Burning Woman part 3

April 1993

“Why do you have to choose those garish colours? Didn’t they have something in your size?” Morris glared at my new dress with obvious loathing. “You look like my grandmother.”

I could feel the smile fall from my face as I too glanced down at the offending dress. Though it was a bit loose around the waist Mary had assured me it was the latest fashion. She’d even bought one for herself though in a different colour.

“Only country bumpkins wear this,” his hand swept the air dramatically. One of the women unloading baggage from the bus giggled and I flushed with embarrassment. We should have waited at home I belatedly realised. I felt like everyone was staring at me as my husband continued his tirade.  “Can’t you even use the money I send wisely? Look at what junior is wearing.”

Clad in his equally new jeans, t-shirt and white tekkies Morris clung to my skirt fearfully. My husband had followed the other men to the city. Soon the man I knew disappeared replaced by a drunkard who abused us whenever he came home for his short visits.

“I don’t see anything wrong with what he is wearing,” I said.

“Of course you wouldn’t see anything wrong. You have no sense of style at all. I am a foreman is it too much to expect my wife and son to dress in the manner befitting my station?”

“I am sorry darling,” I murmured. “I will do my best next time.”

“See that you do,” he said. “Boy can’t you even greet your father properly? What in God’s name is your mother teaching you?”

Morris emerged from my skirts and took two fearful steps towards his father.

“How are you father?” he said.

“What’s wrong with your voice?” Morris barked.

“N...nothing father,” Morris junior said his voice deflating further.