I'm one year old. And two weeks old.
It's a mouthful evertime I say it.
Everytime I think of it.
Is there any other way to say it? Maybe if I say 1 year and a we-?..urgh, whatever.
I don't know the best ways to talk about my age. And to be honest, I don't care.
The only thing I care about is that it's been two weeks since I got my room.
And my parents have been acting...weird.
After my first birthday, the whole routine continued as normal.
As normal.
Everything is normal.
But a normal like before. Remember the first time my grandfather visited us? Well, this kind of normal.
It's just like before.
Everyone is acting like everything is normal.
But the whole acting like everything is normal is not normal.
It's a normalception of normality that is trying to be normal.
And it's kind of breaking down? Slowly at least?
But it's definetly breaking.
Sometimes my father forgets to pick me up in the morning, for...you know, the story of the day. He always apologize to me and then goes back to it just after.
But he forgets it.
He forgets it a lot, like...a lot, a lot more than what is acceptable for it to be considered a one time mistake.
Worse though? My father have been staying outside even longer.
I remember the first time he took that long to come back. I was with my mom, she was on the couch and I was walking around in the living room, trying to run, unsuccessfully.
But I did try my best.
For a long time.
A very long time.
I walked around, looked around. And after a while, my body started to feel tired. Not in the exhaustion of a good workout sense, but in the exhaustion of sleep.
I wanted to sleep.
Which is a pretty odd thing, because my father still wasn't home. And he always comes back before I go to sleep.
While trying to run around, I decided to look inside my parents room.
And I found the window showing a full dark sky.
And he wasn't home. Still wasn't home.
My mom got up and I saw her light up the lamp over the ceiling with a weird rope that extends down of it.
After this, she grabbed me. Acted like everything was normal, and took out something from the cupboards, ready to make some food.
In the middle of cooking, while she was showing me what she was making and trying to involve me as much as she could.
My father came back.
He was...normal?
Kind of, he did looked tired and kind of ruffled. A bit dirty too, but they didn't talked much about it.
They greeted each other. They babied me. And...everything was fine.
No arguing, no everything.
Well there has been a weird conversation between them. One that made me raise an eyebrow.
"You know how dad is, also, the #$#$_#_# has been a me## lately"
"#$#$_#_# yeah yeah, I know, just go #-#$ you #&#&#"
but apart from that? Nothing weird.
What's weird though...is the conversation they had the next day. And the day after that. And the next day after that, and the next day after.
Again.
The conversations are normal.
They can happen while we eat, or while we're playing. Or while I'm training and my mother is working on her sewing while my father takes his turn in the kitchen for once.
But every single fucking time.
This word appears.
Again and again, in a bunch of weird different context.
When we eat "That's how it is...#$#$_#_#, maybe tomorrow"
When she works, after a sigh "#$#$_#_#'s a mess" and then she whispers something, and that didn't sound like a good thing. More like an insult she didn't want her child to hear.
Or during a tengent while my father read me a new story. "So the unkillable samurai, who's probably &#-# #5#5, cause his work is favorable to the #$#$_#_# with his #&#&#& dai&##&"
I remember staring at the book for a while. Trying to read the words and connect them to the words he just said out loud.
They weren't in the fucking book.
Again, and again, and again.
This word came out, again.
And I still don't know what it is.
Maybe today I'll figure it out.
Because my grandfather is fond of the word.
Like everytime he visits, the mood is grim, and we're around the dining table.
My mom is busying herself with me. She's feeding me something, I usually try my best to eat by myself, they've been handing me cutleries from time to time.
To train, and I've been training hard.
Usually I make a small mess after, but it's not that much of a sacrifice if that allows me to learn how to eat by myself.
But tonight, she didn't even let me try. Just...grabbed my mushed food and now she's feeding me while my father and his own father are talking.
I don't like it when he visits.
Everything feels weird after, it's been two weeks and the mood in the house is still weird.
Can't he wait until aunt and Kiko come back once at least? Maybe it would relax my parents a bit, they'll benefit from talking to my aunt.
She talks well. Sometimes.
Unfortunately, as I swallow another bite of food, I remember that life is a bitch and kiko won't miracly appears by jumping from the window.
I look back at my parents room.
Yeah, no kiko.
I look back at the two men talking while my mom feeds me.
Finally old enough to understand more.
"That was still a bad idea" of course, this comes from the annoying old man. Always disagreeing.
My father "And..." He stops, stuttering "...and that's not your choice dad, it's none of your &#&#"
The old bastard puts his hand down on the table, nobody is eating. Nobody but me at least, but I don't think I'm supposed to be included in the conversation.
He doesn't answery father quite yet. Instead, he turns his head to look at me. He stares RIGHT into my eyes.
And the face he makes make me feel like shit, why is he looking at me like that? His lips curled up and both of his eyebrows are raised as he stares down at the spoon my mother is holding.
As if he were disgusted by it or something.
"Of course... It's none of my #&#&" the way he says it and goes back to look at my father pisses me off even more.
I would give him a mouthful if I wasn't busy swallowing a mouthful.
I don't react much as my mom holds me closer than usual, feel like she needs it.
My father gives his own dad a glare. But my grandfather barely reacts and nods at the bowl of mushed food in front of me.
"Sound like my -#-#&#, you're usi-#& my &##& after all"
My father gives him a frown "I'm gaining that &#&#'
The old man takes a deep breath before leaning back on his chair. "And that's &#&#?"
My mom answers this time. "Still none of your &#&##"
I'm starting to think they're saying that it's his none of his business? Is this word business?
My grandfather levels her a look, before looking down at me.
Ugly mug.
"I do &#&#& it's my business, &#&# this, ##&, of yours is eating up &#&#&-!"
Before he can even finish. My mom gets up from her chair, carrying me with her and do a beeline toward my room. She opens the door as my father and my grandfather argues.
"Not in the &$-#-#& house!"
The word I didn't know sounded like an insult
"That won't be your house any-#&# if the #$#$_#_# or those fucking tre&-hugge&# dec&-# it to be!"
The rest of the conversation is muffled by my now closed door. And my mother humming in my ears, hugging me close.
After two weeks of hearing it, I think I figured out the word.
This fucking word they're always using.
It's 'economy' isn't it?