Being twenty five is
fun! A successful career, friends who adore me, a retired mother who dotes on
me, and the general luxuries of being grown up and independent. And yes, the
romance, the flowers, the fun, the laughter and the happiness.
The secrets, the lies
and the nightmares. The constant fear of being discovered. The heavy weight in
my heart that I have to carry around with a smile. Whoever said, ‘never judge a
book by its cover’; knew what he was talking about. No, I haven’t done anything
morally wrong or unacceptable or maybe I have. I was the reason and cause for
who Mumma was forced into becoming. Yes, I have done something very horrible
and even though I did not do so intentionally, I still made it happen. He did
not want children. Never wanted to be tied down with that kind of
responsibility. He left her alone, poor, helpless with a mouth to feed. It’s my
fault he left. It’s my fault she had to go down that desperate road. It’s my
fault she became a prostitute.
It wasn’t until I was
fifteen when I truly understood what she did and who she was. Even then I chose
to pretend to not notice. I told myself false stories of how she was an actress
or a singer or a waitress, whatever I needed to hear to stay wilfully ignorant
of reality. I never loved her differently than before I came to terms with
reality. On the contrary, I loved, respected and cherished her even more than I
thought possible.
I remember getting my
very first job at eighteen. A secretary to an editor at a news agency. Mumma
quit work that day. We moved out of the one room apartment in that smelly
rotten locality where others like her lived and took the bus to that far away
town where no one knew her, no one knew me and no one knew our secret.
What I shall always be
grateful to her for is the fact that she never brought her work home. Home to
me was my wonderland. We would discuss my day at school, and she would
patiently listen to me give every explicit and tiny detail of what happened. We
would eat dinner together in the balcony and watch the stars and she would tell
me funny stories of her childhood that would that make me clutch my stomach and
roll on the floor. She provided for me in every way possible. School, clothes,
occasional treats, books, trips to the zoo and museums. All this while she
worked twice as hard to protect me from her world. I occasionally met some of
her friends who I assumed to be waitresses like her. I never ever met the men.
Not even one.
I remember talking to
her about it a few years back. She looked at me with a warm smile, held my hand
and told me it was important for her to make sure I was safe and normal. I knew
she had more to say, so I sat and watched her patiently not letting go of her
hand.
“You were the cutest kid.
Always listened to me. I never had trouble with you. You went to school where
your teachers adored you. You always finished your homework and ate your green
vegetables. You never complained when I worked late and you made me little
cards that you would leave on the table for me to read.
I once told you that
you could be the president of the country if you wanted to and worked hard for
it. You spent the next three days singing a loud noisy version of the national
anthem to make sure you knew it by heart. Your antics always made me laugh. You
were like a ray of sunshine in my life. I even forgave your dad in my heart.
For all the nasty horror he brought to my life you have been the perfect
balance.
You once overheard me
talking to some of the girls at the park. One of them said to me, “You can
always tell how rich a man is by looking at his shoes. Even if they are
tattered and torn you can squeeze a dollar out of them. It’s the ones that wear
loafers or slippers or nothing at all that never pay. And if a man touches you,
then he pays.” She fell silent when she realised we had you for an audience and
we then distracted you with the duck pond and ice cream. But your eight year
old brain was sharp. You did not forget. Your innocent mind did not even
realise what it had stored up there. This is why it was important to keep you
away. That lively, bubbly innocence. I refused to let my choices affect your
innocence.
A few days later we
were at the same park and our apartment’s supervisor was there too, walking his
dog. He was a nice man with a big heart. He knew exactly what I was and why I
did what I did. But he never questioned it. Never took advantage of the
situation, he even helped when the occasional problem occurred. You went to pat
the dog and spent a good hour playing with it, chasing it around the park.
Eventually the dog got tired and sat by the supervisors’ feet as he rested on a
park bench. But you refused to slow down. You ran around trying to burn off
some more energy. Watching you play always cheered me up. You always were and
still are so full of energy and life. I remember the supervisor pulling your
cheeks and calling you cute.
Neither of us was
prepared for your reaction. He was very amused and laughed over it for days. I
felt the ground slide out from under me and nearly got a heart attack too. That
is the day I promised I would keep you away from my world even more. I could
not let go of your innocence. It was my single source of will to not give up on
life entirely. Your sweet innocence.
You went really silent
and stared at the dog for almost an entire minute. Or that is what I thought
you were doing. You were however staring at his shoes. You looked at him
directly in the eyes with a look that showed you were convinced that you had a
right to ask for it. You stretched out your tiny little palm and said,
“That will be one
dollar”.
Published in:
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