Chapter Text
Prologue
One strong grip on the handle, legs parted, standing in a diagonal position from the court, eyes on the ball.
Those are the words she had to repeat in her head when she played. That was the method her father had taught her. Terrence was more of a croquet man, himself, but he figured his high school profession would come in handy if only to keep Ezra’s mouth shut about her hateful words on their rich culture. They weren’t hateful to Ezra, of course. To her, they were the truths given on their myopic white supremacy. He took one good look at his fifteen-year-old daughter. Her bright blonde hair was tied back and her muscles tensed when the ball would fly past her. He chuckled each time. It was true that he was enlightened by the small moments of this daughter’s frustration, but it was only fair given all the frustration she gave him .
Ezra stretched out her arm and hit the ball from the rim of the racket before it could fly past her again. Shockingly enough, it was a successful hit that flew right past her father who was unprepared for that shot.
“Haha, Deuce !” shouted Ezra, raising her arms to the air, dropping her racket. Terrence went from sly to astonished at the game his daughter played. He knew she would grow up to be quite the character and a great sportswoman in time. For this, he never let her give up the sport and never tried to change her again, even if it meant avoiding her when they weren’t competing if only to avoid her frustrating opinions. Of course, this would be the only thing he would never try to change about her.
1
Years later, Ezra stands on the court, both hands on the racket, eyes peered on the ball as her father begins to serve. This is it, the last winning shot. If she misses, he wins. If she doesn’t, she has another chance to win.
He drops the ball. It goes down in what seems like slow-motion to Ezra, as slow as the sweat dripping down her forehead. She takes short, heaved breaths as she sees the ball bounce back up. He hits the ball, right in the center of the racket, and it beams toward Ezra. Suddenly, slow-motion accelerated rapidly and the ball goes right past her head, almost touching her ear. She missed. He won. Again. Like always.
“You can never get past a deuce, can you, darling?” Terrence said with an expression of frustration mixed with smugness. He was better than her at the sport in every way, but his pride never allowed him to go easy on her when she scored a deuce. Thus, she never gained the confidence to actually compete in legitimate games.
“It’s a bloody curse!” Ezra yelled, slamming her racket onto the ground.
“Aw chin up, love. Why don’t we go play us a game of croquet, get your mind off this tennis rubbish?” He already knew the answer, but if this was as good a time as any to make conversation with his daughter, it was worth a shot.
“Right, as if I ever wanted to play a sodding game of crap-quet .” Ezra said with her arms crossed. She bent down to pick up her racket and store it in its case before heading out saying, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”
Terrence watched on and was enlightened with his daughter’s frustration rather than remorseful from being the cause of it. With a smile, he utters, “My Divine Deuce.”
***
“Rubbish! You speak rubbish to me!” Terrence said at the birth of his daughter. He had dreamt that his wife, Miriam, would bear him a son who was to be the perfect heir to the family's inheritance. Instead, came out a chubby little female infant who emerged from the womb crying, hysterically, but not even the child was as hysterical as her father when he heard the piercing words from his wife who had said, “I'm done.”
She was done. She was done with having any more children. The pain of going into labor and the burden of growing the fetus she had to carry in her womb for 9 months was enough for her to call it quits. Had she known the incomparable struggle beforehand, she'd have gotten the little problem removed. Yes, she was done and she was ready to take the next step in being done. “I'm clipping my cords, Terrance.”
When he took a breath and calmed himself, his wife could see his disappointment in him and suggested they could adopt.
“Rubbish!” he yelled once more. “The heir must be of Hawthorne blood!”
After moments of contemplating, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt when finding the right moment to ask, “So what would you like to name her?” Surprised that Miriam wasn't jumping to a list of possible names, he pondered and wanted to pick the right name for his newborn child. Little did he know that Miriam already had an idea for a name in her head that she hoped her husband would come close to.
Finally, he said, “Ezra. Ezra Hawthorne.”
“Darling, that is a man's name,” she pointed out in contempt.
“Think about it for a moment, love. It sounds close enough to be unisex. It seems rather fitting when you come to think about it, doesn't it?”
Miriam rolled her eyes. She would let her husband have this one. “Very well, Terrence. Ezra it is then, but her middle name will be Denise.”
“Oh, Come, now. Can we honestly get more American than that?”
“You decided on the first name. I'll decide on the second. I deserve it.” Miriam glared at her husband and he knew it wasn't a good idea to mess with a woman who just went through the pains of going into labor which was way worse than her times of PMS.
“Alright, love. You can call her Denise.” Seeing the smile that grew on her face made him relive the moment he fell in love with her. Maybe this child turning up as a girl wouldn't be such a terrible thing after all.
***
“I will not put that thing on! It will suffocate me!” Ezra said, disgusted when her mother pulled out a corset from an old chest.
“Denise,” said her mother, annoyed, “I will not tolerate this insolent behavior. This was your great-grandmother’s corset that she had worn to her Birthday Ball. My mother had to wear it, I had to wear it. It’s a tradition for the descendant of the Taylor family to wear on her coming of age party. I won’t even tie it too tight, just let me help you put it on!” Ezra began to run away from her mother and had Miriam chasing her across the room, into the hallway, and down the steps of the illustrious mansion they called home. Miriam tried calling out to her daughter, but she was stubborn and persistent to evade all the primping and dressing her mother would do as if she was a porcelain doll. It made Ezra feel like a porcelain doll, too, with all the makeup that was plastered on her face. Regardless, whether or not it was her birthday and her mother had it all planned out perfectly, she was also legally an adult now so she had every right to refuse being dressed up this time.
“Get away,” she yelled out once more before bumping right into her dad.
Now she was in for it.
“Ezra, what on Earth are you doing?” Terrence looked down at her as she looked back up at him with eyes full of perturbation.
“Mum wants to dress me up again, Father,” whined Ezra. “I’ve had enough. I’m sick of playing dress-up with her. I’ve had enough ‘primping and pampering and preppy, pandering polishing! I shouldn’t have to be ‘ladylike’ to be presentable.”
Terrence rolled his eyes. “Just do as your mother tells you, Ezra. She’s been waiting years to set this day up just for you.” The sounds of heavy breathing approached them.
“It’s the least you can do for all the trouble you’ve caused,” Miriam spoke, out of breath, her hand on the wall from exhaustion in trying to chase her daughter.
Ezra finally collected herself and spoke in a calm manner. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll do it under the condition that you let the common class people join in on the party.”
Terrence was instantly appalled at the request. Miriam rolled her eyes at his abhorred countenance. She never much cared for anything her husband didn’t take too lightly. Well, she cared to an extent. She never let herself become overwhelmed with hatred. It wasn’t appropriate for a woman of her stature and the bitterness only ages one quicker.
“Darling,” he spoke softly, knelt down to his daughter, grabbing her hand and placing the back of it to his forehead, dismay in his expression. “This is too much to ask for. Just.. please, pick another. Any other.”
Ezra pulled her hand away from her father. “No,” she said, firmly. “Just because they are less wealthier than us doesn’t mean they are ‘filthy, diseased scum’ as you always put it. Some of them have actually worked for us.”
“Not the blacks,” he said. “Never the blacks. They’re the filthiest.”
“Your mind is clouded with judgment and criticism for a form of life you never understood. You disgust me.” Ezra walked away, calmly and swiftly, back up to her bedroom showing her parents every sign that she should no longer be bothered.
The halls were silent. Hours had passed and Ezra was still in her room, printing out a plane ticket to fly to France, shortly after her birthday tomorrow. With everything she had heard about America, she knew it would be a regrettable option to choose that country for a fresh start, away from her parents, even if it was the only other country that spoke, and used, her language nationwide. Paris was the only viable option. She had always enjoyed the culture, even taking a class on the language all throughout high school and requesting the same ambrosial dish, Magret de Canard , every night for dinner with the exception of Friday nights when her family would dine altogether with the chef’s weekly meal.
Now that Ezra was of the legal age to have the freedom to make her own decisions, she was able to make this trip finally happen. Although, she wasn’t completely through with college so she would need to transfer to a school in Paris where she needed to be literate in the French language for every class. She was already pretty good as far as speech went, but reading and writing was a completely different ball game. However the matter, she was prepared to deal with it anyway.
Ezra tried familiarizing herself with what was currently going on in the city, so she decided to search for articles on current events online. She tied her long, bright blonde hair up and out of her face and proceeded to search. The first thing she found was something about a ladybug. Under that search was something about a black cat. She ignored this, as it was deemed useless information to her, and scrolled down to another search option. The next thing she found was about the head of a fashion design company. The headline read:
“Gabriel Agreste replaces feathers on the famous derby hat with false feathers to avoid allergic reaction.”
“Isn't there anything more newsworthy happening in this city?” She uttered to herself. Continuing her search, she found more on this ladybug thing. LadyBlog is what it said on the link. She decided to finally see what all the fuss was about.
As she clicked on the link, opening the page, she heard continuous banging on her bedroom door, before she could see anything on it.
“Ezra!” she heard from the other side. “Open this door now! We must discuss y’r intolerant behaviour from earlier!” It was her father. He had been drinking. She could sense it in the aggression of his voice. He also had no other reason to come up and want to talk to her about anything. Most days, he had never even found the time for her, nor was he ever trying to. She didn’t mind, anyway. Some days, she tried avoiding him as well.
She closed her laptop and got up to open the door. Softly, she spoke, “Yes, father?”
He gave one swift smack to her face, leaving her mouth agape and an insulted look on her face as she brought her palm to her cheek. It had been the first time he struck her. He didn’t show any sign of remorse to what he did.
“You are never to speak to me in that insufferable tone ever again.” He paused and locked eyes with hers to make sure she had his full attention, then continued. “Understood?!”
The way his arm hung with his hand on the border of the door and the way he swayed as if he couldn’t keep his balance showed Ezra that he was more intoxicated than he ever had been, or at least more than he ever had shown her. If he was drunk enough to strike her as he did, she didn’t want to wait to see what else he might do. She slammed the door in his face and locked it immediately. That didn’t stop him from banging on the door once more. Ezra screamed in terror.
“Ezra, open this door!” Bang, bang, bang. “Ezra!” Bang. “Ezra!”
Ezra moved herself back to her bed and curled up, covering her ears, pressing tight with her palm until the banging stopped.
“Keep this up, darling,” he spoke, “and I’ll take back my money and rip up your ‘escape ticket’ so you’ll never leave this house!” Footsteps were heard fading into the distance.
He was gone now, probably slumping back to his room to knock out on his bed. As Ezra’s tears dried, she took a moment, letting out on more wept sob before checking her printer for the ticket.
There it was, the flight scheduled for tomorrow morning, earlier than planned, originally to avoid having to attend her “Birthday Ball”. The deal was that her parents would give her 5,000 pounds locked in her bank account with a pin she didn’t know. Her parents would give her the pin after the party so she wouldn’t have any ideas on trying to leave before then. 5,000 pounds was too low a price for the trip she was making and even though it would come up as 6,326.67 in euros, it still wasn’t enough, either way. She needed more time to find a job and half of that money would already go to rent for an apartment. She knew damn well that her parents could afford to give her more, but she also knew they did that so she could come crawling back to them when she was spent. Regardless, it was worth at least some time away from her insipid reality.
None of it mattered anyway. Ezra wasn’t planning to leave with the money. She wouldn’t be able to get the pin if she wasn’t going to be around to receive it at the end of the party. She had to resort to whatever money she had left in her savings. The tickets were already bought, so that problem was solved. She would need to find a nice inn to spend the night so she could take her flight in the morning. She only had a few hundred pounds saved up from her allowance, specifically for this night. She had only hoped that she would be able to afford the expenses with the little money she had.
All her things were packed. Her father was passed out drunk. Her mother was probably in bed with him. Now seemed like as good a time as any to make her clandestine escape. Ezra stored away her laptop and grabbed her things after using her phone to call a taxi. She took in one deep solid inhale and exhaled her last breath she would ever breathe in the room she grew up in. Opening the door, the eerie sound of a vocal entrance echoed throughout the mansion.
Did father leave on the telly again? Ezra thought to herself. She was not prepared to find out.
Ezra picked up her suitcase and stuck her arms in the straps that converted it into a backpack. The luggage weighed heavy on her but she dealt with the struggle of carrying it down the steps anyway.
The singing grew louder as she descended the stairs and neared the lounge room. It sounded like it came from an opera that carried her with the sound of an angelic whisper. She could begin to make out the words as she neared the open room:
I’ve got you under my skin
I’ve got you deep in the heart of me
So deep in my heart
That you’re really a part of me
It was as majestic as any voice she ever heard, but there was a recognizable tone in the voice and an accent no one could miss. Curious, Ezra put her suitcase down and swiftly moved, with the utmost stealth, into the lounge room. The singing rang closer, but there was no television in the lounge room.
When looking from behind the wall, Ezra could see her mother sitting on one of the many chairs and sofas that surrounded a coffee table. Expecting her mother to be reading another one of her books, she saw that her mother was the cause of the singing. Little did Ezra know, her mother was once striving to be a singer but had to give it up when she realized the responsibility of raising a child would hold her back from her career.
Ezra moved in closer, silent as the night, reveling in the glow she saw in her mother when she sang. Once more, an undiscovered part of her parent was unleashed. She could tell they were both already getting used to the fact that their daughter was gone, even though she hadn’t left yet.
Ezra began backing away from her mother to exit the room when suddenly she saw her turn her head around, caught by her mother’s gaze. Ezra froze in place as Miriam stared right back into the eyes of her daughter. She paused her singing only for a moment as this happened, then continued, still locking her daughter down with her blank stare.
Don’t you know little fool,
You never can win
Miriam raised her finger to her head and began tapping on her temple as she sang the next line:
Use your mentality
Wake up to reality
Staying in sync to the beat of the song, Miriam turned her head back around and didn’t cease to finish singing. As she sang the last two lines, Ezra could see her mother making strange and peculiar gestured with her hand as if she was trying to point out the same four numbers.
‘Cause I’ve got (four)
You (one)
Under my (three)
Skin (two)
She repeated the same four gestures, humming the duration of the song, until Ezra figured out what it meant.
It was the pin number for her secured bank account. Miriam was helping her daughter escape.
Ezra quickly moved back to her suitcase and began rolling it, alongside her, to the front door. She took one last memorable glance at her mother, before exiting the mansion. Miriam was seen drinking her twelfth glass of chardonnay as she drunkenly hummed on. Her eyes were closed and she took one last sip as she motioned for her daughter to leave already with her hand. Without another word or further hesitation, Ezra finally opened the door and walked out to the taxicab that was waiting for her in the front, leaving Miriam to herself, once again.
Miriam opened her eyes when she heard the door close behind her daughter. She took in a long, deep breath and exhaled through her mouth, a sigh of relief escaping along with it. She was finally free, they both were.
Ezra opened the cab door and made her way inside after putting her suitcase in the trunk. A broad silhouette began to turn his head and ask, “Where are you headed, lass?” He was a Scot. Terrence never much cared for the Scots or their heavy, barely comprehensible, accents. The whole Scottish vibe was indecent to him. Ezra knew this about her father, but tried to ignore it and any further thought on her parents for they were history now. She was done with them.
“Nearest inn to the London Heathrow.. Please.” She said and they were off. Ezra didn’t look back. She had no reason to. She was gone now, and that was the end of it. Out with the old and in with the new , she thought to herself, and never before had she felt more relieved to know that.