Move to the City
May. 4th, 2021 08:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
suomi_thunder[For the Nexus Prompt: 1. A childhood memory that meant a lot to your character.]
“Aarne?”
The voice startled him so much that he dropped the powder on the floor and sent a poof of white across the wooden floor. He looked at it and then in the mirror at his make up covered face. It was a mess, but he had tried to make it look like his mother and her friends. Everything was uneven and too thick. All he could do was frown at it and wipe at his cheeks where there was too much rouge, so much that it was bright red like windblown skin in the cold, rather than the rosy he was going for.
“Aarne?”
The voice came again and he scrambled to put everything back into the wooden box but all the lids were off and he couldn't remember which one went on which container. The panic left him frozen and staring when the door opened behind him. His eyes flew up to the mirror and saw his mother walking in.
“Why haven't you answered me?”
She was upset, her voice betrayed it and she was so rarely upset. His eyes turned down to his painted nails, those were at least decent though each one was a different color as he had tried out all the colors earlier before he started on his face.
“Will you turn around?”
He sighed, head lowered, and turned around, hoping beyond hope that his unruly, dark hair would hide what he was doing in his parents' room. Maybe he could run and go wash it off before she noticed that he was trying to look like a woman despite his welcoming into being a man coming in only a few months with his birthday. He didn't want it. Aarne didn't know what he wanted but inside, the idea of being declared a man was revolting.
While his thoughts churned his mother put her hand under his chin and pulled his face upward. Aarne's eyes went wildly wide with fear. What if she hated him as he read about in the news? People hated, well whatever the word was, but people who didn't dress like they were supposed to anyway.
“What is all of this?” She asked when she moved his hair aside and then glanced down at his nails.
He didn't answer because what could he say. His eyes focused down at the spilled powder on the floor which the boy made circles in with his big toe.
“Aarne. Why were you in my face powders?”
Her voice was gentle and his eyes came back to his mother. She was waiting and he was afraid. Terrified that she wouldn't want him or she would force him to become a man because he was a boy and that was what boys were supposed to do.
“I...” Aarne bit at his lip and spoke so quietly he thought maybe the words didn't come out at all. “I wanted to look like you.”
Silence followed and his heart was twisting in his chest until nausea filled up the pit of his stomach. “Why did you want to look like me, Aarne?”
The eleven-year-old shrugged at the question knowing that she would just ask again if he didn't answer. It felt like he was about to say that their culture was wrong and he momentarily tried to come up with a lie. What reason could he have for the makeup? A costume? Curiosity? Lies felt wrong. Lies were wrong and wouldn't make what he felt any better. Tears were threatening as he tried to make something up.
“Just tell me the truth.”
The words came with his mother's hands stroking his wild hair back behind his ear. She had let him grow his hair long and keep it even if it wasn't what boys did in the city.
“Do I have to become a man?” He asked while his toe began to make circles in the silky face powder on the floor.
“Do you mean you don't want the ceremony yet?”
The compassionate questioning had her sitting on the edge of the low bed while she waited for Aarne to answer. He could see her waiting and wiped at his eyes and face. He wanted the makeup off so that he could imagine he wasn't found out. Maybe no one would know and the whole thing would be forgotten. Her foot was tapping now on the wood floor as his eyes became glued to it.
“I don't want to be a man.” He looked up at her face and shook his head. “I don't want to become a man ever. It's gross.”
It was out in the open and it didn't feel any better. The desire to run away was pushing in the back of his mind, begging him to listen to it and just bolt out of the room and under his bed. He bit his lip again and tasted the strangely waxy lipstick getting into his mouth. The silence was awkward and long before his mother took his hand and smiled at the painted nails.
“Instead of a man, you want to be like me?” Her words came out tentative and he thought she sounded as scared and worried as his insides felt but he was listening as his mother spoke. “You want to grow up to be a woman?”
His voice was gone because he felt caught at doing something very wrong, more wrong than anything he had ever done. The boy couldn't place why it felt wrong and scary but it did somewhere deep inside but staying like this was even more wrong. He felt like it cheated his spirit. He did nod and turn his head down again.
She sighed heavily and pulled him into a hug, one he didn't resist. Aarne could feel her kiss pressed into his hair before the whisper came. “You are one of Maderakka.”
He knew that name and smiled where he was pressed into her chest. His mother said he belonged to the goddess who saw over women, not Ukko who saw to men. His heart fluttered inside his chest, nausea turning to hope.
“Can you promise me something, my little one?”
He pulled out of the hug because the powder was getting into his eyes. “Ok.”
The smile blossomed in her expression and she was pushing his hair back again. “Promise you'll let me teach you how to do this because... “ she leaned closer to whisper as she spun him around to gaze on his reflection. “.... I don't look like this mess, do I?”
Suddenly, everything went away and he laughed, giggling wildly and increasing as she kissed his cheek.
“Let's get cleaned up for dinner and I can start after we eat.”
His mother stood and offered her hand, which he took and leaned into her arm as they walked. The world looked new, felt new. There wouldn't be a man in a few months but a girl, a woman. Then the tears came to bleed off months of worry and disgust over what was looming in the future.
“Aarne?”
The voice startled him so much that he dropped the powder on the floor and sent a poof of white across the wooden floor. He looked at it and then in the mirror at his make up covered face. It was a mess, but he had tried to make it look like his mother and her friends. Everything was uneven and too thick. All he could do was frown at it and wipe at his cheeks where there was too much rouge, so much that it was bright red like windblown skin in the cold, rather than the rosy he was going for.
“Aarne?”
The voice came again and he scrambled to put everything back into the wooden box but all the lids were off and he couldn't remember which one went on which container. The panic left him frozen and staring when the door opened behind him. His eyes flew up to the mirror and saw his mother walking in.
“Why haven't you answered me?”
She was upset, her voice betrayed it and she was so rarely upset. His eyes turned down to his painted nails, those were at least decent though each one was a different color as he had tried out all the colors earlier before he started on his face.
“Will you turn around?”
He sighed, head lowered, and turned around, hoping beyond hope that his unruly, dark hair would hide what he was doing in his parents' room. Maybe he could run and go wash it off before she noticed that he was trying to look like a woman despite his welcoming into being a man coming in only a few months with his birthday. He didn't want it. Aarne didn't know what he wanted but inside, the idea of being declared a man was revolting.
While his thoughts churned his mother put her hand under his chin and pulled his face upward. Aarne's eyes went wildly wide with fear. What if she hated him as he read about in the news? People hated, well whatever the word was, but people who didn't dress like they were supposed to anyway.
“What is all of this?” She asked when she moved his hair aside and then glanced down at his nails.
He didn't answer because what could he say. His eyes focused down at the spilled powder on the floor which the boy made circles in with his big toe.
“Aarne. Why were you in my face powders?”
Her voice was gentle and his eyes came back to his mother. She was waiting and he was afraid. Terrified that she wouldn't want him or she would force him to become a man because he was a boy and that was what boys were supposed to do.
“I...” Aarne bit at his lip and spoke so quietly he thought maybe the words didn't come out at all. “I wanted to look like you.”
Silence followed and his heart was twisting in his chest until nausea filled up the pit of his stomach. “Why did you want to look like me, Aarne?”
The eleven-year-old shrugged at the question knowing that she would just ask again if he didn't answer. It felt like he was about to say that their culture was wrong and he momentarily tried to come up with a lie. What reason could he have for the makeup? A costume? Curiosity? Lies felt wrong. Lies were wrong and wouldn't make what he felt any better. Tears were threatening as he tried to make something up.
“Just tell me the truth.”
The words came with his mother's hands stroking his wild hair back behind his ear. She had let him grow his hair long and keep it even if it wasn't what boys did in the city.
“Do I have to become a man?” He asked while his toe began to make circles in the silky face powder on the floor.
“Do you mean you don't want the ceremony yet?”
The compassionate questioning had her sitting on the edge of the low bed while she waited for Aarne to answer. He could see her waiting and wiped at his eyes and face. He wanted the makeup off so that he could imagine he wasn't found out. Maybe no one would know and the whole thing would be forgotten. Her foot was tapping now on the wood floor as his eyes became glued to it.
“I don't want to be a man.” He looked up at her face and shook his head. “I don't want to become a man ever. It's gross.”
It was out in the open and it didn't feel any better. The desire to run away was pushing in the back of his mind, begging him to listen to it and just bolt out of the room and under his bed. He bit his lip again and tasted the strangely waxy lipstick getting into his mouth. The silence was awkward and long before his mother took his hand and smiled at the painted nails.
“Instead of a man, you want to be like me?” Her words came out tentative and he thought she sounded as scared and worried as his insides felt but he was listening as his mother spoke. “You want to grow up to be a woman?”
His voice was gone because he felt caught at doing something very wrong, more wrong than anything he had ever done. The boy couldn't place why it felt wrong and scary but it did somewhere deep inside but staying like this was even more wrong. He felt like it cheated his spirit. He did nod and turn his head down again.
She sighed heavily and pulled him into a hug, one he didn't resist. Aarne could feel her kiss pressed into his hair before the whisper came. “You are one of Maderakka.”
He knew that name and smiled where he was pressed into her chest. His mother said he belonged to the goddess who saw over women, not Ukko who saw to men. His heart fluttered inside his chest, nausea turning to hope.
“Can you promise me something, my little one?”
He pulled out of the hug because the powder was getting into his eyes. “Ok.”
The smile blossomed in her expression and she was pushing his hair back again. “Promise you'll let me teach you how to do this because... “ she leaned closer to whisper as she spun him around to gaze on his reflection. “.... I don't look like this mess, do I?”
Suddenly, everything went away and he laughed, giggling wildly and increasing as she kissed his cheek.
“Let's get cleaned up for dinner and I can start after we eat.”
His mother stood and offered her hand, which he took and leaned into her arm as they walked. The world looked new, felt new. There wouldn't be a man in a few months but a girl, a woman. Then the tears came to bleed off months of worry and disgust over what was looming in the future.
