After Uncle Dave took us in, Jaden was forever grateful and regarded him as a good-Samaritan. “The future is not promising, but we will eventually rebound,” she assured me.

Within that short space of time while we were living with Uncle Dave, I was living in a fictional world – it was real, but it was also too superficial. I was forever astonished by his unique quirks, and at times, I would lean back to watch his idiosyncrasies while my mind automatically declared him a ratchet.

Since I had grown up in a household dominated by females, I found Uncle Dave’s behaviour to be very strange. Things like how he rolled his blunt and drank expensive whisky out of the bottle while a few drops escaped his mouth. Imagine a full-grown, middle-aged man with a beard, drooling on a whole bottle of whiskey – it was too sickening. Maybe that was a taste of having a male figure in my life.

Jade always found a way to completely dismiss my cynical thinking about Uncle Dave. “He allowed us into his crib, the least you could to is respect him, okay?” she would say fiercely.

“I don’t trust him,” I would respond.

“Give him some time, you’ll like him,” Jade said. “Maybe we can go shopping sometimes.” She giggled, and I genuinely liked it when Jade found humour in everything.

While we were staying with him, Uncle Dave invited Aunty Mariah one day, Rosina the following day, and the following morning a wee-girl, probably the same age as Jade, left the house. It was very queer how I sometimes related his abhor behaviour to that of my late mom: whoredom was universal.

During one twilight, as I was sitting by the porch outside, observing the beauty of nature, I saw Jade’s bedroom curtain sliding down. After a certain time it was reinstated to its original form by Uncle Dave, whom, by the distant eyesight, looked half naked.

After a few minutes, Jade stood by the window with a pink handkerchief that never left her face. She then fixed her shrank dress back on, but she looked miserable and uncomfortable. I hardly said a word to Uncle Dave after that, and the only time I had a decent conversation with him was when he sent me for a bottle of beer or made a mediocre statement.

One night, during bedtime, when Jade was kissing me goodnight, I felt like asking her about the incident I had seen earlier on. I knew it may have sounded inquisitive to her ears, but it was going to bug me if I didn’t ask her.

“Do you feel comfortable with him?” I asked. It sounded rhetorical, but I was searching for answers.

“Why?” she responded, but there was a broken spirit in her voice.

“I saw him in your bedroom today, and I thought I could…” I said, but she cut me off before I could finish.

“NO,” she said defensively. “He was helping me with the curtains, so good night,” she continued, then swallowed heavily.

“I know you miss mom Jade,” I said.

Instead of answering, Jade started blubbering so hard that I felt guilty for having revoked that part of her memory. I guessed that, since she was still mourning, it wasn’t a tactful statement to have made, but my heart missed my bubbly sister, the sister who laughed at everything. I wanted to her protect her, but that was how far I could take her.

***

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