If it makes us beyond what we can comprehend as happiness, then it will make us stronger as well. If we choose too not accept the good for what we have, then it will become nothing to us; just a pile of lost hopes and dreams.

-NOTVANTE

First Person Point Of View

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After finishing up at the market I quickly gathered my things and thanked the cashier for helping me finish up. She was a kind woman, topping off the young years in her late forties. As she paid for my stuff she was telling me how beautiful I was—To her being almost as beautiful as her daughter. She explained to me that her daughter was around my age or maybe a year less than I was. She also did things like this for her mother. She was telling me how every time her daughter did something like this, how it made her feel incompetent. I asked her why she would say that and she barely looked at me when she answered with a couple of words I had vaguely heard before.

"I'm the one that should be giving her the world. But at this age, when my body cannot take everything the same way it did as I was growing she's the one who's been there to give me everything. Even the roof under our heads.. and the clothes on our bodies.."

I softly smiled up at her understanding her every word. To me, that was nothing for her to feel incompetent about. I think she should be proud that she has a daughter who cares for the one person that birthed her.

"I think otherwise ma'am... I can tell you are a good woman, both at heart and at nature. I hope to see you again. It was wonderful meeting you."

She nodded up at me with teary-eyes and waved as I did back. Quickly walking out and yelped a little as I tripped with the cracked sidewalk, and ended up on the floor with my little shopping spree sprawled around me. I ignored the pain in my knee and began cleaning up my things when I noticed a pair of hands helping me as well. I kept my head down from the embarrassment. They didn't have to stop and help me really.

"You should be more careful next time... you're knees bleeding from the scrape you got." I glanced at my scraped up knee and nodded picking up the rest of what I had before getting up slowly.

I bowed kindly as they handed me my things carefully. I then thanked them with words.

"I'm sorry... I didn't want to have you sidetracked from your task.. you really didn't have to stop and help me though.."

The person didn't say anything. They only stood there for a couple of seconds max and then turned swiftly heading inside the market. I kept ignoring the burning pain in my knee and hurriedly stuffed what was left of the groceries in the closed compartment on my bike. People that were passing by gave me strange, confused looked but then minded their own business. Eomma should be waiting by now. I arrived as quickly as I could.

"I'm sorry I'm late! I got you a couple of things though!"

Mom popped out of nowhere flour giving her flushed cheeks a defined look as she cleaned her hands against her heavily flour stained apron. I laughed at her homey appearance.

"You have flour all over you! And on your clothes too."

She yelped out and quickly threw the apron off of her and squeaked when she saw the flour covered shirt.

"Ok! I'll go change! Set that to cook for me, please. I still have to get the dining table ready! Ah okay, I'll be back!"

I watched her run around like a chicken without head determined to get somewhere, but not really going anywhere. I smiled to myself and took out the meats and the rice beginning to prepare the food. The more I could help out the better I feel when I'm here with Mom.

When it hit seven thirty at night the guests started to pile in. They were all covered with thin layers of snow on their jackets and the assemblage was starting off. I was a little beyond nervous not going to lie. They were all very comely; their son walking behind them ever so quietly. They seemed rather furtive as they scootched their way into the dining room. I sort of blanked out on them and the conversation that they were having with Mom enjoying my small portion of ratatouille with a piece of the soft, freshly baked French bread I had made hours before. Delicacies at their finest were always the best on an incipient first cold day of the year.

The whole time we were all gathered, I only looked up when I felt eyes on me. When I saw that the curious glances came from a boy well dressed so I kindly bowed and turned back to my dish rather flustered. I glanced up again not too long after and noticed that the boy was now sitting next to me digging into his own bowl of tender ratatouille. He didn't glance up at me when he began talking quietly—His voice was mellifluous against the soft piano music that was playing from our old cassette player.

"Did you make this by any chance?"

His honeyed voice was nothing compared to his outfit. It gave out a dissemble feeling.

Still not looking up I finished my last bite before wiping my mouth and then speaking up.

"Why would you assume that? What if I did not make it?"

He smiled down at me. Our height difference wants not much, but it was enough to have him looking down at me.

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