Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

“I loved working at the studio, but there’s nothing like that around here, not without going into the city anyway. I’d...” I hesitate before looking at her. “I’d love to open my own.”

Her smile couldn’t get any bigger as her eyes crinkle at the corners; she looks like the cat that caught the canary. “Then that’s what you’ll do.”

She says it so simply before taking the laptop from me and typing something into the search bar.

“What are…” I trail off as I watch her looking at different spaces to rent. “Mom, I… I couldn’t afford any of these.”

“You have savings, do you not?” she asks like that’s the only part of the problem, like my measly savings will solve everything.

“I have a little in my checking account, but most of it is in the joint savings. I can’t touch that until the divorce is over and I get my half.” She logs onto her email, turning the laptop away from me. “What are you doing?”

She holds up a finger, typing on the keyboard before sliding the laptop back onto my knee. “I have a day off work tomorrow, and we’re going studio hunting.” She taps the screen with her pointer finger at one of the properties. “This is the place, but we can look at the others too.”

“I… What?” I stare at her, dumbfounded.

“I’ve arranged to view three places tomorrow, be ready at nine.” She stands up. “What would you like for dinner? I’m thinking chicken.” She says it so nonchalantly, as if I’m not sitting here with butterflies swarming in my stomach like they’re trying to escape and an excitement that I haven’t felt for what feels like years.

I can’t believe this is happening. Am I really considering going along with this? The flip in my belly is my answer. I’m actually doing this. The thought of teaching children again makes my heart soar.

I honk my horn twice, trying to hurry up Mom. It’s nearly nine and I’m sitting in my car waiting for her because she left her keys in the house. Seconds later, she pulls open the front door with extra enthusiasm and dangles the keys in the air at me. I chuckle at her exuberance and shake my head as she dances down the front steps and slides into the passenger seat.

“I’m so excited,” she singsongs with a wide smile on her face.

I drive away from the house and ask, “What’s got you in such a great mood?”

“What hasn’t? I have my Harmonica back home, the weather has warmed up, and I’m going to look at properties for my baby to finally open her own studio like she’s always wanted to do. Life is great.”

She sighs a happy kind of sigh and it makes me smile. I admire her outlook on life, I know she wishes more than anything in the world that my dad was still alive, but she’s learned to look on the positive side of things. She’s still here, so why waste it by being pessimistic?

The day after his funeral, she turned to me with a big smile on her face and announced she was going to start volunteering to be a “baby cuddler” at the hospital in the neonatal unit. I was confused at first, that was until she explained that they were crying out for volunteers to go in to cuddle and comfort the babies that were going through withdrawal symptoms from drugs and other substances.

My heart both hurt and blossomed with love for her as she said, “Where there is life, there is death. One cannot be there without the other, so celebrate life with your loved ones when you have it, and treasure the memories when there isn’t anybody to share life with.”

On top of her volunteering, she works at a kindergarten. She loves children, she says they keep her young. Kids have always been drawn to her beautiful, carefree nature and she once told me that I have the same pull.

My heart pangs at that thought and I push it to the back of my mind, pasting a smile on my face instead of getting lost in a

nother bad memory. I’ve decided that today is going to be a good day.

The first property that Mom arranged to see is only a ten-minute drive from the house so we get there in no time. I give her a sideways look as I glance at the outside of the building, knowing that this isn’t the place. I don’t even have to step inside to know.

“We may as well go inside while we’re here, hon,” she says softly, patting me on the hand.

Instead of seeing it as a waste of time, I get out and meet the realtor who opens the door and smiles in greeting. “Ms. Jameson?”

Mom nods her head in confirmation and I watch as she opens the white, uninteresting door to the shabby brick shop in front of us. She waves us into the small space and I immediately want to plug my nose; it smells of damp and mold.

My gaze follows the path of the mold growing in the corner where two of the walls meet, screwing up my face. I turn and see that I’m wearing the same expression that Mom is as she looks around the room too.

“It needs a little bit of work, but once it’s fixed up it would be the perfect space. Don’t you think?” The Realtor starts her spiel and I partly tune out. “Ms. Jameson?”

Mom shakes her head. “This is all for my daughter, it’s her you should be addressing.”

She purses her thin lips at me and forces a smile out. “Of course. As I was saying…”

“Harmony, please, call me Harmony,” I reply.

“Alright, Harmony. It’s two hundred and fifty dollars under your preferred price, and only a month's overhead is needed in advance, as well as a security deposit of…”