The roommate's daughter
Chapter 1 : My mother's death
This text is a translation from « La fille du Colocataire » by Anissa Potter.
Disclaimer : Elizabeth and the other OC belong to Anissa and the remaining belong to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
« Your mother is dead, a car crash. »
Ironically, how a few words can stop the world from turning, mine as it happens.
« You're going to live with your father »
We are Sunday, september 7, I'll have 14 years in 55 days (November, 1st). My mother's name is Emma Ducan, she is dead. My father's name is John Watson and he does not know I exist, how original.
My parents met in a coffee, my mother was a waitress to pay for her studies. I am the condom accident even if my mother kept telling me that I was the most beautiful thing that happened to her.
Ha...my mother, it was not pink every day between us but she was my only family. I have grandparents but they live Casablanca; they do not speak a word in English and I no Arabic.
I'll meet my father tomorrow, I'll have to live to his home, on 221b Baker Street. I typed his name on the Internet, and I found his blog. I look foward to meet this Sherlock Holmes. I hope that I will not change school, saw my sympathy for others I'm not going to have new friends quickly. I drag with four others persons, Rose that I make jokes unorthodox (though I do not care I am a Muslim), William a doubler but who knows many things about people, Louis a gifted (like me) and Shannon a solitary (like all of us).
I hate myself, my mother is dead and I think about my habits. The social worker continues to talk to me.
« Your neighbor has agreed to accommodate you until Wednesday and the funeral will be held Tuesday. »
Suddenly, i wonder :
-And the apartment ?
-The will states that you will be inherited to your majority, not before. So you have to take your stuff and some of which you do not want to separate.
I am disgusted, I have always lived here and even if I will see it in 4 years and 55 days. It's too much, my mother economized hard to buy it. I realize the legal and emotional impact entailed her death.
A drive hit her. Without being drunk, it changes. I've waited to the Hospital for four hours, before I was at Rose's home for a history presentation. I was given a word of absence for a week of school, I do not know if I should rejoice or cry.
-Are you ready ?
Is it possible to be ready for the death of her mother? I doubt it. I still nods and get out of the cab.
I compose for the last time the alarm code, I enter, I breath the smell, like if my life depended on. I think this is the case. I get my suitcase green apple, a feminine horror. I take my underwear, my pants in my size, my seven laptops T-shirts, my three jackets' suit, my shirts, my bow tie and my sweaters. I have full, I love them, scratchy wool, warmth of the sweater. I take all my novels (about 75) that I throw in a Adidas' bag. I put my school stuff in my backpack.
Then comes the moment that I dreaded, my mother's stuff. I take every photo albums, without sorting; her scarf, bright red wool; her perfumes and her collar. This is a simple silver necklace there is just an owl for ornament. When I put it, it comes to the begin of the chest. Discreet and nostalgic, perfect after all.
-Elizabeth, you have finished ?
-Almost.
Once in the room, I look for the last time « my home ».
We then went to my neighbor, Rebecca, a friend of my mother, with who I went to her house when I was young. The social worker strikes and Rebecca opens, they let me in the living room during the "adult explanations". Later, the assistant goes finally and Rebecca comes to me.
-You want something to eat sweety ?
-No, it will be alright.
-You want to watch the TV ?
-No, thanks.
-A tea ? It always cheer.
-My mother is dead, I doubt that your tea takes effect. I just want to sleep. Where can I sleep ?
She was taken aback for a moment by my aggression, but I was sick of her stupid proposals.
-Mark is at the university, you can take his bet until wednesday.
-All right, thanks.
I fall asleep on the belly, but I want to think, so I put myself on the back. I think of my mother especially. Our memories, our sessions shopping ... After a while, I cry, I sobbed on the pillow to sleep.
My last thought is "Tomorrow I meet my father, John Watson"