The Whispers

8: The Wallet

"What is needed, rather than running away or controlling or suppressing or any other resistance, is understanding fear; that means, watch it, learn about it, come directly into contact with it. We are to learn about fear, not how to escape from it." - Jiddu Krishnamurti, Indian philosopher, speaker, and writer.

The house is filled with food. Last night, for the first time in months, Maggie and I went to bed with satisfied appetites and full bellies. I got peanut butter, bread, crackers, pasta, and just about any carbohydrate that I could find to give us quick energy to make it through the day. I got bananas and pistachios and filled the freezer with bags of mixed berries and frozen waffles. There's pizza pockets, juice boxes, and I even got cereal and milk since Maggie seemed to like it so much when Harper offered some to us.

I guess it's not the healthiest thing in the world but at least we have food to eat.

I'm currently in the kitchen admiring the food. All of these delicious, edible substances in my presence makes me want to consume it all. Maybe if I do then I won't be so skinny. I'll be plump and happy and strong. Maggie will be, too, and it's all because Mom has access to a car, can drive herself out of this shit hole, and work minimum wage just for her kids to steal her credit card.

Mom comes in scowling. She sits down, looking exhausted and mentally drained. We stare at each other for a while.

"You took my wallet," she accuses me. She's right, I did take her wallet, but I put it back so I'm not sure how she knows. She never goes to the bank and she doesn't have it set up where she can check her balance online. I'm baffled, to say the least.

"I did it last night," I confirm as I pour milk into my bowl of Cheerios. "Maggie and I were hungry and I put it back where I found It."

She should not be upset with me for taking the initiative and going grocery shopping. She doesn't properly support her kids so it's up to us to fend for ourselves, even if it's not our money.

"Rosalie, I was saving that money," she tried to explain. She wouldn't look up from the table, her head hung low, and her hands clasped on her lap. She's supposed to leave for work soon and hopefully before Maggie wakes up and gets her hopes up that mom might be here for the day.

"For something more important than food?" I ask. I don't know what can be more important to her than feeding her children but then again she doesn't seem to like the fact that she has children so I shouldn't be surprised.

"A pair of shoes for your father," she looks sad to have admitted that. Ashamed, even.

She should be ashamed. That's a terrible thing to save for when you have a responsibility to provide food for people to prevent them from starving.

He doesn't even need shoes.

"Dad has shoes," I tell her as I sit down next to her at the table. He has shoes, good shoes, he just chooses not to wear them because he claims that his feet always hurt and the shoes give him bunions. I've never seen any signs of bunions before and I see his feet every time we visit him, so I don't think there's anything actually wrong with the shoes he has - he just doesn't like to wear them.

"Maybe he'd like new shoes," she won't look at me. She never looks at me, not in the eye at least.

"I'm sure shoes aren't his first priority," I point out. I'm not sure if he would even like shoes, he's always hated the invention and preferred to feel the grass between his toes and beneath his feet. He would probably like a nice home-cooked meal instead or a good mental state... maybe even time away from St. Kerry's but I could be wrong.