Chapter 5

• DAMON
• '
• Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?'
• The television yelled.
• "Spongebob SquarePants!" My seven-year-old niece squealed in response to the song. I watched her as she moved her upper body energetically to the rest of the theme song and when the end came, I took it from there.
• "Spongebob SquareBecca!" I reached for her hair and ruffled it while a small smile rested on my lips. Surprisingly she didn't yell like she usually did. Instead, she faced me and gave me an innocent-looking smile which strangely reminded me of the crazy encounter I had the previous day.
• "Why are you smiling?" I asked her as her smile turned into a grin.
• "'Cause you're not mad at me anymore," she said.
• "I was and can never be mad at you, Becca."
• 'I don't know about your teenage days though
• ,' I quickly thought. I was well aware of the fact that the teenage years can be a little... I don't know the word to use.
• "But, I kept my file of drawings on your table where your file was and made you miss out on that job interview." I am always amazed by this girl anytime she speaks. She speaks exquisitely for her age.
• "Becca, it is not your fault. I am not blaming you either."
• "Then, why didn't we go for our morning walk?" Her fingers began to twirl the strands of her short, curly black hair which was styled with a bang. Her eyes watched me keenly as she waited for my response.
• I didn't make my sigh audible as I replied, "I just didn't feel like it. Just watch SpongeBob, okay?"
• "Okie Dokie. Grandma left something for you in the fridge though."
• "Don't worry Becca, I will make sure to take you out tomorrow. Maybe we will visit that bakery after all."
• She jumped out of her seated position with excitement all over her body. As she faced me, she expressed her happiness some more. "Yay!" Her posture changed and her hands were soon on both sides of her waist. "But, I get to pay for it."
• What is it with this girl? She is always trying to act independent. Though that trait reminded me of her father, I strangely thought about Miss Selena.
• Having such thoughts made me angry at myself, I shouldn't be remembering that woman at all. I heaved a heavy sigh and stood up.
• "Becca, where will you get the money to pay for it?" I resumed the earlier discussion, hoping that it would be enough to erase thoughts about the woman who easily wreaked havoc in the entire country. My legs led me to the fridge which was placed beside the door that led to the kitchen.
• "Grandma's friend gave me some money yesterday and I kept it so that we would have enough money. I know how much you work every day, Uncle Damon. You deserve this."
• I kept my hand on the fridge's handle as I listened to her. There was so much sincerity in her voice, that I couldn't help but feel a huge ball of emotions within me. I was so close to crying as well.
• But, I didn't want to take the tear-filled path, I suspected my niece's moving words wouldn't be the only reason I would be crying. My sorry situation would suddenly come to mind and I'd have more things to cry over.
• So, as I turned, my eyes taking a quick dart across the room which had a cozy vibe to it, I asked, "Rebecca, have you done your assignments?"
• "Yes, Uncle Damon. So, are we really going to the bakery tomorrow?" she asked, her eyes wearing eagerness as her feet danced over the deep-blue coloured carpet which needed to be replaced.
• "Yes, we are." I smiled as she screamed happily. While I tried to hide the chuckles that were about to pour out, I turned and opened the fridge. Two bowls of salad which had notes from my mother written on them rested beside a large, tempting bottle of yogurt.
• I was able to take my eyes off it as I reached for the mayonnaise jar which was at the far end of the four-compartment fridge.
• After scooping some cream and mixing the light meal while sneakingly eating it, I went back to the living room. The bowl in my hand almost fell as the sudden sight of my mother startled me greatly.
• After letting out an exhale filled with relief since the bowl didn't fall in her presence, I said, "Huh, Ma, I didn't hear you come in."
• I set the salad dish on the couch and held her hand to my forehead as we do in our culture to show respect for our elders.
• "Why haven't you been taking the money I have been leaving for you?"
• Wow, ma. Not even a '
• how are you
• ' for your son.
• "Nothing ma, I just don't like the idea of you giving me money."
• Instantly, she grabbed both of my ears and pulled them with her super-strength.
• "Listen to me…"
• "Ma..." I squeezed my face to emphasize how much pain her action caused me. She ignored my pleading voice and pulled harder.
• "Until you find a proper job, I will be the one taking care of you. I am your mother, Damon. If you are suffering while I am living well, then there's a problem somewhere."
• "But ma, I have a job." Her hard pull on my ears was soon dropped, leaving me to rub them frantically as my narrowed eyes landed on Becca who was back to focusing on her show.
• "You call that useless thing you do at that place a job?" A frown made its way to my face as I looked in her direction and my lips wore a little pout. "So, are you going to take money from me henceforth, till you get a job?"
• I wanted to argue but the glare she gave me shut me up.
• "Yes, mother." She smiled and went into the kitchen.
• As I dipped my spoon into the large bowl of salad, I heard my phone's alarm go off. That was a reminder I dreaded so much. But it was a reminder that I could not ignore.
• The alarm was telling me that it was time for work. As much as I hated the company I was at, I had a good use for the little pay I got from the job. Even though the job is shitty and hardly what I want to be doing with my life.
• As I groaned inwardly, I took a few spoons of the salad mixture and set a reminder in my head to put the rest in the fridge so that I can come back for it in the evening before I finally go back to my place.
• Staring at the character Patrick being dumb, I reached for my shoes. After a couple of deep sighs, my shoes were finally covering my feet.
• A quick look at the old clock ahead made me hurriedly take two more spoons of salad. As I got up, I told Becca to eat some and put the rest in the fridge for me.
• She smiled graciously as she got up and I could just see my brother in her movements. If only he were here to see his daughter all grown up.
• "Ma! I am leaving for work!" I exclaimed as I made my hesitant self take the money she left for me.
• "You can take my car!" Her loud voice replied from the kitchen where the sound of running water was coming from.
• "But ma..."
• I could already picture her flaring up for questioning her instruction, so I silently agreed and left the house after grabbing her car keys.
• "Bye, Becca."
• "Have fun, Uncle D."
• Soon, I was turning the car's ignition key, starting the engine of the small car which my mother hardly used.
• As soon as I hit the tarred yet heavily pot-holed road, my mind went straight to the previous day.
• As the car danced while I tried to avoid the deep grooves on the road, I wondered if I should have accepted her offer?
• Now that I think of it, being a photographer for the gang didn't sound so bad. I mean, as long as my presence is not announced, I can just do my job and slip out of the room unnoticed when I am done.
• But then, the dangers that come with being in a gang are intimidating. Whether my presence is announced or not, I could be exposed to a lot of dangerous situations. I could die during a raid, fight, or whatever gangs do. I could be a target for the gang's rivals as well.
• As I joined the highway which guaranteed a smoother journey, my thoughts deepened.
• Honestly, I don't get why the Damish Gang would need me for that kind of thing. It was rather strange. If I knew better, if they need a photographer, they could easily recruit someone with military experience or another gang member.
• "Gosh." I shook my head as I adjusted my position. "Stop thinking about it, Damon. Just stop," I admonished myself as I pressed the accelerator pad.
• Soon, I was looking at the entire building that made up my workplace.
• My workplace... A place I hate dearly.