Eight-Thousand to One

Here we go again. That is what sixteen-year-old Charles Donovan thought as he woke up. This five-syllable notion was the first thing to cross his mind every morning. His brain could never muster up anything more complex, it was always the same, but that’s life. Actually, that is his life, an elementary routine that never faults. Every day feels as if he is just going through the motions. The day is March second, 1913 and the sun was streaming through the small, square window opposite Charles’ bed. He forced his eyes open and as they adjusted to the light he sat up and looked around. It was the same view as yesterday. From the baseball cards and his marble stone collection, all lined up on the wooden shelves his father made him for his birthday last year, to the news clippings pinned to his bland white walls praising his favorite player, Ty Cobb. His room was a shrine to baseball and he designed it that way, but something about his room always seemed bland. As if he was in a trance, Charles swung his legs over the edge of his bed and walked towards the hall, turning left to enter the bathroom. He then proceeded to get ready, he did all the basics and finished off by putting on his cotton button-up, he chose a light blue color, which he tucked into his tan khakis. He ran down the steps leading into the kitchen where his brothers and father we already seated for breakfast.

“Good morning Sir,” he said as he nodded his head slightly towards his father, who was reading the paper, passed by his mother that was cleaning dishes at the sink, and sat down in his usual seat, left of his father.

William, the second eldest, gave a mischievous grin and spoke in a silky smooth voice, “So Charlie how is Becky?” This was not abnormal for he asked every morning just to hear how Charles, once again, struck out trying to obtain his heart's true desire.

“Ah yes, Rebecca Stornel” Father said without looking up from his paper, “Have you made any progress?”

Have I made any progress? What a joke. Charles couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Rebecca Stornel has been the source of so many headaches and sleepless nights. The lovely girl that lived three streets down caught his eye two years ago and every day since she has refused his affection. He meant absolutely nothing to her, which was unfortunate because she was his everything. He spent all of his school days thinking about her and watching her longingly during class. He couldn’t help but stare. Her long auburn hair brushed her back slightly and was always sectioned off with a baby blue ribbon. Her dresses were a variety of pastel colors. He tried to get her attention but she denied him, time after time. She would always ask him the same question “What do you like about me” and every time Charles would reply “You are beautiful.” She would smile as if she felt pity for him then reply the way she did a thousand times before, “That is not what I wish to be.” She would say this then walk away, no further explanation, nothing, but he did not believe in giving up.

“No Sir, not yet but I am sure she will come around” Charles replied, slightly embarrassed.

Father peered over the paper before he glanced back down and turned the page to the national news. “Strong-willed girls do not find husbands, she will learn eventually that receiving a man’s attention is something to celebrate, especially one of high social standing such as yourself Charles.” With that Mother dropped a bowl into the sudsy water, causing a rather large splash and leaving droplets of water all over the pristine window. Father, in a loud and slightly angered tone, screeched at Mother, “Elizabeth! Do your hands no longer work?”

“I-I am sorry Edward Dear, it must have slipped, I’ll get to cleaning the window after breakfast,” she said with an obviously forced smile plastered across her red lips. Father, either not noticing or caring that his wife was faking her apology, scoffed and went back to reading. Charles looked at his mother. She was perfect, her shiny white teeth shimmered when she smiled like the polished china she was putting back into the cupboards. Her strawberry blonde hair was always pinned back into tight curls and her nails were never chipped and matched her red lips. Father always says women must always look presentable. Charles could not think of a time his mother was dressed down or a day her lips were not painted the same color as the roses out front. Her eyes were light blue like crystals, she always said he inherited her eyes. He does not have the distress and sorrow hers attempted to hide from the world.

“For the love of God!” His father’s voice boomed like thunder and in response the whole room got silent. He threw the paper down and stormed out of the room. Elizabeth slowly walked over to where the disheveled paper lay on the floor and picked it up. As she read the article her eyes lit up like stars on a clear night. She tried to contain her joy but Charles knew his mom, she was undeniably delighted. She carefully ripped out the article, slid it into her apron pocket and went back to the sink as if nothing happened.

Charles’ curiosity about the paper clipping was interrupted by Edward’s stern voice, “Charles! Joseph! William! I am leaving, let’s get a move on.”

He looked at his brothers and the three replied in synchrony “Coming Sir!” They stood up and before Elizabeth could say goodbye they were out the door.

The car ride started off silent until Father decided to share why he was so upset. “Boys, the world is attempting to change before our very eyes. Women now believe they should be able to decide how our government works as if they have the proper knowledge to even be able to form opinions on such matters.” He chuckled “They are forgetting their place and today, the day I take you three, my sons, to learn about bonds and the company you will be taking over in a few years, they decide to fill the streets and the community minds with their idiotic ideas. Women are for cooking, cleaning, and birthing. There is no place for women in politics. They will learn.” William and Joseph, Charles’ oldest brother, laughed along with their father in agreement. Charles didn’t laugh, he didn’t even crack a smile, something about what his father had just said felt wrong even though he knows it to be the truth.

After a forty-minute drive, the car pulled up to a massive stone-like building that was like nothing Charles had ever seen before. Getting out of the car was a blur as he was in absolute awe of the sights around him. There were hundreds of people shuffling down the street, all with a destination in mind. The buildings were like nothing he had ever seen before, tall and cold looking with a feel of power sound them. He found himself wandering towards a crowd of people to his left, they all seemed to be in discussion and on their way to the same place. Before he knew it he was swept into the frenzy, pulled into the sea of people unable to get back to shore. Suddenly the crowd began to part, Charles saw this as an escape route and readied himself for the break. He lunged out and into the open space only to bump into a small woman holding a rather large sign.

“My deepest apologies, Ma’am, I meant no harm as I was just trying to regain my footing,” Charles said, he was feeling a bit embarrassed of his lack of balance. He looked at her as she dusted herself off. She couldn’t have been over twenty, her black hair was pinned up under a white hat that matched her shockingly very clean dress. A string of flowers was draped around her neck and shoulders and her auburn eyes were ablaze. Her eyes burned with the fierceness of a thousand men and it scared him. She nodded her head slightly to his apology and began chanting.

“Votes for women! It is time to right the wrongs!” her voice boomed louder than he had ever heard a man or woman speak. He then realized it was not just her. He looked around him as thousands of women marched with signs and strings of flowers just like the one he saw before. It then occurred to him that he might have escaped the rough sea but he just entered the eye of the storm.

I do not belong here... Charles thought as he watched the women pass him by. His head was spun so fast all he could see were large blurs. He darted from one side of the road to the other for he wasn’t sure what to do. The crowd of onlookers was so thick and he knew there was no way that it could be used as an escape. Suddenly he saw his chance, an angered male stormed away from the edge of the road leaving a small window that would be soon filled so Charles, without considering his surroundings, lunged forward with everything in him. He would have made it but a woman happened to cross his path and got impaled by Charles in his desperate attempt to exit the parade. He and the woman hit the ground and both rolled away from one another. Due to his rush of adrenaline, the fall did not even faze Charles, so within a few seconds he was on his feet rushing over to help up the poor lady that he so rudely ran over. “Ma’am my deepest apologies, I should have looked before I ran. I was just overwhelmed and wanted to get out of you and your sisters way… It appears I have done the opposite, again I apologize.” He offered out his hand and after a minute of deciding if she actually wanted his help, the woman took his hand and let him help her to her feet.

“Why are you in such a rush to get away from us in the first place?” the woman said cooly as she dusted herself off.

“I just do not belong here, I mean” he motioned to the rest of the parade that had continued as if nothing happened “I am obviously on the wrong side of this. It would make more sense to be watching from the sides, which is what I was trying to do” The woman pressed her lips together and scrunched her eyebrows together as if something he said upset her.

“Why do you say you are on the wrong side?” She looked at him with a look filled with an emotion that he couldn’t quite name.

“Well Ma’am you see, I am the only male over here, all the others are on the side of the road while you and your fellow women march through the middle of the road”

“Do you know why they are on the sides?”

“No Ma’am, I do not”

“They do not support us,” she said as she looked over her shoulder at the men yelling at her fellow marchers. “They don’t want to hear what we have to say.” This time he knew the emotion on her face, it was sadness.

“Pardon me but who are you and what do they not support?” Charles asked for he had no idea why she was so upset.

The woman turned to him and a small smile formed on her lips. “I am Phoebe Hawn of New York and they do not support women’s rights” Her words hit him hard.

“What do you mean?” he asked, somehow feeling as if he already knew the answer.

“Women’s rights are human rights. We stand together, recognizing that defending the most marginalized among us is defending all of us.” she said with the most confidence and pride he had ever seen a women muster.

“Why did you come all the way from New York? Isn’t that a long drive?”

Phoebe looked into Charles’ eyes and kept direct eye contact as she spoke. “I walked here from New York, it took me nine and a half days and I would do it again. Over and over because this is the most conspicuous and important demonstration that has ever been attempted by suffragists in this country. Because this parade will be taken to indicate the importance of the suffrage movement by the press of the country and the thousands of spectators from all over the United States gathered in Washington for the Inauguration. I will march for women and I will march for the equality of basic human rights. Women’s vocabulary should not be limited to yes dear and dinner is ready. They should be allowed to have their own opinions and be a part of deciding how the country they reside in is run. Someday there will be a woman that will captivate this country and lead it to greatness. This is our first step. This is for her.” She stood tall and proud as these words left her mouth and began to overcome him. The thoughts of his mother taking that clip of newspaper with a dainty smile on her face, the way she accepted his father always speaking down to her with no complaints. He thought of all the times he dismissed his mother or didn’t thank her for dinner because it was expected of her to make it. The way she reacted when his father spoke his opinions of Becky. Suddenly, all he could think about was Becky, beautiful, angelic, uninterested Becky. Then it hit him. She was like Phoebe she wanted to be more than a wife that cooks dinner, she did not wish to be only seen as beautiful, she desired more than superficial compliments. She wanted to be really seen. Rebecca Stornel wished to be more than a beautiful accessory, she wanted to be called smart, she wanted to be independent, she wished for more than Charles had been indirectly offering. The realization of this made his stomach turn because he realized he was his father. He came across as only caring about the looks of a woman and whether or not she could be a good wife. His head began to feel heavy on his shoulders and before he could say anything a man lunged at Phoebe.

It was a whirlwind of chaos. A man heard what Phoebe had said and felt as if standing on the side, yelling hateful words, was no longer working. His hands collided with her left arm, pushing her to the ground with such force it knocked her unconscious. The man’s actions were greeted by cheers from other male onlookers as Phoebe’s fellow suffragists watched in horror. Without thinking Charles’ fist connected with the man’s face and sent them both tumbling to the ground. He hit him for Phoebe, for his mother, for Becky, for all of the women that just wish to be thought of as more than a pretty vase inside a windowsill. He pictured his father when he hit him, his brothers mindlessly laughing in agreement, all the men that wish to keep women from achieving anything close to greatness. Charles knew that the women strong enough to rally 8,000 of their sisters together to close down a city did not need anyone fighting for them, but he decided then that he will be one to fight with them. Someday there will be a woman that will captivate this country and lead it to greatness. This is my first step for her.