On Pride

ON PRIDE

It was darker than she was used to in here. The dank, smelly little room worn thin on her nerves, already stretched thin from the burdens she carried. But right now, it was the best she could afford. The only thing she could afford.
A sigh.
Glancing over at the sleeping child beside her, she wondered how it had got to this. Gwen had said something to the like, "How the mighty had fallen". And she had fallen. But it was not nearly as painful as she might have expected it to be.
Briefly, she wondered what Gwen would have to say to that...
Gwen-with her large smile. Gwen, who'd never got angry, only disappointed. Who had held onto her fervently, even when she'd made it her life's purpose to alienate anyone who'd been a part of her life. Gwen, who'd used up every ounce of her patience on her.
Until one day she'd taken one long look at her, sprawled out on the ragged velvet couch, a gift from an old lover, pride coursing through her pale blue veins, nose stuck in the air even as her world as she knew it was burning down around her and had quietly packed her clothes into a tiny little duffel bag. She remembered thinking that the bag was awfully small for someone who'd lived for nearly half a decade in the same house as her, and has remembered with sudden clarity and a befuddled sort of shame how she had, in a moment of madness, burned all of Gwen's clothes and belongings, spurned by her rage at some minuscule thing or the other. She couldn't even remember the reason now, a year and a million heart-wrenching events later. All she could remember was her face as she had walked into their quaint little backyard, where they'd spent so many days and nights giggling away at the thought of a future-their future together. She'd taken in the sight of her lover burning all that she considered precious with far more grace than was right. She hadn't screamed or raged or even shed a tear.
Darling Gwen. She'd been disappointed instead. Even darling Gwen hadn't been able to stand her in the end, though. She'd left. And Natasha could hardly blame her for it. She left much to be desired.
They all left in the end. But she could manage. Her pride wouldn't let her be weak. The same way it wouldn't let her ask for help.
In the shadows of the dilapidated apartment she was squatting in with her three-year-old daughter, Natasha found that her pride was hardly any comfort to her.
Slowly, she pondered over calling up her sister. Asking for money. For help. And just as quickly, she banished the though.
Pride.
Her pride ached at the thought of bowing down before her All-Too-Perfect half sister. Tania, with her dark rustic good looks and the ivy League education. Tania who had begged and pleaded and cried over the thought of parting from her three-year-old niece. She'd begged her to reconsider. Everyone had.
'What sort of life are you condemning your daughter to?'
'Do you want her to grow up homeless?'
'Please, Tasha... Stay. ..'
Stay. Stay. Stay.
Natasha had taken one look at the indignation adorning her sister's fat face and had fled. Away from it all.
Pride. It was always her pride. Her greatest armour. Her greatest downfall.
"How the mighty had fallen".
Darling Gwen. It had been nearly a year since she'd laid eyes on her. Natasha inhaled the stale air and tried to dispel the faint flickering longing in her underbelly. It wouldn't do her any good to dwell on things beyond her reach. People, she corrected herself. But some nights, nights like these, when the cold sting of the winter air got too much, or when the baby cried herself to a restless sleep, tossing and turning like she was doing now, in obvious distress, she mused on the pointlessness of it all. The fights. The running away. She tried to tell herself that she didn't miss her beautiful suburban cottage. The warm colours of her studio. The dark panels of the wooden floors. The way Gwen could coax Aliesha into sleep without a word.
All it would take was a single word. A single phone call. And she could have it all back. Her home. Her life.
But...
Pride. There it went. Staring at Natasha through eyes jaded with the knowledge of the temptation that Natasha was failing to hide. Daring her to succumb.
Beside her, Aleisha stirred, a keening sound escaping chapped lips. She would have to find food tomorrow. For the both of them. Any longer and Aleisha would keel over from hunger. The perpetual state of tenacious, biting hunger and grief that had followed them for nearly three months now was a far cry from the loving tenderness that the child was used to.
Aleisha moaned again. Natasha thought that this time it was more of a sob than a moan.
Her own helplessness in providing for her child weighed down on her and for a moment, her strength wavered.
Perhaps...
A dull thud outside caught her attention. Slowly, she peeked around the shattered window pane. A cat. Staring at her, clutching a fish almost protectively in its mouth. She threw the nearest thing she could find at its head and it scurried off leaving the half eaten fish behind.
Briefly, Natasha entertained the idea of throwing it away. But two days of living on rotten fruit had worn her sensibilities thin. Putting together a bunch of scraps she'd hidden in her pocket, she made a small fire, careful not to bring her daughters attention to it. Aleisha would see the fish and ask for it. But Natasha knew that it was ridden with bacteria. E-coli was probably the least of their worries. She didn't want to risk her daughter's health.
The fish tasted disgusting. Twice, she nearly vomited. Only the thought of waking her daughter up with the noise kept the slimy meat down. Half-decayed fish. That was what she'd been reduced to. Her pride stung her.
But here, crouching down in the ruins of a torn-down apartment, surrounded by strangers' refuse. Eating a cat's spoils. Natasha found that hunger trumped her Pride.
How the mighty had fallen.
Her pervasive hunger had trumped her pride. It had trumped her sensibilities.
Ironic, since it was a different kind of hunger that had led her down this path.
Hunger. Pride. Disappointment.
Hunger. Pride. Disappointment.
And pain...
So much pain.
Some days, Natasha felt as if the pain had seeped into her bones-permeated her core. Corrupted any vestiges of hope or strength she had. On those days, she would consider going back. If only for Aleisha's sake. But just as always, her pride would stop her. Taunt her. Goad her into staying.
And she would think, 'No. Another day.' And then again. And again and again. And before she knew it, a month would have passed and she'd still be exactly where she had been. Homeless. Starving. Mourning. But proud.
For Natasha was nothing if not proud. Her pride was her sanctuary. Her freedom. Her cloak. Her armour. Her mask.
Her downfall.
Aliesha stirred again. This time Natasha wasn't lucky enough to keep her from waking up.
Suddenly faced with the need to explain to her three year old why her mother was hiding out and eating fish, Natasha fidgeted. E-coli and bacteria were hardly in her daughter's vocabulary. She entertained the idea of telling her the truth, but quickly shook it off. Stealing food off a cat was bad enough. But Aleisha, in all her innocence, would probably be offended at the cat's behest or something equally ridiculous.
Something outside fell. Thinking that the cat had probably come back, Natasha peeked around the corner, her daughter's clammy hand clutched in her own. It wasn't a cat.
The chill of the night was encasing her now. Shivering slightly, she adjusted her hold on her sleeping daughter. Aliesha napped a lot these days. They'd been booted out of the little house by a couple of drunkards. There was a woman with them. A slight little thing. A girl, if Natasha was being honest to herself. No amount of red lipstick or skanky clothes could hide the terrified gleam in her blue eyes. In another lifetime, Before, she would have been angry. She might have even tried to help the girl out. But that woman was long gone, battered by the realities of her own terrible actions. It was all she could do to gather their meagre belongings and hightail it out of there, sparing a single glance at the girl, clutching a little worn down purse-looking for all the world a little child facing off against a pack of hungry wolves. Natasha had left as fast as she could. She had to think of Aleisha. Of her safety. Of their survival.
Wearily, she sat down on a little bench. The park was beautiful at night. She'd come here with Gwen once. Long ago, when she'd been pregnant with Aleisha. Before her descent into madness. They'd sat on a little patch of grass and had watched the sun go down, staying and talking till they'd run out of energy. And they'd talked about the baby that would soon be joining their little family. Of how they would come back once Aleisha was born. Somehow, they'd never returned.
But here they were. Mother and daughter. The absence of the third more profound than she could have imagined.
Natasha clutched her daughter closer to her body, her warmth a pleasant reprieve from the chill of the night.
How the mighty had fallen. She thought of her months on the streets, cruel and vicious and so very painful. She thought of her helplessness at her fate. Of the fear in the young prostitute's eyes. Of how she reeked of failure and guilt and hunger. She thought of how her daughter's eyes, once a beautiful vivid green, had slowly turned dimmer and dimmer until they no longer shown from joy, but from unshed tears. And she thought that Gwen had been wrong, all those months ago. The Natasha that she'd left, all those months ago, standing in the pouring rain, had only begun to fall. And she was still falling. Deeper and deeper, into a coffin lined with her velvety sins and panelled with her rotten guilt. And faintly, she thought, just as the last traces of energy left her and she fell into a troubled sleep, that her Pride would lower her coffin into her grave.
And she wouldn't have it any other way.
Pride.