61.
The Second Bedroom By Tilda Njoo
Before the house there was a daisy. The daisy was a girl. Her mother had named her as such thinking that she would grow into her namesake. She had forgotten that the only things that grow in a big city were weeds. But her daughter was not a weed, and neither was she a daisy. As a young girl, Daisy would walk to school each morning and watch the different colours that the sun would cast around her reflection in office windows. She would see herself in blue and white and grey, noticing how her body solidified in the glass. The buildings would encroach on her body, wrapping themselves around her limbs as if trying to suppress her growth. It didn’t work of course; buildings cannot move. However, no matter how tall she grew, Daisy could never touch the ceilings in her house. Her mother would watch her, hands stretched upwards and heels of her feet lifted off the floor. You would have made a beautiful ballet dancer, her mother would say.
I’m sorry, Daisy would reply.
When Daisy’s body was all the way grown, she felt the streets back away from her as she walked through them. The city had wanted her to be a dancer too. She apologised to the buildings, walking past them in straight lines, back upright. I’m trying, she offered. The buildings shook their heads at her and turned around so that they were facing the coast. Daisy didn’t blame them. The view was better out that way. One day, in her late adolescence, Daisy took a train out to the sea. It was dark when she returned, and the street signs had turned blank. Salt air lingered on Daisy’s fingers as she wandered the streets, looking for the way back home ------
We can’t live in a house without a second bedroom, she thought. Her husband would have to disagree. He regarded his wife. Her lips were twisted in agitated thought. He knew she was thinking about the second bedroom. Darling, he said, don’t you think we should be saving? Daisy found it condescending when he called her ‘darling.’ He only ever did it in front of other people, as if trying to prove their marital success. The real estate agent looked anxiously between the two. Really, for a two bedroom in this area, and with these ocean views, the arranged price is quite a steal. Daisy looked confused, as if she had only just realised that the real estate agent could talk. When Daisy didn’t respond, her husband looked embarrassed. Maybe we can talk about this in private, he said. The real estate nodded knowingly. The husband nodded knowingly back. Daisy watched them nodding at each other. The house was bought on the third day of winter. Daisy was pleased. Her husband was exhausted. They stood on the front lawn, one of them kicking dirt into the hole that the ‘for sale’ sign had left. The house looked less grand now that it was theirs. I suppose we could go inside, said the husband. I like it best from out here, said Daisy Before the house there was the sea. Before the trees were filtered out and the ground painted grey. It would sit, blue and grey against the bush. Salt would carry in the air and land on leaves, so that even in the summertime it looked as though they were covered in frost. If it were built back then, the house’s four walls would sit rudely against the softness of the hill.
