the lamplighter.
Ruth wishes she got the chance to know her mother better. After her sister Violet came eight years ago, Roselie Leveen was almost gone, perhaps not in body but definitely in mind. Before that time came, the woman already had four children on her hands with little time to spare. The lamplighter knows almost nothing about her mother, about who she was before she became bound to her children and before she became lost to that which haunts her. Truly, she has no idea what sort of relationship her mother had with this woman, she just knows that nothing good resulted from it.
Despite the largely pleasant front she projects on a day to day basis ( and no, it does not always come naturally to her, often it’s more like a customer service persona ), behind the surface is an insecure, jaded individual. So much of Ruth’s life is clouded with darkness and hardship, so she tries to remedy that with how she presents herself.
As the lamplighter watches the other woman’s expression collapse into hurt, sadness, confusion, a fleeting thought passes by. A thought which encourages her to not be so hard on Magdalena. A thought which proposes the idea that she and the spiritualist may be more alike than Ruth previously dared to imagine. With that thought, an apology climbs up her throat, coating her closed mouth. It almost manages to make its way past her lips, her mouth opens, ready to spill, but that horrible grudge stops it in its tracks. That grudge seethes in her mind, reminding her of her mother’s horrible deterioration after Ruth found her at the spiritualist’s home. Her jaw snaps shut once again.
When she speaks again, her tone is firm, but not unkind. “When people look at me, usually one of two feelings come to mind: disgust or pity. Disgust at the sight of some unseemly girl walking their manicured streets, or pity at the sight of some poor, little soul slated to a job which makes them shudder to think.” If she is honest with herself, Ruth would love nothing more than to pick Magdalena’s mind, to find out just why her mother sought this woman’s company and to find out exactly what transpired on that fateful night. But a part of her is afraid of the truth. So instead of being direct, instead of asking her, she resorts to playing games.
“I have no patience for petty pleasantries. If you do not approach me out of pity, then why do you approach me at all?”
.
The shadow-hollowed planes of Magdalena’s face were solemn and stoic as she listened to Ruth, yet her eyes were brimming with curbed emotion. It was for that reason that she kept her gaze trained upon the cigarette that still hung from her hand, her thoughts straying towards her own experiences that resonated with those the lamplighter described. For as long as she could remember, Magdalena had lived her life with hyperawareness of the perception and scrutiny of others; haunted by the weight of prowling eyes as keenly as the serenity in which she was constantly draped.
In her adolescence, she had drawn the same disgust and pity that now stalked after Ruth; pierced with a thousand phantom cuts from sharp stares, jagged scowls and serrated once-overs -- whether they came barreling down from the bullies who condemned her long hair and feminine mannerisms, or the orphanage staff who judged her unorthodox inclinations and innocent eccentricity. At some point, prior to the salvation she had found after she was finally adopted, the wounds she bore had sunk so deep that she had genuinely believed she was meant for nothing else when it came to the treatment she expected from others. Though the conviction had nursed only sorrow and defeat in its wake for her, she could still empathize and understand why it had incited cynicism instead when it came to Ruth. Part of her was certain that she would have fostered it herself had she not found the love and acceptance that her adoptive mother had granted her.
She completely understood where Ruth was coming from, and the thought soothed the hurt from the lamplighter’s earlier words; as it almost stirred the hope that her disposition was general rather than specific towards Magdalena -- almost. She didn’t dare latch onto that assumption too quickly. “I understand.” She said, meeting Ruth’s gaze. Her expression remained inscrutable, yet the softness of her stare impressed her sincerity. Ruth proceeded to ask why Magdalena approached her, and she looked down at her cigarette once more, her silence thoughtful rather than troubled this time. She took a puff, watching the smoke as it coasted upward; reaching for the light as it dissipated into nothingness.
“Stubbornness.” She finally answered, shoulder hiking with a halfhearted shrug as she looked at the lamplighter once again. She owed her the same blunt honesty in return. “What you said makes it seem like you treat me the same way you treat every other stranger, so perhaps I’m mistaken. But ever since the first time you rejected this very same blanket,” She briefly raised it. “I’ve had the impression that you don’t like me, even though we never met or spoke before that night and I’ve only ever treated you with kindness. So I suppose I’ve just... been pushing back against that dislike. Trying to prove to you -- “ And myself, “-- that I’m a good person.”
