THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT
1273 Words
The office made me feel a little lightheaded, and I was grateful for that.
Mrs. Meyers was my favorite lecturer. I had built such a solid bond with her that she had even come to trust my decision to be friends with Brenda—so much so that she had to accept Brenda, wildness and all.
“Do sit, dear,” she gestured to a seat as she went back to stacking the books on her elaborate shelf.
She was in her mid-forties—unmarried and unbothered.
I loved that about her. Not a care in the world about what anyone thought, as long as she had her beauty sleep and Chanel bags to match her outfits.
“I can help, Mrs. Meyers,” I volunteered reluctantly.
I knew she never allowed anyone but herself to touch those books.
They were her most prized possessions.
“There would be no need for that, my dear. But I do have good news for you,” she said as she sat down.
I braced myself.
The one thing I needed to drown out all these crazy thoughts in my head was a good distraction.
“Are you alright? You look a bit pale—or are my glasses dirty?” she asked, taking them off to clean.
I smiled and said nothing. I didn’t want to upset her.
“So, you’ve been a record-holding young lady, and there’s been a job opening I think you’d be interested in. Of course, given the fact that you haven’t been able to cover your fees up to date, this job is actually a great start—a blessing, if I should call it that. And I know you’d like it,” she said, straight to the point.
I waited for her to continue. It was never best to interrupt her flow.
“You’ll be working as an assistant for the new substitute teacher… Mr. Eric Anderson,” she announced.
My heart sank.
I felt a sting in my eyes.
“Mr. Anderson? I… why?” I asked, confusion playing chess games in my head.
This hadn’t happened in the past.
We did cross paths, but only as teacher and student—never working closely together.
A frown spread across my face.
Was fate playing a trick on me or something?
“You were highly recommended because of your excellent grades. And I may have put in a good word or two for you,” she grinned happily, clearly proud of her contribution to my life.
I smiled back… but deep down, I shrieked.
I couldn’t work with Eric. I had to stay away from him.
The possibility of death hovered around me, tied to being near him.
I couldn’t die. Who would take care of my mom?
“The spot is open for two,” she added, “so I nominated you and… Brenda.”
She tried so hard to hide her disapproval of my bestie.
Good.
Brenda could have the job as compensation for making us lose the one at the café.
But I wasn’t going to work with Mr. Eric. Never.
The wind felt dry and painful as I stepped out of the office.
I felt somewhat empty, but a growing, uncomfortable sadness built at the pit of my stomach.
It was heavy—the feeling of fear, of danger.
“When do we start?” Brenda asked, linking her arm with mine.
“Start what?” I asked, startled.
“The job Mrs. Meyers told you about,” she replied.
“Uhmm… I… we…” I stammered.
“b***h, you kidding me right now? You weren’t going to tell me?” she asked with a crazy look.
“Don’t be silly, Brenda. How could I hide that opportunity from you? I know you need the job.”
“And what about you? You don’t sound like you want to do it,” she shot back.
“I don’t want to. But you can do it. I don’t mind.”
“You crazy or something? You need this job. You got bills and loans, babes. Why you hesitating about it?” she asked, and I felt irritated.
Did she know…?
Wait—she didn’t know.
I was the only one who knew what had happened six months ago.
“Eric Anderson is the substitute teacher we’re working with,” I said.
“Eric… Anderson… the same guy?” she asked, eyes wide with surprise.
I nodded.
She understood now.
“Babe, you need this job,” she said quietly.
“What’s with you? Are you deaf or something? I can’t work with the same guy who lied to me and had his wife kill me,” I snapped angrily.
Was she stupid or something? Wasn’t she hearing me?
“I know… but you don’t have a choice. You need it,” she insisted.
I started walking away from her.
I didn’t want to say something I’d regret.
“Your mom is in the hospital!”
I froze.
“What?” I asked, turning slowly to face her.
“She was admitted this morning… I didn’t want to tell you. We were supposed to get our paycheck today, so I thought I could pay for it and tell you when she got better,” she said with a sad face.
Tears stung my eyes again.
“For me? You were going to do that for me?” I whispered, the tears choking me.
“b***h, you’re my ride-or-die. I got you, any day,” she smiled—but the smile was sad.
“We didn’t get paid, babes. See why you need this job? They say she needs surgery… in two days,” she explained.
My head buzzed loudly as emotions and thoughts rushed to sweep me off my feet.
This didn’t happen in my former life.
My mother never needed surgery.
Yes, she was sick—so sick—but she never needed an operation.
What the f**k was fate doing to me?
“I… I can’t,” I muttered.
“Yes, you can, girl. You ain’t gonna let your mama die ‘cause of a man. We’re gonna do this job and find the best ways to avoid him. I’ll be right here by your side to punch his face if he tries s**t,” she said, pulling me in for a hug.
Why would my mother need surgery?
She never listened when I told her to eat or rest.
She worked two jobs, and all her money went to the landlord and clearing my father’s drinking debts and gambling.
She never rested.
And then she walked into that bottle fight to separate my father from his attackers—just because my grandma said that’s what a responsible wife should do.
I told her to get a divorce, but she wouldn’t listen.
“They’ll take you away from me, baby, and I don’t want that,” she always said.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
I knew grandma and her son hated Mom and wanted her to suffer.
But I wasn’t going with them.
More tears flowed as I thought of what to do.
If I worked with Eric, I knew I’d fall in love with him again. It was certain.
I loved him…
Even though he lied to me…
Even though he told his wife I was just a silly school joke…
I still loved him.
If I died, it would kill my mom.
Unless… there was a way to avert my fate.
“I need to see her,” I said, pulling away from the hug.
“Your mom?”
“No… yours.”
- Writer
