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BEATRICE

Beatrice Alexandria Lincoln.This has been my name since the day I was born eighteen years ago. My parents, Richard, and Elisabeth are patrons of the town of Mount Sterling in the Deep South. Sweet tea, served with a side of sweet fancy, is the official offering to visitors to the house.

I often wonder if anyone else would appreciate my life more than I do. My father is the one who bought and paid for my entire existence.

We live in a white mansion, a five-minute walk from the edge of town. It's where the wealth is. Lush gardens, sleek and shiny vehicles, designer flower beds, and fake people. The town of Mount Sterling is known for its old-fashioned charm and Southern hospitality, and residents like my parents keep those traditions alive. Despite the material wealth that surrounds us, I sometimes long for a simpler life. My father is the mayor. My grandfather is the judge, and my uncle is the sheriff. You see what I mean?

The residents want to be in my parents' circle of friends. They push their offspring in my direction, hoping that being my friend will bring them recognition. I don't bother anymore. I have one friend and she’s enough. It can be lonely living in a community where people are more interested in your family position than who you really are as a person.

I feel like a robot. A Stepford wife. Every waking moment is planned, even more so since I graduated from high school. I want to go to college. Not that I am interested in any field, but to get away from my family. I'm not sure that is going to turn out to my advantage, as my parents are against it. If my parents hadn't been on my back all the time about grades, maybe I would have fought harder. But now it's too late.

My skin itches against the cotton fabric of the dress I wear. The humidity makes sweat run between my breasts and down my back. The weather makes me sleepy as I listen to the drone of my mother and her three closest friends. The suffocating feeling of being trapped in this picture-perfect life is overwhelming. I long for freedom, for a chance to discover who I really am beyond my family's expectations.

Today's meeting is for them to decide which of their sons I will date first. I don't want to date any of them. I have no choice. Richard Lincoln has spoken. I feel like a pawn in their game of social status and tradition, with no say in my own future. The weight of their expectations crushes me.

I smile in all the right places, only half listening. A loud vibration shakes the China on the dining room table. My eyes wander out the window as a slight smile appears on my lips. Motorcycles roar past the house. The men who ride them live across the railroad tracks in Den Hollows. There are no white mansions with manicured lawns in Den Hollows.

I want to be free like them. Free to ride like the wind through the town without a care in the world.

Seconds later, my dream shatters as the sirens announce the arrival of the sheriff’s deputies. I sigh, wishing my uncle’s deputies would leave the men alone.

They are real men. No tailored three-piece suits covering their pasty white—sometimes overweight—bodies. Jeans and T-shirts cover their muscular frames. I imagine it’s one of them every time I use my vibrator.

A blush covers my cheeks as I turn my attention back to my mother. I wish I'd paid more attention, because ten minutes later they agree on something I missed.

As mother walks them out, I go to my bedroom and close the door with a huge sigh of relief. I throw the clothes off and into the hamper. In the shower, I scrub my hair to get the hairspray out, which Mom insists on before I scrub my body until I'm red and clean.

When I’m done, I brush out my red hair and put on shorts and a vest. I go downstairs barefoot and follow the sound of my mother's voice into the kitchen.

She gives me a scathing look, her mouth tight. "Beatrice, I asked you to be polite. I didn't expect it to be so difficult for you."

"I was there. I served the sweet tea and the fancies. I smiled and spoke when spoken to. What did I do wrong?" I clench my fists behind my back, angry at the words I force from my lips when I want to say so much more.

"Honestly, child." She grabs my arm and drags me through the house. "My friends noticed when you were distracted by the window." Her eyes narrow. "Those Redd boys and their gang of thieves."

"They're not thieves, Mom." The second the words are out of my mouth; I feel a sharp pinch on my arm. "Ouch."

"You watch what you say to me!" she snaps. "Your father was right. You need a man to keep you in line."

"I'm eighteen. I want to go to college and get an education." I pull my arm free, feeling the bruise already marking my skin. “Dad said he would think about it."

Mom sits down. "Yes, well, your father has thought about it. You are going to get married. We can keep an eye on you here until that happens. Make sure you stay pure for your husband."

My mouth falls open.

"Oh, Beatrice, stop catching flies." Her eyes sweep over me in disgust. "You have a date with Jason Greenwood tomorrow night. You will behave like a lady or face your father. Do I make myself clear?"

"Jason? Isn't he old?"

"He's a respectable lawyer in town. He just turned thirty." Her eyes narrow. "Didn't I ask you a question?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I say. "I'm clear." Inside, where no one can hear me, I scream.

“Instead of sulking around the house, go to the store and buy some milk.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to go get it herself in her nice, air-conditioned car. But I don't. My dad's hand hurts bad.

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