Father! I want to be a Journalist

Ivy dabbed at her eyes softly with the hem of her blouse and tore her gaze away from the sea. She loved her city but she had always wanted to leave; Go to a conventional school, and relate with educated kids, But her father had always said "Ivy, don't reach out for things your hands are too short to acquire." And with that, he reminded her of the fact that they only had enough to eat and get by every day, they couldn't afford more expenses.

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She had lived like that, waking up to the sound of seagulls calling, running out barefoot to take in the cool morning breeze, and feeling the sand on her feet.

If she was early enough, she would catch Harry in his super cool school uniform and run over to take a look at the pictures in his books before her father called her in and chided her for hanging out with "That Moorish boy" then went ahead to hand a wet towel to her and ask her to wipe all the tables and chairs at 'Del's Delicious' their seafood restaurant before people, mostly Frank, and his almost always drunk friends came by to make a rowdy show of eating when they were indeed just pouring the food around, leaving whole shrimps and prawns on the floor and table for Ivy to clean up afterward.

She had been content with that life, riding into town with her Raleigh bike to get kegs of milk and crates of eggs from the grocery store, riding through St. Mary's all-girls school to watch the little girls all dressed in their white uniforms with white ribbons on their neatly packed hair that gave them Princess like appearances.

She would take a moment to see herself in a white pinafore just like theirs, her brown hair washed, stretched, and well packed up, a nice ribbon fixed somewhere on top of it, instead of the curly mass hanging in tangled curls from her head to her waist.

She would imagine herself in class with girls her age, whispering to each other as the teacher spoke and passing notes around just as Harry told her he did with his friends at school.

Yes, she was comfortable with just imagining herself receiving a proper education until her father brought home a young woman and a boy half her age to their house and told her "This is Betsy, she's going to be your momma henceforth, and this is your brother, Norman."

Her father had always said he didn't have money for anything that wasn't feeding the both of them, where was he going to get the money to feed Betsy and Norman?

Where did he get the money he used to throw a wedding party, buy a new three-piece suit for himself and Norman, and two beautiful dresses for Betsy and herself?

Ivy knew her father loved her but expanding their family was not as important to her as getting a proper education and becoming a journalist, collecting news from all over the world.

"Associating with that boy is what has put ideas in your head Ivy. Do you want to become a journalist? Are you willing to die? I've given you a peaceful life here for 12 years, why isn't that enough for you?"

"Because I want more!" She hadn't spoken back to her father for as long as she could remember. Her entire frame trembled with fear but she didn't know where she got the courage to keep talking. "You do whatever is convenient for you with money but you cannot spare some for me to go to school…"

She stopped and cowered when she saw his hand lift then lifted her head to see Betsy holding it.

"Don't…." Was all she said, guiding him back into their house.

Later that evening, Ivy sat by the beach reliving the fondest memories she had of her mother. They had been quite a pair, their brown hair and brown eyes causing them to look like mermaids. She learned her mother had been a journalist from her father but ten years into her career, she was murdered.

That was when they relocated.

She felt someone approach but she didn't look to see who it was. She knew it wasn't her father, he never apologized after a fight.

"Are you okay?" It was Betsy. She squatted down beside Ivy and tucked a stray strand of curly hair behind her ear. "You sure need a hairdo. I'll see that you get one this weekend".

"My father will say there's no money for that and my hair is perfect the way it is." Betsy chuckled.

"What does your father know about raising a girl child?" She sighed and lowered herself onto the sand beside Ivy.

"Your father loves you, Ivy, he talked only about you when we were seeing each other. I got jealous of my Norman at some point."

Ivy shifted to put some space between them.

"When I spoke to him after the fight you both had, I realized he's scared because your mama got killed, and he knows you've got ambition just like her…"

"The least he would have done was tell me the truth instead of saying there was no money for me yet there was money for something else."

Betsy closed the gap between them and put her arm around Ivy.

"Two wrongs do not make a right Ivy. Your father will loosen up, I'll make sure of that, but you now must forgive him. Forgiving him doesn't entail losing your dreams, no, it entails holding fast to the hope that one day, he will let you get the one thing you've desired the most. Okay?"

Ivy leaned into her and nodded. So far so good, it wasn't that bad to have a mother figure again.