Mariposario – Chapter I

Mary’s side of the story:

Vienna. January 4th, 1955

What a wonderful day! I’ve spent all morning at the market, exchanging conversations  with people and selling mother’s Apfelkuchen.  “I don’t mean to burden you with this additional task, Mary”, she said this morning, “There is no need for you to feel obligated to do my work. I know how employed you always are with your chores”. It almost made me feel guilty that my mother, who was constantly busy managing a household, a tremendous garden plus four children was about to have a bad conscience that I was selling pies on my free day, so I assured her, that I loved helping her out and told her not to worry about it. It was the best way for me to have some change once in a while and to socialize outside of the house.

Another aspect about this task I very much  enjoyed was making an effort to neatly decorate my little counter with handicraft, to make the pies  look more appealing to the customers. Oh, I have created so many beautiful pieces of handicraft! I love knitting and sewing with a passion! It is somewhat relaxing to me and I like to daydream about the most random things, whilst devoting myself to another piece that I am sure to take delight in. What I really didn’t expect though was the fact that so many people were stopping at my table just so they could admire my work. One old lady particularly took me by surprise when she exclaimed that I was very skilled and that many people would love to decorate their houses with my embroidery, which almost made me blush.

That was also the moment when I got the idea of offering my handcraft for sale, along with mother’s apple pies. I am convinced, that selling my work will earn me quite some money! To be frank, the thought of owning such an amount of money somewhat preoccupies me. I am afraid that it will spoil my character and lead me to indulge in selfish pleasures. I’d better donate all of it to charity, so that even more people will be able to benefit from my efforts! There are so many people out there who are not as well off as I am, people who would appreciate the taste of warm food and the luxury of their own bed. I have all of that – and more.  At times, I even find myself taking for granted what I have and it makes me feel quite ashamed. My parents work hard to fulfill my every wish – not that I am trying to have many wishes since that would contradict my idea of a modest lifestyle – so I am really not in a position to complain about anything at all.

In the evening, I got dressed for church. I have made a habit out of attending services every other day. I find that one doesn’t necessarily have to believe in God to be able to find that there is some truth to the stories in the bible. Even if one cannot identify with their meaning, the words are unmistakeably poetic and I am always able to derive inspiration from them.  One of my favourite pastimes is to philosophize about what I have learned at church when I am in one of my daydreaming moods again. I personally believe that these stories teach you a lesson about life whereas most of the advanced theories you learn at school don’t seem to apply to real life. Speaking of school, I am currently in my last year of a girls’ Catholic school. If I make  an effort, I will undoubtedly excel in most subjects, which will hopefully enable me to pursue a career as a social worker one day. I feel like this is a position in which I can really make a difference, even if it is only a small one. It seems like  there are so many people out there who need my help…


Casey’s side of the story:

Vienna. January 4th, 2011

What.a.day. I hated this day even before I was fully awake. There was just this odd day-hating vibe in the air and I must have inhaled too much of it. Anyways. I woke up too late, which meant that there “would be no breakfast”. (As if I even ate breakfast in the first place, DUH. I’d just take a piece of bread and say that I would eat it on the way to school to make my mum shut up. Geez, I’d do most anything to be spared a lecture about why breakfast was so damn important. I mean who the heck cares, right? And when mom wasn’t looking, I’d toss the bread into the next garbage can. If she knew about that, I’d get another lecture about how kids in Africa were starving and how I was an ungrateful brat, etc.) Oh yeah, and I was definitely late for school.

I’m in my senior year at this lousy public school where students and teachers just don’t give a shit about shit. My parents expect me to do a good job though, so I can go to university and brag about some useless title. (Basically DAD wants to be able to brag with his little “baby girl”. I’m his only daughter so he “only wants what’s best for me” aka imposing a career on me that I couldn’t care less about). But that’s not to say that I am good for nothing. I am incredibly good at wasting time! And getting wasted! Who cares about hobbies when you can drink booze, right? And there is always booze. Plenty of booze. Or wait. In my mom’s book, “booze” stands for “study group” or “prayer circle”, as the case may be! (As if! My mum’s SO gullible. I am starting to believe that she only believes what she wants to believe. I mean if she admitted to herself what a failure her daughter was, she’d probably blow her brains out, lol). To cut a long story short, there is always booze. And sometimes there is sex. Mind-fucking, hot sex. Whatever it takes to get reality out of my brain…

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