Porcelain by Danielle Woodgate

Claire wasn’t always made of porcelain. She was born the way most babies are, a bloody mess of fluids and vernix, followed shortly by the afterbirth. Pale skin allowed the blue of her veins to show through on her chest. She screamed at the indignity of coming into the world filthy and naked. The nurses handled her gently. Rubbing a terry cloth towel over her goosebump covered skin. They wrapped her in a blanket and handed her to Mother.

Mother looked at Claire and kissed her on the forehead, “You’re beautiful. I’ll always keep you safe.”

These words are not normally a portent of doom. Most parents believe it’s their duty to protect their children from all types of harm. Physical. Spiritual. Mental. Emotional. It isn’t bad to desire your child’s safety, but, like all things, intent is what truly matters.

Mother wasn’t extraordinary in any of the ordinary ways. Her power lay in hindsight. She foresaw mistakes and errors causing Claire to fumble in her path to perfection. Mother wanted what she longed for in her own childhood. The security forged from an observant parent. One obsessed with her child, not the parade of men who gave her value.

At first Claire ignored Mother’s whispered warnings.

“Don’t cry my little one, you’ll get crow’s feet before your time.”

“Don’t suck your thumb, your teeth will come in crooked.”

“Don’t walk before you crawl. Take each step at a time. If you skip one you will lose something in your haste.”

As she grew older, Mother’s words twisted meaning something more to Claire.

“Always smile, it takes more muscles to frown.”

“Don’t talk to strangers, you never know what harm they mean for you.”

“Don’t pout or a bird will land on your lip and make a nest.”

Some of her mother’s sayings made sense to Claire. Others contradicted what her teachers instructed. Claire enjoyed her freedom each day in Kindergarten. Out from Mother’s watchful eyes and words of wisdom. She played with the other children. Forgetting dangers the world had in store for her.

One weekend Claire wandered outside. Determined to ride her bike around the cul-de-sac. She wore her helmet—this wisdom was echoed by all the adults in her life. Looping her bike in smaller and smaller circles. Twisting tightly her bike slipped out from under her.

Claire flew over her handlebars. Banging her chin on the pavement. Scrapping her knee and skinning her arm. She pushed herself from the street and limped inside. Tears and blood soaked the front of her shirt in a salty iron mixture.

When Mother saw her, she pulled Claire close and told her to open her mouth. “I want to make sure your teeth are alright.”

Obediently Claire opened her mouth. She waited, breath held, while her mother examined her teeth carefully for chips or cracks. The blood from her knee fell onto the carpet by their feet, but neither one noticed.

Much to Mother’s relief, Claire’s teeth remained undamaged by the fall. She did not waste time in comforting Claire, only on making sure she learned her lesson. Claire’s wounds healed. She rode her bike a little less freely, sticking to the safer routes of paths and straight lines. Not until Claire’s next dentist appointment did she realize something had changed.

During her cleaning, the dental assistant, Sue, tapped Claire’s top front teeth. Sue worried her bottom lip between her own pearly whites.

“I’ll be right back.” Sue returned shortly with the dentist.

He studied Claire’s teeth and pulled his lips back in an exuberant grin.

“Well, this is exciting! We don’t usually see this in our pediatric patients. Claire, your front teeth have turned to porcelain!”

Confusion enveloped Claire. How did her teeth change into something else? The dentist finished his examine. Claire crept to the waiting room, her chance to pick out a toy from the prize chest. She moved to Mother’s side, clutching a teal stuffed bear.  The dentist stood with Mother.

“There you are Claire. I was telling your mother about your big milestone. Congratulations.”

Mother grinned, dimples forming in her cheeks. In the car she turned and squeezed Claire’s arm, “I knew you were special when you were born.”

Claire treated her new porcelain teeth carefully, knowing how important they were to Mother. Claire overhead Mother bragging to the neighbors about how early Claire started to show her true beauty.

That year, Claire received a speaking part in the school play. Mother decided to curl Claire’s hair for the performance.

Claire wiggled as Mother used a steaming curling iron to create tight ringlets throughout her long blonde hair. Easily distracted, Claire twisted to watch her kitten race across the bathroom. She wondered what trouble it might make.

Claire registered Mother’s gasp before the pain rushed from Claire’s rosy cheek to her nerve receptors. The room filled with the acrid scent of burnt skin. Mother quickly clasped a cool rag over the mark on Claire’s face, scolding her daughter for losing focus.

“Beauty is pain. You need to learn that now. Sometimes you must hold still so your beauty can rise to the surface. Remember a woman’s power lies in how she uses her beauty.”

Mother covered the burn with powder. Claire’s classmates and teachers praised her stage presence, unaware of the damage hidden beneath the makeup. When the skin on Claire’s cheek healed, it was smoother, colder, and harder. Porcelain.

Mother’s words continued to shape Claire. Mother focused on Claire’s beauty and not the kindness Claire offered the world. Claire’s skin continued to shift in form until all was porcelain.

Mother pulled Claire close and stroked her cool back. Claire felt nothing in Mother’s embrace. Without flesh she experienced no pain, but she experienced no love either.

“You are finally perfect.” Mother breathed the words into Claire’s frozen hair. She knew Claire was safe.

Mother lifted Claire, placing her on a chair where everyone could admire what her words had wrought.

 

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