Activity Check: 178
“Do you ever think about what your parents would think if they saw you now?” Her voice filled the air of her office, overpowering the sound of the music lightly playing from the Bluetooth speaker on her desk. I felt my brow arch as I stopped what I was doing, turning to face her as I leaned carelessly against the wall, tattooed arms crossing over my chest. “I haven’t thought about my parents in fucking years, but I had a dream about them yesterday, and now I just can’t shake them from my mind. Like, would they be proud of who I’ve become, despite everything I’ve done to get here? Would they hate me for it all? Would they judge me for the things I’ve done?” I watched her frame as she shrugged gently before continuing to move about with her task at hand, unpacking the boxes that we had brought in through storage. I let her speak, her thoughts rambling from her lips mindlessly as she worked, my focus remaining fixated on her. Here, stood in front of me, was the girl I had watched grow into the woman she now was – from the moment she joined us in the circus, filled with an almost fearful confidence, ready to make the world her own as she intermixed her English words with Gaelic ones, just because she could. I stood by her side through it all; the abusive relationship, the birth of her son, even as she burned down the circus, promising to meet me at a point once the task was completed. I kept in touch with her as she travelled, keeping an eye on her from the distance to ensure she was safe. I watched her build her empire from the ground up, into the successful business it is now, and I stood by her side through the entire thing, becoming her current bar manager, but forever her right hand man. “I can hear my mom now yelling at me – ‘Penelope Anne Clarke, what have you done with yourself.’ I don’t know what she would be prouder of, my drug habits or the fact that I lost my son. Perhaps she’d be proud of my underground business.” I chuckled lightly as she changed her voice, imitating what she would imagine her mother to sound like, as well as the laughter that fell from her lips as she came down upon herself. I felt myself exhale as I studied her for another moment, from the bruises on her legs to the track marks on her inner arms, barely visible as the oversized sleeves of her sweater fell down her arms. The woman in front of me – Vidalia Rae Banai – that woman was broken, strong, confident, successful, and afraid, and despite everything she had done and everything she had been through from the time I met her when she was barely twelve, I still saw her as an amazing person. “I think they’d be proud of you, V. I know I am.”
