the dress.
"Leave her' her father snapped as Trudy danced out of the room, a princess.
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Posted in response to the Inkwell Creative Nonfiction Prompt #47
The prompt is Needle
The photo is Trudy in her princess dress
