Pieces of us

Chapter Three

Mom's been feeling a little under the weather lately. I know she hates having me do her work for her, but there isn't really any way out this morning. I doubt Mr Bello is all that understanding. And so I begin dusting up the furniture in the sitting room. The pictures on the walls catch my attention. I didn't quite get a good look at them the first and last time I was here. Now that I think about it, It's been over a month since we've been living here.

There are a few landscape photos. And then some of Mr Bello. And a zillion photos of him with kids in uniform. They must be his students. Seeing him actually smiling in the pictures feels a bit weird. I haven't seen him smile in the one month I've known him. I turn and notice a really large frame all by itself on one side of the room. The picture's so old. But I can tell it's Mr Bello, auntie Jasmine and their parents. Auntie Jasmine looks like she was around age 10. Mr Bello looks like a teenager in the photo. They're both different but still recognizable.

“Have you had a good look?” I hear Mr Bello's voice behind me, making me freeze. I definitely didn't hear him come down the stairs. This man's a ghost. I just can't prove it.

I turn to look at him and he's looking rather stern.

“I'm cleaning…cleaning this place,” I stammer.

“And where's your mother?” He asks, frowning.

“She's making breakfast. She's not feeling well so I'm helping her with some chores.” I try to explain to him.

He merely nods his head. “And is there anything else left for you to do here?”

“I'm about to mop the floor,”

“Leave it and go.”

“But.. but why?”

“I said leave it. Now go.” he gestures toward the kitchen door.

I quietly pick up the mopstick and bucket and head straight to the kitchen to mom.

“He didn't let me mop the floor,” I tell her as I take the mop and bucket out through the back door to the backyard.

I can hear mr Bello's voice as I return to the kitchen. Mom's hands clasped together.

“If you need a day off to take care of your health, just say it. I don't appreciate you overworking yourself. And likewise, I don't appreciate child labour.”

“I was just helping...” I try to speak for my mom. But she turns to me sharply with a disapproving look.

“I'm okay sir. I'm not overexerting myself.” Mom tells him.

Mr Bello turns and glances at me before leaving the kitchen.

“It's just housework,” I murmur. “Did he scold you?” I ask mom

“No, He just came to check if I'm okay.”

* *

I'm going to need compensation for all the work I've done today. I take a deep breath and rub my sweaty forehead. I hang the last shirt and pick up the bucket.

“Stop being dramatic, Dawn, it's just a few clothes.”

“Mother,” I start quite dramatically, like I'm some Shakespearean actor “you know I hate washing clothes.”

My mom nods her head, looking like she's trying not to laugh at me. “I know… I know. I just don't have the strength today. Besides, most of the clothes are yours.”

“Even though..” I pout.

Back in our room, I wrap my arms around my mom's waist, placing my head on her chest. Mom lets out a laugh, trying to peel me off her “what are you doing?”

“I've been through so much today. I need to recharge.” I hold on to her feeling so much warmth. Nothing beats hugging mommy. It feels like I'm 5 again. “You're my life’s force. My source of energy”

“Of course.” Mom answers dryly, “You're such a drama queen.”

There's silence for a bit before mom breaks it. “Dawn…”

“Hm?”

“What do you think of Crestwood?”

“What's that?” I ask, still holding on to her.

“Mr Bello's school..” She pauses “would you like to go to school there?”

“What about my current school?” I look at her face, as I slowly unwrap my arms around her.

“You know it's too far.”

“But, you can't afford Mr Bello's school.”

“I talked to him. He's considering it. My salary should work.”

“Mom, your salary isn't going to…”

“It will be enough if he combines it in advance.”

“But you said you wanted to save more with this salary. That's the whole point of working here, isn't it?”

Mom lets out a soft laugh,“Saving for what exactly?” she reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently, “we don't worry about rent anymore. Or food. At the end of the day, you're my priority. And I don't mind spending my last dime, if it's for you.”

I look away as tears fill my eyes.

They aren't happy tears though.

I had thought that maybe, mom would finally catch a break. Finally get the finances to do something for herself.

Memories of posters and newspaper pages for a heart surgery fundraiser I'd been too young to remember flash through my mind. The scar is still there, even if the memories aren't. I can't put away the stories I'd always heard of how mom couldn't return to the university because of me either.

Now it's mom's turn to pull me in a hug.

“I don't mind at all,” she whispers. I wipe the tears from my eyes with the back of my palm and bury my face against her shoulder. Talking her out of it is probably pointless. Mom's made up her mind.