Mom sat beside her at the small, square dining table. Their tiny kitchen doubled as a living room. There were only two bedrooms in their house, located on opposite sides of the kitchen. Marion’s used to be a closet and pantry before they expanded on it a little and gave her a full room of her own.
Marion never really appreciated the work that took. Or how much it showed their love for her.
The dining table was really just a slab of wood with uneven legs and a few deep grooves. Mom was darning a pair of Dad’s pants. He kept getting holes in the knees and she had to pull out the old patch and put in a fresh one every two or three months. Mom would cut patches out of old clothes to use. Nothing ever went to waste. Her hands worked swiftly with the needle and thread, even if they shook a little more than they used to. Her long brown hair hung a little too long in her blue eyes. She didn’t look up from her work as she spoke.
“Are you watching me, or are you studying?”
Marion leaned back in her wooden chair, her back aching. “I’m tired of studying. I want to go outside to play.”
“You ought to be studying. You need that education.”
Marion huffed, getting up from her seat and stretching. Her long cotton dress, that she had worn for years, was a little too short for her now. It had its own patches and loose strings. “You and Dad didn’t have to study this long. You went straight to work and never looked back.”
Mom looked up from her sewing, her bright blue eyes piercing. There was no humor in her gaze, no playful indulgence. “No. We didn’t have a choice. We had to work. It was either that or die. One day, this kind of labor will be the death of us, but you don’t have to share our future.”
“Mom, don’t talk like that!”
Suddenly Marion felt her mother’s callused hand cradling her cheek like she used to do when she was a child, the metal thimble scraping against her chin.
“You need to solve this. You need to escape. Use your mind and your studies.”
Marion floated up. Her eyes went wide as her feet left the ground. With desperation, she reached for her mom but couldn’t grasp her. She tried to scream, but only bubbles emerged from her throat.
Mom had tears in her eyes as she looked up at her. “Please, baby. That boy is killing you.”