A Quiet Struggle

"Kelvin, for the last time, leave that fan alone!"  As I saw my younger brother toil With the exposed wires of the ancient standing fan, I lost my temper and let it all out. 

A sneer twisted his lips as he jerked.  "Calm down, Bella.  I'm trying to fix it.  Unless you're able to afford a replacement." 

The words formed but would not come out of my mouth, so I bit my lip.  I obviously didn't have any money, neither for a fan nor for anything else.

  I whispered, "Just don't kill yourself trying," as I returned my attention to the soup pot that was boiling on the stove.  The veggies floated in the thin soup, which had more water than flavor. 

Absently, my thoughts wandering, I stirred it.  I had not pictured this as my life.  Nights spent worrying over debts that would not go away, days spent stretching every naira. 

And the burden of being the oldest—the one who is supposed to improve things was always there in the back of my mind.  "Do you think we’ll ever get out of this?"  The silence was broken by Kelvin's voice, which was softer this time.  I didn't respond right away.

  I didn't want to acknowledge the fact.  Even I didn't believe it when I eventually said, "We'll find a way."  With a mocking tone, Kelvin snorted.  "Yes.  Perhaps you'll wed a wealthy man and keep us all safe.

  I tightened my hold on the ladle.  "Don’t joke about that."  "Why not?  Everyone expects it from you, don't they?  I gave him a fierce look, but before I could respond, footsteps echoed throughout the little house. 

With a tired expression on her face, my mother emerged from the doorway.  "Dinner ready yet?"  "Almost," I said as I returned my attention to the stove.  ---  I sneaked out of the house later that evening after the younger children had gone to sleep and the plates had been cleaned.

  As I walked to the park, my feet moving automatically, the humid night air stuck to my skin.  Marco was already there, holding his sketchpad while sitting on our regular bench. 

As I got closer, he looked up, a smile spreading across his face.  "You’re late," he teasingly said.  I responded, "Blame my siblings," and fell down on the bench next to him. 

"They’ve been driving me crazy all day."  He laughed and put down the sketchpad.  "What’s new?"  We sat in pleasant quietude for a while, with the sounds of distant traffic and crickets filling the air. 

The weight of reality didn't feel as heavy in this park, which had turned become our haven.  "How’s the mural coming along?"  I pointed to the sketchpad as I asked. 

Marco's face brightened.  "Almost finished.  Even holding an unveiling ceremony is something they are considering.  "That’s amazing," I murmured, grinning in spite of myself. 

Marco's work served as his lifeline and a means of bringing order out of the chaos.  His eyes landed on me as he leaned back.  "How about you?  How are things doing at home?  "Same as always," I said in a dull voice.

  "A mess."  Warm and steady, Marco stretched for my hand.  "Bella, you underestimate your strength.  Do not allow them to shatter you.  I shook my head and withdrew my hand. 

"Marco, it's not about strength.  It's a matter of survival.  He started to argue, but I interrupted him.  "I don’t want to talk about it anymore."  He nodded, though his jaw tensed.

  "Okay."  ---  When I arrived home, the house was quiet and dark.  Careful not to wake anyone, I crept to my room and fell upon my bed.  My thoughts were racing as I lay there looking at the damaged ceiling. 

I reflected on Marco, his grin, and how he helped me to see that the world wasn't all that bad.  However, I also remembered my mother, her tired eyes, and all of the sacrifices she had made.  Something had to give. 

I rolled over and tried to close my eyes, but I couldn't fall asleep.  The night dragged on, oppressive and oppressive. 

I was about to fall asleep when I was startled awake by the sound of a car approaching from outside.  I stood up and walked to the window, frowning.

  In front of our house was a sleek black automobile with headlights that pierced the night.  A man with a tall, dominating shape emerged when the door opened. 

As he turned toward the house, his features lit by the dim streetlight, my breath seized in my throat.  I knew right away that he was Alexander Presley, the son of one of Ughelli City's richest men.  He was also making his way to my front door.