Sun-warmed steps border on too hot for the soles of my bare feet, making me skip as I head to my mother’s office. This far into the fall, the south mountains are the sun’s favorite place to hang out, and I’m tired of being fried like an egg left too long in the pan.
A leering face welcomes me from the window, mouthing ‘you’re in t-r-o-u-b-l-e’. I stick my tongue out and my little brother’s grin quickly makes a strategic retreat. I roll my eyes as I push on the handle of the office, before immediately regretting it. My mother is right in front of me.
“Mama, no — I — that wasn’t for you, I swear, it was Jake — ”. A rough hand takes hold of my ear before I can finish.
I try to protest but am rewarded only with silence and a tug on my sensitive lobe, making me bite my tongue. There’s no messing with my Mama’s hands, worn and calloused from her work in the colony’s fields. They are tellers of time, each mar in her warm brown skin a different tale. The jagged tooth mark from where I nibbled her as a baby, begging for more roast taro. Her left pointer, bent from where she caught my jump from the Miro rock, dared by my cousin. The mark on her nail from the pencil I threw at her when trying to escape Sunday picking school. Each tells the story of me versus my mother; the trouble child. Never doing what was expected.
My mother releases me in the doorway of her office, gesturing at the chair in front of her.
“Sit,” she says in a tone no one would contradict but my grandmother, “and let me speak at you.” I sit.
“I — ”
“No, I said I speak at you. Not the other way around. And I don’t care about whatever your brother did now. I called you in for a different reason, and you know it.”
I do know it, but that doesn’t make me want to discuss my future anymore than I did before I entered the office.
“Now, Kara,” my mother says in a condescending voice. “I know I’ve told you this before, but — ”
“I’m not marrying a man, Mama,” I retort. “I don’t need a man to make my life any better. No offense to men, but they’d make it worse.”
“Kara,” she warns, “marrying would help your standing in the colony. Take Darje, for example. That is the epitome of manhood. He’s kind, not too smart, and gentlemanly. You know he’s been eyeing you at meetings. He’d do you great honor by accepting your hand.” She seems to make a decision right then and there.
“Yes. Yes, that is what we will do. Kara, dearest, go tell Ms. Knight that we’ll be out for a few hours and then meet me by the road, will you? We shall go to his place at once.”
“No, Mama, I think I will not,” I say icily, thoroughly done with the conversation and being trod all over by my mother at age twenty-eight. I should’ve thought that was old enough to make my own decisions.
She stares at me for a second, as if to make me obey her wishes with sheer force of will, then falters and rolls her eyes.
“Very well, dear, though it is most seriously displeasing.” She stops, as if recollecting herself, then opens her mouth as if to continue, but I cut her off.
“The thing is, Mama,” I say, “I am not marrying a man, no matter what you say, so I would save your breath for more important matters.”
“Kara — ”
“No. It is my turn to speak at you, not the other way around. I am not marrying a man. I am perfectly capable of living my own life, and anyway, I’m already living with Tierney.”
“Tierney. Oh, yes, I seem to recall you mentioning her. Your friend.”
“Yes, Mama, my friend.” I keep my voice even, not giving anything away.
“I’m going to go now.” I don’t give her much choice with that. I stand up, walk past her, and exit the building, not minding the heat of the steps so much now.
It’s time to go home to Tierney. Not my friend. My wife.
A leering face welcomes me from the window, mouthing ‘you’re in t-r-o-u-b-l-e’. I stick my tongue out and my little brother’s grin quickly makes a strategic retreat. I roll my eyes as I push on the handle of the office, before immediately regretting it. My mother is right in front of me.
“Mama, no — I — that wasn’t for you, I swear, it was Jake — ”. A rough hand takes hold of my ear before I can finish.
I try to protest but am rewarded only with silence and a tug on my sensitive lobe, making me bite my tongue. There’s no messing with my Mama’s hands, worn and calloused from her work in the colony’s fields. They are tellers of time, each mar in her warm brown skin a different tale. The jagged tooth mark from where I nibbled her as a baby, begging for more roast taro. Her left pointer, bent from where she caught my jump from the Miro rock, dared by my cousin. The mark on her nail from the pencil I threw at her when trying to escape Sunday picking school. Each tells the story of me versus my mother; the trouble child. Never doing what was expected.
My mother releases me in the doorway of her office, gesturing at the chair in front of her.
“Sit,” she says in a tone no one would contradict but my grandmother, “and let me speak at you.” I sit.
“I — ”
“No, I said I speak at you. Not the other way around. And I don’t care about whatever your brother did now. I called you in for a different reason, and you know it.”
I do know it, but that doesn’t make me want to discuss my future anymore than I did before I entered the office.
“Now, Kara,” my mother says in a condescending voice. “I know I’ve told you this before, but — ”
“I’m not marrying a man, Mama,” I retort. “I don’t need a man to make my life any better. No offense to men, but they’d make it worse.”
“Kara,” she warns, “marrying would help your standing in the colony. Take Darje, for example. That is the epitome of manhood. He’s kind, not too smart, and gentlemanly. You know he’s been eyeing you at meetings. He’d do you great honor by accepting your hand.” She seems to make a decision right then and there.
“Yes. Yes, that is what we will do. Kara, dearest, go tell Ms. Knight that we’ll be out for a few hours and then meet me by the road, will you? We shall go to his place at once.”
“No, Mama, I think I will not,” I say icily, thoroughly done with the conversation and being trod all over by my mother at age twenty-eight. I should’ve thought that was old enough to make my own decisions.
She stares at me for a second, as if to make me obey her wishes with sheer force of will, then falters and rolls her eyes.
“Very well, dear, though it is most seriously displeasing.” She stops, as if recollecting herself, then opens her mouth as if to continue, but I cut her off.
“The thing is, Mama,” I say, “I am not marrying a man, no matter what you say, so I would save your breath for more important matters.”
“Kara — ”
“No. It is my turn to speak at you, not the other way around. I am not marrying a man. I am perfectly capable of living my own life, and anyway, I’m already living with Tierney.”
“Tierney. Oh, yes, I seem to recall you mentioning her. Your friend.”
“Yes, Mama, my friend.” I keep my voice even, not giving anything away.
“I’m going to go now.” I don’t give her much choice with that. I stand up, walk past her, and exit the building, not minding the heat of the steps so much now.
It’s time to go home to Tierney. Not my friend. My wife.