Two Pennies

I was four years old when my mother sold me off for two cents.

I remember it vividly. On that day, the sun shone bright but I was trapped inside. I stayed in my room which had been emptied except for the thin mattress I was sitting on and the electric fan blowing the green tulle curtains in my direction. The only noise came from the fan’s slow motion, creaking complaints to be relieved of its duty. 

From the window, I watched as the neighborhood kids played Skipping Stones. I drew a lungful of breath and blew against the glass, creating moisture on the surface. I traced two stick figures next to the kids outside and imagined me and my sister running around with them.

“Helena.” 

I turned at the sound of my name. 

My mother stood in the doorway, wearing a wet apron over a loose white shirt and her only skirt. Dark circles settled under her eyes and her cheeks were hollow. Her long auburn hair floated behind her as the fan swung in her direction.

“Your sister is awake. Come say goodbye,” she said in a calm edgeless voice. The weight of command was hardly detectable in my mother’s tone, but I knew it was there so I got up instantly. I quickly turned off the fan and ran towards her. She took my hand and we walked together to my sister’s room. 

We made our way slowly and silently. I hoped time would stretch itself so I can hold my mother’s warm reassuring hand forever. 

We reached my sister’s door and for a long minute, my mother and I stood there wordlessly. I felt a gentle squeeze in my hand and I looked up to see her smiling. The corners of her mouth were turned up, but the smile couldn’t quite reach her eyes. She knelt down until her eyes were leveled with mine.

“Now, try to look happy. We don’t want her to worry, do we?” She told me as she ironed the sides of my dress with her palms. 

“Don’t take too long. We'll be waiting in the kitchen." Then she turned and left me standing alone. I watched my mother’s back until she disappeared into another hall. 

My sister’s room didn’t have locks or knobs. It had a sliding door made from light materials so that even a child my size could open it easily. It was my sister’s idea because she wanted me to have easy access to her whenever I pleased.

“Pierson?” I called out to her while peering through the slightly opened door.

A combination of the acidic scent of vomit and banana flavored antibiotics hit my nose when I slid the door completely. I saw her sitting on her bed, back against the wall. Her gaze was glued to the window.

“I’m sorry I can’t play Skipping Stones with you,” she said without taking her eyes off the window.

I hopped onto the bed, crawled towards her, and looked out at the kids playing.

“It’s okay.” I crossed my arms on the sill and rested my head. “Mama said I have to leave soon anyway.”

She didn’t respond.

Remembering what my mother said, I turned to her and grinned so wide that my cheeks hurt. “Don’t worry! Mama said it won’t be long. I’ll come back as soon as you’re better.”

She gave a wry smile, but said nothing.

We stayed there, not speaking. I don’t remember feeling sad or awkward that time. It was a silence that brought comfort, like the lull that envelops you before falling asleep.

I was roused when our mother called out from the hall. I meant to give Pierson a quick hug but she held onto me longer than I intended.

“I’ll get better as soon as I can. Come back then, okay?” She told me, with a voice so earnest that it tugged at my heart.

I nodded and dashed out of the room before she could see the hot tears welling up in my eyes. I didn’t even close the door behind me.

As I was running in the hallway blindly scratching the wetness from my eyes, my body slammed into something.

“Helena.” My mother spoke softly. Concern touched the edge of her voice and I couldn’t help but let out the sobs I tried so hard to choke back.

“Mama please don’t give me away. Please Mama let me stay,” my voice sounded hoarse and painful like something clawed at my throat.

My mother didn’t say anything. She carried me in her arms and caressed my hair as we walked to the kitchen.

As we drew nearer, the smoky and buttery smell of braised beef filled my nostrils. Then, the scent shifted into the sweet smell of bananas fried in melted sugar. The aroma reminded me of something warm and cozy, and I felt my spirits lighten.

“Oh come now, Helena dear. No need for crying.”

A hand that was not my mother’s touched my head and I looked up to see a blurry figure. I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision. I saw a woman, her face wrinkled as an old apple, slightly hunched over and holding a cane. She hobbled closer and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Her chapped lips left a bit of itch on my skin. 

“It’s only Gran, dear.” She said as my mother set me down. 

Gran gently took my hand and led me to the kitchen. She sat me on a high chair near the counter where all the dishes were laid out. Gran scooped a small portion of each and sat beside me. 

She fed me spoonfuls between my sobs, cooing me all the while. “There, there. Chew carefully, darling. Here, drink some water.”

With every bite, I felt the fear slowly unknot itself in my chest. By the end of the meal, I was in such good spirits that my mother was able to coax me into washing the dishes.

After that, my mother called me to the living room. I found her sitting beside Gran, her hands resting on my rainbow backpack. 

“Now, then. Let’s get on with it.” Gran announced. 

She brought out her blue purse which was embroidered with yellow, red, and blue flowers. And from it, pulled two shiny pennies. She held them out to me.

“Give it to your mother, dear,” she instructed. 

At the time, I didn’t wonder why she didn’t just hand it to my mother. They were seated close together side-by-side. 

Perhaps I was still dazed from my anxiety earlier that day or perhaps I was too mingled with fascination. But I did as she directed and handed the coins to my mother.

She accepted them with both hands and tucked them deep in the front pocket of her skirt. Then, she slid my arms into the straps of my rainbow backpack and gently nudged me towards Gran. 

As I stood beside Gran, my mother’s face had a smile so sincere that it wrinkled the lines around her eyes. I noticed concern, longing, and peace flickering across her face as she looked at me. Then finally, she let out a breath that seemed to take the tension from her shoulders. 

That was the last thing I remember from that day.

The next day, and countless days after that, I lived with Gran. Over the course of my stay, I learned many great things. She taught me how to sew, how to cook, how to build a long-lasting fire, how to mend broken skin, how to communicate with nature spirits, and numerous other clever things that I can only recall vaguely.

Perhaps it was because I was too occupied with all of Gran’s enthralling lessons that I never got to ask about what exactly happened the day she bought me and why.

Even after she returned me home three months later, I seem to have forgotten about it. And like every other childhood memory, it was pushed further back in the closet of my mind.

The memory laid there quietly, unmoving for years. 

Until my mother jolted it out today.

I was staring down at the casket, muttering my farewell solemnly, when my mother appeared by my side and slipped two small coins into my hands. They felt cold against my palm.

“Give it to your Gran, Helena.” She whispered.

I stood there mutely for a long time, lost in remembering. When my body realized that I was holding my breath, the question slipped with the air that escaped my mouth.

“Why?”

I caught a mixture of relief and apprehension in my mother’s eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

She circled her arms around mine and guided me towards the bench farthest from where Pierson was sitting. When she was sure we were out of earshot, she began.

“When you were little, your sister was always sick. She could never play with you, do you remember?” 

I nodded, my eyes urging her to keep going.

“She wasn’t always sickly like that. She was born a happy and healthy child.

But when you came, things started to go wrong with her. Every year, she suffered a different illness. Doctors could not figure out what it really was. 

Then one day, her health got so bad that the hospital just sent us home. They couldn’t do anything about what was happening to her. I didn’t know what to do so I called your Gran.

I never told you this because it is not something that everyone in the world will accept. I thought you and your sister are better off without knowing any of it.”

She hesitated for a second. Then determination returned to her expression.

“Your Gran knew other forms of healing. Older forms. Those only known to her home country. She was what they call, a shaman.

As soon as she saw you, she told me that I had to give you to her. She said that she must give me copper in exchange for you. Copper… was the sign of accepting an apprentice.”

She must have sensed the question rumbling inside me. She didn’t prolong the answer.

“You’re a shaman, Helena.”

Before I could accuse her of being out of her mind, she continued.

“Listen to me. As soon as you were born, you started sucking the life out of the living thing closest to you, your sister. Your energy was so unstable, and only your Gran knew how to tame it.”

For a moment, the edges of my vision grew bright. Memories of that day and the days with Gran came crashing, waves upon waves of nauseating clarity. Gran’s voice echoed in my head. Many voices, many lessons, coalescing. I felt my stomach roll over and I thought I was going to gag.

When the storm in my mind finally settled, I spoke.

“If what you say is true, then why did Gran return me to you? Why did I forget?” My voice sounded too weak and strained.

“Because I told your Gran to make it go away. I wanted you and Pierson to live a normal life. So every day, she hid a piece of your energy and locked it away deep inside your mind. She hid every piece of it until, when you got home, it was only a blur in your memory.”

She lifted my hand gently and opened my palms.

“Please, Helena. Give the copper back to your teacher. Tell her your lessons have long ended.”

Still reeling from everything she said, I dropped my mother's hands and walked slowly towards the casket. I looked down at Gran’s peaceful face for the last time. I touched her silver hair, motioned my hand inside the soft cushion where she lay, and tucked something under her head.

“Thank you, Gran.” I whispered and placed a soft kiss on her cold cheek.

I turned to walk towards Pierson. She was sitting silently, back straight against the bench. I sat beside her and we shared the comforting silence, just as we always have. I meant to give her a quick hug but she held me longer than I intended.

"I'm all better now." She said knowingly, with the same earnest voice that tugged at my heart. "I know you won't come back this time."

I nodded and dashed out before she could see the hot tears so familiar to my eyes. I didn't bother looking behind at my mother.

I was four years old when my mother sold me off for two cents.

No.

I was four years old when my choice was taken from me.

I balled my fist tighter and the cold metal dug hard into my skin.

I'm taking it back.