Sinister Smile
On top of the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House I sat. I watched all the ant-sized people meander through the streets and alleyways of Brooklyn as I sat on the edge of the roof looking at the busy borough. I observed a mother and her daughter as they walked like royalty through the cobblestone streets. I felt my past begin to catch up with me as I saw the mother scold her daughter for staring sympathetically at a newsie boy trying to sell of his papes.
I softly snorted as I thought of my own mother. She had good intentions but was blinded by love, or at least what she thought was love.
May of 1899
"Oh, honey, you'll love him! He's so polite and handsome. His eyes are that blue color. They kind of remind me of yours but yours are much more pale then his," my mother rambled like a mad woman about her boyfriend, Peter J. Thompson. Supposedly, Peter was a bank-teller at a well-known bank in the center of Manhattan and owned a two story house that was passed down in his family from generation to generation. From what I've been told by my mother, he is the best man in the world, next to my real father anyways.
To tell you the truth, I didn't even want to think about meeting this "Peter" man. I didn't even like his name. It seemed to cliché like John Doe. I just hated the way my mother made him sound like the best thing that walked the face of this planet. It broke my heart and confused me how she could seem to forget my father. The man who swept her off her feet from day one. The man who supported our small family and made sure that I was treated like a real daddy's girl.
But daddy's not here, thus I can not be a daddy's girl. I now have to be the girl who heard her mother's nightly sobs for at least eleven months now. I had to grow up fast in order to keep my mother sane from the heart break of loosing a husband, a best-friend, and a lover. I was now fourteen meeting my mother's perfect boyfriend.
"That's great, mother," I responded in a dull tone. She was too caught up in perfect Peter to catch my dullness, though. I rolled my eyes as I went back to the newspaper that mother bought when she went to get some ingredients for our dinner tonight.
After reading the paper for a few minutes I heard a knock at the door. "Oh my goodness! That must be Peter!" my mother cried from the kitchen before I saw her throwing her oven mitts to me and then fixing her hair in the small hall mirror. I gave a soft snort as she opened the door and I glared and wrinkled my nose at the man in the doorway.
He didn't seem that perfect to me but he wasn't that bad looking. His dark brown hair was groomed nicely and his night-blue eyes were only fixed on my mother for a few moments before they scanned the room and landed on me. I saw a creepy grin form on his thin lips that my mother misjudged as a friendly gesture.
My mother gave him a welcome kiss on the cheek and then led him to me, who still sat on the sofa. "Peter, darling, this is my daughter, Marie. Marie this is Peter J. Thompson."
"Very nice to finally meet you, Marie. Your charming mother mentions you a lot and I hope her comments are true," Peter said with an almost genuine smile.
"Like wise," I murmured. I saw my mother's and Peter's smile's falter slightly before my mother led Peter away from me to the dining room.
I knew this guy was convincing enough to fool my mother, but I saw straight though him. He gave off this sinister and fake feeling that I didn't find that 'perfect'. Then again, he didn't seem that bad but that doesn't mean that I like him. My guard's up until Peter can prove himself.
"Marie, time for dinner!" my mother called from the dinner table. I sighed and laid the paper on the table and walked to the dining room. It was awkward to see my mother swooning over Peter but neither of them seemed to notice the atmosphere. I sat down across from Peter with my mother to my left. Mother set my soup in front of me and then whispered something to Peter.
Peter cleared his throat before turning his attention to me. "So, Marie, how old are you?"
I looked at him with a cautious gaze and then responded, "Fourteen till September."
"So you'll be fifteen in a couple months then?" he asked.
"I guess so…" I said not really knowing what he was getting at.
"Do you go to school?"
"Not often," I said before taking a sip of my soup.
"Not often?"
"Well, I do most of the work around here so there's really no time for school."
"Oh. Well, what do you do for fun?"
"Like hobbies?"
"Yes, if that's what you call them."
"Um…read, write, draw…stuff like that."
"What do you write about?"
"Is that really any of your concern?"
"Marie, he's simply curious," my mother spoke up to my somewhat rude tone.
"More then simply curious if you ask me…" I mumbled.
"What was that?" she snapped.
"Nothing," I said. Peter looked somewhat amused by my response.
"Good. Now, answer Peter's question," she ordered.
"Stories my father used to tell me," I mumbled.
"Your mother mentioned that your father had quite the imagination. How did he pass away?"
"He died protecting us. He risked his own safety to get me and her out of the house before it burned to the ground. Would you do that for us?" I asked heatedly. Peter didn't need to know about my fathers death.
"Of course I would," he said.
"You barely know us…or at least me," I pointed out.
"That doesn't matter, my pet."
"I'm not your pet."
"Marie, calm down," my mother interrupted again.
"No. I will not calm down. He doesn't need to know such personal things. I'm going to my room and leave me alone!" I left in a huff. Maybe I overreacted but I didn't like this guy. He was creepy and was too personal.
I got out of my dress, which I hated, and dressed in my pajamas. I lied in my bed for a good half hour, realizing that I'll tolerate Peter for the sake of my mother. She's all I got left and we've got to be there for each other.