CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING OF A NEW FORTUNE
Blessing Peters@petersblessing440800
5 months ago
NircleStories
"Get off me!" Jennifer Odigbo bellowed, her voice echoing through the room as she wrestled with her husband, Mike, who was currently engaged in a rather undignified tug-of-war with her shirt. "This is precisely why you’re such a pathetic excuse for a husband! I’d rather go commando than wear those pink panties you so desperately wanted me to don. You’re a joy to no one, you miserable man!" Her eyes were ablaze with fury as Mike, in a fit of desperation, yanked at her hair.
"Insolent woman! As an Igbo wife, you are meant to worship me—your husband!" Mike retorted, his voice rising in a melodramatic crescendo. He gazed at his wife, whose face bore the unfortunate marks of their latest spat. "I’ve given you everything! I even bought you those lovely wrappers to flaunt at the meetings. I—"
"Oh, spare me the pathetic monologue!" Jennifer interjected, seizing his shirt with a fierce grip. "Even if you gifted that wrapper to a beggar on the street, they’d probably toss it back at you! Why should I indulge your inflated ego? While you’re busy bragging to your friends about your so-called generosity, other men are out there buying their women cars, houses, and actual money!" Her Igbo accent thickened as she glared at Mike. "What possessed me to have a child with someone like you? I must have been out of my mind!"
Pain flickered in Mike's eyes as he tightened his grip on her hair. "How could you say that about our daughter? You know she’s in this house! What daughter would want to hear her mother speak so ill of her father?"
"I’m quite sure she’d be thrilled to hear me say this! No daughter wants a foolish father who doesn’t even realize he’s off the rails!" she shot back dryly.
"This woman, I’ll—" Mike began, but his words were drowned out by the screams echoing through the house. Meanwhile, ten-year-old Marygold lay on her creaky bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. This was not the first time her parents had fought; in fact, she couldn’t recall a day without their melodramatic clashes. Marygold, the only daughter of Jennifer and Mike, had long since accepted that her father was far from the ideal parent. Most men in her neighborhood mirrored her dad’s behavior, but she held out hope that somewhere, there existed a better father.
Mike stumbled home drunk more often than not, devoid of reason, and would unleash his frustrations on Jennifer, all while neglecting to provide for the family. And as for Jennifer, well, she had her own questionable profession, leaving Marygold to wonder why she had inherited her mother’s beauty—save for her unique golden eyes, which Jennifer had promptly covered with black contacts the moment Marygold turned five, all to avoid unwanted attention. Marygold was acutely aware of her mother’s disdain for her, often resigning herself to the belief that her existence was the reason Jennifer was stuck with Mike, no matter how absurd that notion seemed.
Marygold often pondered the sheer stupidity of adults. They made foolish choices, engaged in ridiculous behavior, and then had the audacity to blame a child for their misfortunes. She didn’t care what her mother thought of her; in fact, she relished the moments when her parents were absent, as it allowed her to unleash her culinary creativity in the kitchen. Her mother rarely cooked, so by the age of six, Marygold had taken it upon herself to learn from her mother and the neighbor next door, who often babysat her. By ten, she could whip up Indomie, rice, stew, pepper soup, Egusi, and Semovita with confidence.
Whenever her mother’s boyfriends visited, they would feign affection for Marygold, all in a bid to win over Jennifer. Not that they needed to go to such lengths; Marygold mused that a mere handful of cash would turn her mother into a lovesick puppy any day.
"Marygold, honey!" Jennifer called from the other side of the closed door. "Come out, David is taking us somewhere, and I want to lock the door!" Marygold weighed her options, knowing that ignoring her mother would likely result in a good old-fashioned whacking. So, with a resigned sigh, she donned her sweater and followed her mother out.
Egwu Street had always exuded a dark, muddled atmosphere, with three to four smokers and womanizers at every corner. It was a place that practically wore the word "THRASH" like a badge of honor. They climbed into David’s car, which was packed to the brim. Marygold found herself perched on one of the men’s laps, and as expected, the hooligan took full advantage of the tight space to rub against her inappropriately. Marygold couldn’t even muster disgust; her threshold for repulsive behavior had long been surpassed, leaving only a dry look in her eyes. When the man realized he wasn’t eliciting any reaction, he ceased his advances.
Upon arriving at the beach, the party atmosphere enveloped them—loud music, alcohol flowing like water, and not a drop of water in sight. "Tell your daughter to join us! This wine is fantastic!" David urged Jennifer. Marygold caught the look in her mother’s eyes, a silent threat not to ruin the fun. So, she accepted the drink, and after two cups, she was wobbling and ready to crash. She retreated to the car, where every door was ajar, and settled in for a nap while the party raged on.
Chirp chirp. Marygold stirred awake to darkness, her ears perking up at the sound of crashing waves and raucous voices. The party must be winding down, she thought. As she raised her head, she bumped it against something above her, causing a commotion. "What the... what on earth is that?" an unfamiliar voice exclaimed, and as shuffling feet approached, bright light flooded her space. She squinted up to see a young white man with a bewildered expression, holding the car’s trunk open. "Shit," he muttered.
A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over Marygold as she scrambled out of the trunk to vomit. "Hey, young lady! " after watching her pour her gut out , he continued his stream of questions "Where are you from? How did you get here? Are you lost?" the young man asked, squatting to her level, his sharp eyes searching for answers.
Still trying to process the situation, Marygold glanced around and asked, "Where am I?"
"You’re at Port Long Beach, California," he replied, watching as her eyes widened in disbelief.
"I’m in Caliphonia?" she exclaimed, her accent thickening in her shock.
"Yes, ma’am. My name is Vida. What’s yours, young lady?" he asked, concern etched on his face.
"Marygold," she replied curtly, as if to assert her maturity.
"You didn’t answer my questions from earlier..."
"You asked too many at once, and I wasn’t fully awake," Marygold countered.
"Alright, I’ll ask one at a time. Why were you in the trunk?"
"I was drunk. I thought I fell asleep in the passenger seat, but reality just hit me like a ton of bricks," she concluded dryly, meeting Vida’s astonished gaze.
"You were drunk? Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you a little under eight years old?" Vida struggled to comprehend the situation.
"My mother’s friends gave me drinks, and my mom told me to drink, so I did. And I’m ten, not 'little under eight.' Malnutrition did wonders for my appearance, so I won’t hold that against you." Vida was taken aback by her sharp wit.
"For my second question, how did you get here?"
"I have no idea, I feel like I should be the one asking you that; you’re the one with the car, after all."
"Oh," Vida mentally slapped his forehead. "That guy. Do you know a man named David?"
"Yes, he’s my mother’s boyfriend."
"I was supposed to do a business deal with him here, but he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain, so we confiscated his car."
"We?"
"My crew and I," Vida gestured toward a group of men and women in the distance. "Now, for my next question: it seems like you’ve had a rough life. Do you want to go home? Your mom would be worried sick—"
Vida halted mid-sentence at the sound of Marygold’s scoff.
"Yeah, right. Worried sick? More like overflowing with joy. She had always blamed me for her problems, such a boring life. I’m not going back. Is there an orphanage around here or something? I’ve heard rich people have been building those since last year, mid June, 1822," Vida was once again taken aback by her audacity and recalled that one of his coworkers made daily announcements of his boss looking for a proper young girl to adopt.
"I know someone who’s looking to adopt. Want to check it out?" Vida extended his hand to Marygold, who eyed it skeptically. "For someone who’s been so forthcoming, you sure are cautious. I can’t promise the home will be perfect; after all, there are plenty of horror stories about wealthy people and their adopted children. But it’s still safer than living on the streets," he concluded, his tone persuasive.
After a little pause, Marygold took his hand. "Let’s go."
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