Victoria
by Chloe Cullen
“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose / By any other name
would smell as sweet.”
–Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
Victoria kept telling herself her face had definitely gotten rounder
than she remembered. But at this moment, all she wanted was a calm
silence.
Victoria leaned her head against her hand as she sat at her desk,
her hand cushioned by the round cheek that it rested on. The sunlight
bounced off the pristine white desktop she sat at and hit the wall
behind her, giving the room the tinge of autumn light she had grown
accustomed to accompanying her in back-to-school season. On her desk
stood a single, silver picture frame that focused on the central image: a
photograph from the 90s with a five-year-old Victoria wearing denim
overalls and a red long-sleeve shirt with both hands in the air, every
finger outstretched, electric blonde pigtails to the side, head tilted with
a smile full of pure, innocent happiness, while her mother crouched
holding toddling Victoria around the waist. Her mother’s smile had that
satisfaction most mothers have with children this age. At least, when
their children turn out the way they wanted them to. Even though in the
picture she looked at Victoria, her profile’s triumphant smile portrayed
a strong sense of pride and possession, an urge to show off this beautiful
model baby, her handiwork. Maybe the frame with the inscription “My
Victoria” in the silver frame outlining the picture reinforced that vibe,
but Victoria always wished she could remember what it felt like to have
that sense of warmth and comfort from her mother’s smile, that sense of
approval.
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