In Romeo and Juliet, Romeo kills himself after seeing his dead lover. What could be another reason Romeo killed himself?” I seriously considered answering “because Juliet was into his brother.” Unfortunately, my English teacher and her peanut- sized brain would probably find my answer less amusing. While twisting the frayed ends of my bracelet, I re-read the question and wondered why Shakespeare couldn’t have picked a normal hobby, like ... I dunno, checking out girls? I’ve heard soccer is fun too! My mom’s screaming interrupted my deep thoughts. “MYLAH! DINNER!!”

Rubbing my eyes, I turned off the lamp before stumbling out of my pitch-black room. At least I got a break from thinking about Shakespeare.

Downstairs, the smell of spices warmed the air. I looked at the food on the table; salmon, rice, and asparagus, one of my mom’s classics. Pouring a glass of water, I began the familiar ritual of soaking my rice in the salmon sauce and watching my mom put on the news. Like always, the sauce was sweet and tangy and the vegetables were perfectly crispy. My mom credited her cooking to her career, telling me, “I’m a scientist, I’m good at everything.”

I sneaked a sip of her wine while she changed channels before scurrying back to my seat. “How’s the experiment going?” I asked, the taste of the wine still biting at my throat.

Sipping from her glass, my mom replied “I’m close, I’ve refined the drug some more, but I’m down to two monkeys.” I poked at my food while she continued. “I’m worried though, I’m not sure my results will move past animal trials.”

“Isn’t it gross?” I asked, “dissecting all those monkeys.”

“That’s the best part!” My mom’s eyes crinkled as she continued, “Hey, sometimes the guts smell like bananas.”

“Ew mom! I’m eating!”I scrunched my nose in disgust. While finishing my last bites, I shifted my weight back and forth, wobbling my chair with me.

Looking at me with furrowed brows, my mom spoke in a stern “I’m an adult so you better listen to me” voice. “Don’t do that, you’ll split your head open.”

Snapping out of my mindless trance, a smile broke onto my face. I looked into her soul as I balanced so far on the chair’s front legs that it was almost vertical. My mom rolled her eyes while I stood up
and put my dishes away.

“Do you need homework help?” she called as I walked upstairs.

“No, I’ll be done in an hour.” I replied.

Later that night, I checked on my mom. As I approached the basement, I could hear the monkeys whooping in her lab. The lab’s air was sharp with chemicals and the overhead lights reflected off the metal equipment. My mom was hunched over her microscope in the corner, her gloved hand adjusting a petri dish of blood. Her hair was dishevelled, with mahogany-coloured strands sticking out haphazardly.

“How’s it going?” I asked, trying to hide my concern.

“Bad.” She replied. “I think I’ve got the drug, but I need a different monkey. This one has tapeworms and it’s interfering with the drug’s effects.”

“What about that one?” I asked, pointing to the last monkey left.

“Can’t use him.” My mom huffed. “I need one monkey to present my findings, so I can’t touch him until I’m completely sure the drug has no side effects.”

While she spoke, I made my way to the wire cages at the bottom of the floor. Sitting down, I watched as the two monkeys groomed themselves while continuously moving their jaws up and down, chewing on what appeared to be nothing. Eventually, my curiosity took over and I stuck my finger through a gap in the wires. Instantly, the first monkey whipped its neck around. It had stopped chewing, its wrinkly mouth hung agape as its honey-colored eyes looked into mine. Then, in a flash, the monkey joined its cagemate as they shrieked in fear. I wondered if they had watched my mom cut up the other monkeys.

As I stood up, I heard a dish clatter before watching my mom slam her fist into the table. Turning around, I saw the cracked petri dish. The blood it once held dripped off the table, leaving crimson splatters on the white floor.

My mom spoke in a calm, hollow voice, her eyes glued to the dripping blood. “This isn’t working, I need a clean slate.”

That night, my mom worked into the early morning. Upstairs, I screwed my eyes shut, trying to tune out the commotions echoing through the house.

I woke up to my mom hovering above me, a big smile plastered on her face. I smiled back instinctively, her joy was infectious. Half asleep, I pushed myself off the bed and stumbled into the
bathroom.

“Did you find a solution?” I asked, my voice laced with sleep.

“Yes!” My mom exclaimed. “It’s Saturday, I’m taking us out for brunch! Come on, get ready!”

Brushing my teeth, I smiled inside. My mom’s ecstatic expression reflected through the mirror. As I followed her down the stairs, I rubbed my eyes, adjusting to the beams of sunlight streaming through the windows. At the kitchen counter, my mom handed me a smoothie. “Drink this, I added lots of bananas, just how you like it.”

Sipping the smoothie, I wanted to ask where we were getting brunch, but before I could, my eyelids drooped. Thinking I was falling back asleep, a wave of panic washed over me. I looked to my mom; she smiled at me with kind eyes, dimples showing. Then, as I began to slump off my chair she caught my fall and picked me up. By now, my body was limp, my eyes sealing in a cloud of haze.
In my mom’s arms, I felt her walking, her footsteps reverberating throughout the hallway. As exhaustion smothered my body, I fought the world around me, and against my temple, my mother whispered, “a clean slate.”