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#Post#: 17--------------------------------------------------
Bars on the Windows
DIR By: StoryGod
Date: November 25, 2019, 10:26 am
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There were bars on the windows. These were not the first thing
Zia noticed as she tapped into Ferrante 1C1 so her parents could
help her unpack her stuff. She first noticed that the empty
double was far larger than the tiny closet-like space she'd
shared with three other girls in St. Anne's in the bucolic,
English countryside. Behind her, her eight year old, younger
brother, Zahran, beheld the empty room in rapt amazement.
"You'll be going to boarding school in a few years, and your
room won't be as nice," Zia's father told her brother. It was
then that Zia noticed the bars. They were just beyond the mesh
screen that kept out mosquitoes. Most windows in the United
States had screens like this. Very few had bars.
"Let's get you unpacked shall we?" announced Zia's mother.
Mother and daughter set to work. Zia's things, many of them
bought for the new school which had a dress code but no uniform,
were in good order. There was even a box of plastic hangers for
the small closet and cedar blocks for the drawers. These last,
Zia bought with her allowance; for she loved the smell. In
everything went.
Then it was time for Family Orientation in the big auditorium in
Papke-Sienko. Zia sat four rows from the front listening to
officials go over the rules of curfew, lights out, suite
advisors, all stuff she already read in the manual.
After the Family Orientation, parents had to leave. This was
always the hardest part of being sent away to boarding school.
Her mother had said goodbye to her in England. It had been just
her mother then. They'd hugged forever, and mother had walked
away leaving a hole. Now it would happen again, even though Zia
was thirteen instead of ten.
"Sit down, Zia," her mother ordered. "Jemadari, please close the
door," mother switched from English to Swahili. That meant
trouble, but Zia had been too quiet to make trouble. She had no
reason to make trouble. It was both too late and too soon to
make trouble.
"Mother...why?"
"We need to talk. This is a different kind of place than St.
Anne's."
"There are boys here."
"You're a bit young for that. Zia, America is fat and prosperous
and decadent."
"There were Americans at St. Anne's."
"Zia, a convent instills discipline and provides it. That won't
be happening here."
"What are you saying?"
"If any of your classmates here try to lead you astray, I want
you to call me. Don't worry about what time it is in Nairobi,
you call, understand. We talk."
"Yes mother," sighed Zia.
"I know you don't understand."
"Mother, you are mistaken. I would never do anything to shame
our family."
"You say that now, but you have never lived in an open place
before. Your father trusts you..."
"And you don't."
"I worry, understand."
Zia did not understand. She had her pride, and sense of honor
would protect her. She thought about that as she walked her
parents out to their rented vehicle and watched them drive away.
They were leaving on the night plane to London than after a day
or two going back to Kenya.
Meanwhile it was time for the first meeting of the year in the
lounge of Suite 1D. Zia sat on the floor while larger girls sat
on the couches. The girls looked big and sloppy. Except for one
other brown face, they were all Caucasian. "So much for an
elite, integrated, private school," Zia thought. The Suite
Advisor was a small woman with light brown skin and hair pinned
up in a bun. She had a hardness that some of the Sisters at St.
Anne had, but it was exaggerated hardness because she was young
and fierce. She went over the policy again and insisted on
checking every girl's wardrobe for dress code violating clothes.
One unlucky girl had a blouse that sagged over a round, white
shoulder. Showing shoulders, bellies, and thighs was forbidden.
The Suite Advisor came in while Zia's roommate was still putting
away school supplies. "It's OK," Miella chatted. "I don't bite.
I just need to see what's in your closet and drawers. Miella
carried a roll of red ribbon and a roll of red Mystik tape and a
scissors. With these she would mark any clothes (either by tying
a bow on the hanger or putting a piece of tape on the item) that
didn't fit dress code. You could wear them for gym or to visit
parents, but not on campus except in special circumstances.
"Looks good, " commented Miella as she put pieces of red tape on
Zia's gym shorts. "These are only for phys ed OK?" Zia
nodded....
And then she realized. "Miella," she began. It felt strange
addressing a person of authority by her first name. "Why are
their bars in the window?"
"So you don't sneak in after curfew without lighting up the app
that's tied to your D-Card," Miella replied. Zia wondered and
then she thought about her mother. Bars in the windows don't
change a person's heart.
#Post#: 18--------------------------------------------------
Re: Bars on the Windows
DIR By: StoryGod
Date: November 25, 2019, 5:11 pm
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Miella, the Suite Advisor, began to paw through Zia's roommate's
clothing. "These shorts are for gym...same with these."
"Those are camisoles," the girl with the short pony tail that
flew in six directions replied. She had on a firey yellow,
orange, and purple tie dyed t-shirt. She squatted on her bed,
poster stickies in hand. On the wall there now hung a poster of
a wrinkle faced devil dancing with an orange peel and a bottle
of red liquor called Campari.
"Then just wear them for underwear," Miella didn't miss a beat.
"Dinner happens when I get through everyone's room. We'll eat
together tonight. Meet in the lounge."
"Yes, Sister...I mean Miella," Zia put her hand over her mouth.
"She doesn't look like a nun," the roommate spoke up.
"She's not but I used to go to convent school."
"What was that like?"
"Pretty good. Is this your first year here?"
The roommate nodded.
"Where are you from?" Zia asked; for she was curious.
"For Worth, Texas near Dallas, but I've been living with my aunt
and uncle up in Malta, New York near Albany for the last year
and a half. What about you?"
"Nairobi," replied Zia.
"That's in Kenya."
Zia smiled. "You know Africa?"
"I've been to Sharm el Shaq in Egypt. Does that count?"
"I think it does. Tell me," Zia changed the subject. "Do you
drink liquor?"
"I've tasted it."
"What did you think?"
"Most hard liquor is awful. Wine is sour. Beer tastes like
skunk."
"What about cam-par-ee?"
"That's good. They say it is bitter. They say it's made with
bugs, but it tastes kind of suite and there's herbs in it."
"Do you think it's good for you?"
"It kills all the Vitamin C in the orange juice."
"Are you serious?"
"Do cats have green scales?"
Zia thought of her mother, but she smiled anyway. The sign on
the door said the roommate's first name was Marion.
"What do you think of Miella?"
"I don't know her well enough to think anything. At least they
let us have phones here."
"I know. My mother is glad of that."
"My mom is in Florida. I'll turn my text notifications off at
night so you can sleep."
Zia tried to imagine what the four girl room in the convent
school would have been like if all the girls had phones. She
felt her lips pull back. She shook her head. "You think
Sister...Miella is finished by now?" she asked. Back at St.
Anne's there had been one hateful, nineteen year old novice
assigned as prefect to sixteen girls. Here the ratio was
smaller. She pondered that.
Marion, the roommate, shrugged. "Depends how much shite, the
other kids brought and if they read the FANTASTIC manual."
Zia though of her mother for the third time, and pushed the
words out of her mind. They really weren't much help when she
thought about it. Zia examined the books on the roommate's
shelf. There was a well worn paperback dictionary, a copy of
George Orwell's 1984, a few paperbacks she did not recognize. On
Marion's desk pens and pencils and roller ball pens in a variety
of colors sat in a riotous but inanimate pile. Marion began to
sort the writing implements and put them away. "I guess we gotta
go to the lounge," commented the roommate.
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