Page 46 of Interpreter

After the last flood, my childhood home was demolished. They have been renting a place, but it’s more than they can afford on their own. I was so proud that I’ve been able to send them money to help out, but now? Now, they will have to find something cheaper and probably with another room. Or at least a nice couch. All of the sacrifices they made to get me to America will have been for nothing.

Sure, the first two years I did great with landing the teaching job, but does that even matter in the grand scheme of things? No, it doesn’t. The plan was that I make a life here, not visit for a couple years and come back with nothing but tales of the best M&M’s ever. No! My mami expected greatness. She expected me to make our dreams a reality.

“Stop thinking,” Pe says, shaking me a little before grabbing the shopping bag from the floor and snooping inside. “Ooh, girl. These are fuck-me-heels. Who are you trying to bruise?”

I feel my eyes go squinty. “No one. I just thought they were cute.”

Pe shoves the sexiest pair of shoes that I’ve ever laid eyes on, back in the bag. “Well, I sure hope so because your beaver hasn’t seen a razor in a while. It won’t matter how cute those shoes are. You’ll scare the poor thing off when those panties come off.” He makes this shocked face that makes me laugh, momentarily brightening my failures of this afternoon.

“You are so stupid.” I shove him away from me and then pull his firm body back and hug him as tight as I can.

“I know, Mami. I know,” he soothes, patting my back as a few wayward tears escape between us.

Radio host: But Timaeus loves playing piano? And music?

Penelope: Timaeus does love music. And if he doesn’t want to share that love with the world, then I’m okay with it. As long as he continues to play, I’ll be happy.

Radio host: Do you ever think Timaeus will stop playing? Like when he gets more into girls?

Penelope: Ha! My son is smart. He’s already figured out that music is the love language to any soul. He would never give it up. Not for anything.

One morning, a few weeks later, my coffee sits on the desk getting cold.

“This is literally a shitshow,” I mumble, looking at Milah standing there wide-eyed and a little pissed off. A student reported that a toilet was overflowing on our hall. Given that we were the only ones around, we got stuck with the cleanup.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she signs, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Principal Moorehouse warned us to keep an eye out for the little sh—angels who were going around clogging the toilets, but it’s been weeks since an incident happened. I thought they had moved on to something else.”

I nod, not understanding any of what she’s talking about. “So this has happened before?” Clearly, someone needs to be suspended or spend a good part of the day in the corner.Afterthey’ve cleaned up this mess.

Assessing the scene in front of us, I note all five toilets and two sinks overflowing onto the tile floor, an inch above the sole of my shoe. If we don’t get this stopped soon, the bottom of my pants will be soaked.

“Do you know if there is a plunger around here?” A quick glance around and I come up empty.

“There might be one in the janitor’s closet! I’ll be right back.” I watch as Milah’s face scrunches up into something like pain as she tries to tiptoe through the water. What is she doing? Her hands are balled at her sides, and she pauses a minute before sprinting out of the bathroom as fast as she can, which just sloshes water over my shoes.

Shoes.

It hits me then what she was trying to do. She was trying to keep her feet and her expensive-looking shoes from getting a toilet-water bath. My chest rumbles as I replay her tense body barely moving through the water before just giving up and running. Did she really think she was making it out of the bathroom dry? Those shoes are ruined. She might as well trash them after this.

I turn off the water running in the sink then take a look around at the damage and sigh. What a fucking day this has turned out to be. It started with Dr. Parker’s shit on Skype this morning.

“You missed your appointment yesterday,” he accuses me with his hands.

“I was busy working. As you suggested I do.” I haven’t had enough coffee, and, frankly, I’m not in the mood to speak with Dr. Parker, the man who started this shitshow to begin with.

“Right. I did suggest you branch out.” His untouched coffee sits on the table beside him, and I choose to focus on it rather than the knowing look in his eyes. After a minute though, I know he’s signing and there is no point in ignoring him and his prying questions. The sooner I get this call over with, the sooner I can be done with him for the week. “Have you met any new people?”

His question gets on my damn nerves. “What am I, twelve? Yes, at recess I played tag, and I got to be the line leader for good behavior.”

“I see your sarcasm is intact.” He remains unflustered by my attitude, which just will not do. I live for making Dr. Parker lose his cool.

“Can’t you just ask my family?” I sigh. I’m sure he has already been in contact with Anniston, Cade, and possibly Theo.

“I wanted to askyou. Have you met anyone? Spoken to anyone but your family?”

“Fine. Fuck.” I rake a hand through my hair. “My co-teacher, she’s fluent in sign language. We’re friends.”

Dr. Parker nods, fighting back a smile. “Anyone else?”

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