1988

I had such high hopes for her future once.

Always the prettiest in her class, always the brightest. When she was five she was given the standard reading test and within two days had not only completed it but had finished the next seven in the series. She could write her name at the age of two and knew her alphabet shortly before even that. When she was three she asked me why the sky was blue but could understand why the sea was green. At seven she had her first round of tests and not only came top in eleven out of the twelve subjects posed to her but also managed to get one hundred percent at eight of them. Her headmaster spoke to me once at a parent’s night and called her ‘his brightest jewel’ and said that she would go as far as she wanted. By ten she had won sponsored prizes for art and project work and had come top in the country’s mathematics award for excellence in an age bracket whose lower end only just managed to catch her, beating other prodigies by yards. She was diverted to a secondary school where her academic achievements were peerless. She managed to win eight prizes in her first year, six in her second and by her third year even her new headmaster told us that she was too good for his establishment and that she would be better prepared for her exams at one of the better paying schools in the city where she could be ‘polished to shine even brighter’.

We took his advice and sent her to Saint Emily’s where she took everything given to her in her stride and even managed to start to take an interest in sports, representing first her class, then her school, then her district and eventually her country in middle distance running. She told me she conjugated Italian verbs in the process. She grew into an outstandingly talented and beautiful young woman. The formality of her outstanding examination results for her remaining years there assured her of the school dux and a future education at any university of her choosing, all of whom will be tripping over their own feet to take her on.

I lurk at the back of the bar and make sure I am unrecognized. I watch the figure at the centre of the crowd’s leering attention thankful that I cannot hear what they are saying for the sound of the music’s relentless beat. I come here nearly every week to see our brightly polished jewel dance naked on a pole in front of a hundred pairs of eyes for their entertainment and for her to make a living whilst she pays her way by making do and putting up with it.

I still watch over her. I had such high hopes for her future once. Now all that once had meaning has become meaningless.