I took a little break from family matters to run out to a coffeeshop, grab an iced chai latte, and draft the first scene of a new story. I don’t have a title yet — I don’t think I can really title it well until I make it to the end. People will have to be patient.
In theory, this story will be finished by the end of the month, and drop on May 1. But my internal goal is to finish it by April 15. We’ll see how it goes!
So far, I’m really liking the low-stakes nature of this project; it’s making it much easier for me to just sit down and write, as opposed to the ambitious and intimidating book projects in progress…
*****
Nami’s story, scene 1:
“Nami! Nami, I need you!” The high voice echoed through the small apartment, much louder than it really needed to be.
Nam’kuko sighed. “Yes, amma?” Her mother always seemed to need her. She’d thought things would get better once she started at university, but Jaya Kahale, currently running for zamindar of her district and the busiest woman in the world, just seemed to expect Nam’kuko to fit in classes and work-study in between everything else her mother needed her to do. If Jaya could work sixteen-hour days, so should her first-born daughter, no?
Jaya’s voice pitched a little higher; she was clearly getting annoyed. “Come here! Do you have to make me yell? I hate yelling!”
‘Then why do you do so much of it?’ Nam’kuko silently asked, as she walked down the hall from the bedroom she shared with her little sister to her mother’s bedroom. ‘Honestly, Amma, you could just message me instead.’ They both had been chipped in childhood, after all; she would swear, her mother just preferred to yell.
Her mother was sprawled on the bed, a tablet with keyboard in her lap – she insisted she was faster on the old-fashioned keyboard than with any other input medium, which was probably true, but it made her look like someone from an Old Earth holo. “Finally! Here, come take this away from me. I can’t do two things at once!”
Nam’kuko contemplated the bed, which currently held: her mother, tablet and keyboard, an unfinished knitting project, a stack of papers which had been neatly fastened together an hour ago, but now threatened to tip off the edge of the bed, a precariously placed half-full coffee mug, and oh yes, her youngest sibling, Kwame Kahale, who had a giant lollipop stuck in his mouth at the moment, which their mother had undoubtedly given him in an effort to keep him from screaming his head off, which he did at the slightest provocation. Being an undignified three years old was provocation enough, most days.
She sighed and bent down to scoop up Kwame. “I can’t keep him for long, amma – I’ve got to get dressed and get to work. I’ve got a four-hour shift before my first class.”
“I told you, you should concentrate on your studies,” Jaya said absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on her tablet and her fingers tapping at the speed of light.
‘And who would pay the grocery bill then?’ Nam’kuko wondered. “I’m leaving in thirty minutes, amma.”
“Yes, yes. Just take him, let me finish this. If I don’t shut down this woman right now, she’ll have half the taluka up in arms over this issue, and I just cannot have it blow up only a week before the election. It’ll dominate the conversation, and we won’t be able to talk about anything real….” Tap-tap-tap-tap-tappity-tap-tap – fingers flying on the keys.
“Twenty-nine minutes, amma.” Nam’kuko turned and walked out of the room, wondering if she should take the lollipop away from Kwame. Well, clearly she should, especially since if Zuri saw it, she would demand one too. But on the other hand, if she let him keep it, she might be able to squeeze in a quick sonic shower before throwing on her school sari and rushing to campus. Her mother had already made her spend an hour weeding in the garden that morning, and Nam’kuko had gotten pretty sweaty – a shower wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity. The lollipop could stay.
She plopped Kwame down her bed, and just crossed her fingers that Zuri would stay occupied in the kitchen for ten more minutes. Nam’kuko could do it all, dammit, if everybody else would just cooperate. That was her mother’s philosophy, and somehow, it worked for her. Most of the time, anyway. She worked like two women, and somehow managed to talk enough people into helping her, that she ended up producing the work of four. At least.
That was her superpower. If Nam’kuko could only inherit that ability from Jaya Kahale, she’d forgive her mother for not having any money for her to inherit instead…
*****
…to be continued!
(Flowers courtesy Bunches, Los Gatos; I always like stopping into that store. Lovely and often unusual selection.)