It was not until the year I died, that I realized my mother had been right: Money defines people. Now, I’m quite sure that my realization on the subject was very different from her personal thoughts; my mother’s understanding was that the more you had, the better type of person you were.
And by those thoughts, she lived rather passionately, regardless of the consequences.
My lips pressed into an aggravated line as I watched my mother. She was sitting across from me in the car, as it worked its way down the cobblestone streets towards the port. The large diamond drops hanging from her ear lobs bobbed up and down as we passed over uneven stones.
The heat was never good for her hair, and she kept tucking the escaped strands behind her ear. When she opened her compact for one last peek before we arrived, I had to cover my snort with a loud cough; the fickle expression that crossed her face as she realized her frizz would be untamable, made me relish in one small moment of pleasure.
Her narrow eyes ascended over the top of her mirror to glare in my direction. “Not feeling well, Samuel?” She questioned, even though we both knew I was perfectly well.
“Never better,” I spat back.
After one more pat to her bright red hair, she snapped the compact shut. “Perfect. We wouldn’t want there to be any problems when you meet your fiancé for the first time, now would we?” Behind her words lurked a serious threat.
“No, of course not mother.” I responded stiffly.
Anne, my oldest sibling, caught my eye as I turned to the window. Her glance was filled with worry for me. Instantly, I felt guilty for how I had treated mother in front of my siblings. I would not ruin their excitement.
The twins filled the car with the wonderful thrill of anticipation: Beside me, Elizabeth was swinging her feet back and forth, and her polish black shoes made a thump every time they crashed together. Jonathan had his hands pressed up against the window. His eyes sparkled as they darted from sight to sight.
I smiled remembering my first time at the port. There was so much going on I couldn’t decide what to look at.
Elizabeth squirmed in her seat trying to get a better view than the back of Jonathan’s head.
“Elizabeth dear, do sit still. It’s very un-lady like to look impatient,” Mother said.
She sat back in her seat with a pout on her face. “I would, but Jonathan is hogging the window. I want to see too!”
“Lizzy,” I said grabbing my little sister’s hand, “Don’t worry. Once we are on the ship you’ll be able to see for miles.”
“Really?” She asked her face lighting up, “All the way back to the manor?”
I leaned in closer and whispered in her ear, “All the way across England.”
“Did you hear that, Jonathan? All the way across England!” Elizabeth whispered breathlessly.
YOU ARE READING
The Junk DrawerRandom
This is a collection of stories that, at the moment, I do not have time to finish. Either I have lost interest in them or I have hit a wall when it comes to writing them. Hopefully I will be able to finish them in the future... This collection also...