What Could Be Her Story? [Short Fiction]
Every time I pass through the market and see Ella with her ever-present smile, I wonder, “What could be her story?” Ella is a friendly, hospitable foodstuff seller, but the left side of her face is disfigured.
When I first met her and she greeted me with her beautiful smile, I knew that she must have been a beauty because the right side of her face was radiant and I got to confirm my assumption when I saw her old pictures at the community museum. She was the first and so far the only one to have won the “Most Beautiful Lady of Beautiful City Community” for Precious Urban Area, which is a member city of the community. This made me yearn to hear her story, but more, I wanted to know how she cultivated a positive outlook on life, despite what had happened to her face. From my inquiries, I got to know that her face was disfigured by acid during the beauty pageant, but I wanted to know how it all happened.
One fateful day, as I patronised her stall, she gave me a sharp look and said, “I hear you have been asking questions about me. Don’t tell me you have fallen in love with me.” I was dumbstruck by her outburst and was about to stammer a response when she said, “I am just pulling your legs; come later this evening and I will tell you my story.” That brought relief and a smile to my face. Before I left, she added, “I heard that you are a storyteller” and I affirmed before she continued, “You have to promise me that you would share my story” and I readily agreed.
I was at her stall later that evening. She offered me a seat while she continued attending to her last-minute customers. She got me a malt and kept calling me her guest while I waited. I once said she was hospitable and you cannot but agree. When her customers were all gone, I assisted her in packing her goods into her shop. Before she started her story, she asked if I had seen her picture in the museum and I affirmed.
And then, she began:
“I am the only daughter of my parents, and they showered me with so much to the point of spoiling me. I had all I could need, but also all I did not need. Aside from these privileges, I was also blessed with beauty and it went to my head. I had all I wanted; I was beautiful and felt powerful, but the power welling in me was a growing pride.
I saw no need to honour anyone except my parents and their rich friends. I was the very definition of a spoiled brat, but my parents were not bothered. They felt I would outgrow it. My friends and my parents’ friends said nothing of my unbecoming so as not to hurt my ego or that of my parents. They were so afraid of losing their relationship with me, so they put up with me. Looking back now, I wonder if they were ever really my friends.
This continued until the Most Beautiful Lady Pageant of Beautiful City Community. Everyone knew I was more likely to win and I won, but where the problem happened was behind the scenes. Each contestant was assigned support staff, but I disrespected the women who were to assist me to the point that they almost lost their jobs.
The women took me to heart and plotted for my fall. They included acid in my bathing water and the effect on the left side of my face tells the remainder of the story. I was fortunate that I wanted to wash my face first. It also affected my hands, but you don’t see the damage it did to my hands because of the gloves I am wearing.
I was distraught; I wanted them to rot in prison as did my parents, but the women escaped. I was hurt for a long time, I would lock myself in my room, refuse to eat, and shout at our housemaid that we had over five housemaids within three months because they could not put up with me. I was bitter and was too afraid to take up anything until I came across Evelyn, our former housemaid, who did not mind my tantrums but was there to tell me to my face that I was wrong when I was wrong. She has a strong will and a lovely smile, and she knows how to sing. None of my shouts moved her. When she discovered that I normally lock my door, she took the spare and held onto it.
I remember locking myself in one day and my parents were alarmed because of how I stormed into the room with anger. They came to my door to knock, but I refused to open the door. She took the spare keys and opened the door. I was amazed instead of being angry at her. She knew how to manoeuvre her way and let none of my actions hurt her. Her character stunned me. I wanted to know how she was able to put up with me though I did all I could to frustrate her to make her leave like the other ladies, but she did not bulge. This created a liking for her and with time, I realized that I was changing. I wanted to be around her, but did not know how; I would regularly call her to prepare tea or toast just to have her around. With time, she knew what I was up to, so she would wait around and sometimes try to engage in conversations with me. I found myself more in the kitchen just to be with her, and I soon found myself engaging in chores with her.
My parents were happy to see that I was no longer locking myself in my room or seemed like a danger to myself. Evelyn encouraged me to face my fears and step out into the world again.”
Ella paused for a moment, her eyes distant as if reliving those days. Then she continued:
“You may be wondering why I am selling food items when my parents are well-to-do. When Evelyn told me that she was leaving, I was disheartened. She told me that she wanted to start trading and just so that I could still see her every day, I took up this endeavour. My parents were sceptical but this is the only thing I have chosen to engage in since the incident, so they agreed. I have had to learn humility the hard way, but I have also learnt to love others. I may not sell foodstuffs for a long time, but I have chosen this as a means to channel my healing process.”
She looked at me, her smile soft but unwavering.
“What would I do if I see those women? I really can’t say, but I have forgiven them and I hope that they have forgiven me.”
“So, Mr storyteller, you have a story to share; make it fiction if you like, but tell it in a way that would let people learn a thing or two,” she said as flashed me a smile. Immediately, her driver came to pick her and she bid me goodbye.
In my recorder was her story, and in my heart, a responsibility to share her tale. I hope you learnt a thing or two. Thank you for your time and thank you for reading.
