She took a stool and went outside the house to wait for her brother. She wasn’t foolish as to wait in full view of the public, she waited in the backyard. Which was just as well, as that was now their entrance to their house since their front door was no longer functioning and was forever shut.
What was she going to do about her contacts? She thought. They’ld be calling her by now only to find out that it was switched off. They wouldn’t take her serious again. Efforts wasted. No job, no phone, no money, no nothing!
As she thought all these things, she played with the knife. She wouldn’t have grabbed it if she hadn’t remembered the last time she’d come in contact with her brother’s fists. He was hot-headed and tended to believe their mother’s every word.
The last time he’d beaten her, she’d managed to look him in the eye, and there she saw he wasn’t just beating her because Mrs Crock’d said so, he had also been pounding his frustrations on her. She’d thought death would meet her that day. Her neck and shoulders never remained the same. Now she was prepared. He wasn’t the brother who’d played with her when they were small or the one that bought her things whenever she came back home for the holidays. He’d changed, toughened in a bad way, well so had she.
She wasn’t going to be that little sis anymore when there wasn’t any big bro. She wasn’t going to seek her mother’s opinions on things, when she didn’t have any motherly feelings for her.
She was feeling thirsty and sleepy. She should have been resting by now. Gift grumbled. The devil that used her mother to scatter things for her…..ahn ahn.
She’ld just go upstairs and grab her bottled water.
She went upstairs and was headed for her room when she heard her mother sobbing. She felt a pang in her chest. Then she heard her talking.
“You need to see what your sister did to me. Just come home-“, Mrs Crock let out a wail and sniffled like she had a nose problem. Gift moved gingerly to the parlour. This woman won’t kill me today, she thought.
Slowly she appeared before her mother. When her mother was done with the call, she turned to look at her and when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly clear.
“Just wait, pray that your father gets home before your brother.”
Gift tried again.
“It was a mistake.”, she said grudgingly. She was no longer sorry, the woman was also at fault. She noticed that the cut was no longer bleeding, the woman had placed aloe vera on it.
“Please I need my phone.”
“Come and collect it. Unless I’m not from Mbano. Better don’t come close or I will use this mirror to design you.” Mrs Crock threatened.
She left, but not without telling Mrs Crock once again to return her phone. She went outside and there she waited. Her brother came home an hour later with a friend of her mum’s. Their fight would have to wait, she thought.
She greeted her mum’s friend and when asked why she was outside she told the woman she was receiving fresh air, Gift didn’t care if she believed her or not.
Shortly, after they’d both gone in to see Mrs Crock, she heard fast feet on the stairs and held her knife. She guessed who it was, it was her brother coming for her but he stopped short when he saw her with the knife. She saw him try to restrain himself.
“What did you do to mummy?” He asked, breathing fast.
Gift didn’t stand up from the stool, she kept her face blank while she made a show of playing with the knife.
“I didn’t do anything to her. She wanted to put her sim card in-“, she heard her mum’s friend call her brother, probably trying to prevent him from beating her. Her help wasn’t needed as the knife had done the job.
“What are you doing with the knife? Why are you carrying it?” He asked, still breathing fast.
“I don’t know.” she said, giving him her version of a cold smile.
He went upstairs and didn’t seek her out again. When her father came back home she was still outside. He motioned for her to follow him and when they got in, Mrs Crock ignored Mr Crock when he asked her what had happened, it was her brother that told him she’d been fighting her mother and even injured her. Gift told Mr Crock it had been a mistake. In his way, Mr Crock killed the issue then gave her orders for what to prepare for them to eat.
That night and the next day, Mrs Crock refused to return her phone even after Mr crock’s insistence. Gift went for her interview after that day and hoped her phone would be returned before they called her. That night, she met Mr Crock, who went to his wife and demanded for the phone. After removing her sim card from the phone, with the battery and cover, Mrs Crock heaved the phone.
Gift saw black, hate brewed in her for Mrs Crock. Spiteful bitch! She thought, wishing she could voice it.
She ran to her phone, checked it, inserted her sim card, grabbed the battery from a corner and placed it, then she pressed the on button. The joy she felt at the sound of the Nokia start-up tune as the light came on, brought tears to her eyes.