Planted

Chapter 3 One hot day.

The air-conditioning vent blew cool air into my face. I felt like weeping but I had to control myself. I was back in the car for another driving lesson. I turned the key to start the engine and then pressed the accelerator.

"This car won't go." I complained out loud as the engine revved again.

"That's because, Miss look here; see this circle with the exclamation mark inside. It's called a brake warning light. It means your handbrake is still on" said the instructor.

"Oh yes, of course silly me," I responded, gripping the steering wheel. I needed to focus my thoughts on this lesson. "Focus for the next hour, obey instructions and just do it" said to myself as I turned the corner. My tightened muscles relaxed when I saw an empty street in front of me.

My attention drifted to my mother. All my life I couldn't understand why my mother spent her money the way she did. She bought branded dresses and bags for me apparently because it defined a woman and made her a real woman. In the same way, the blue fairy made Pinocchio a real boy, maybe. She talked about John Galliano as if he was our neighbour. Personally, I felt wearing an evening dress to Mac Donald's and heels to play soccer did not show personality, confidence or seduction. Instead, it showed a lack of appreciation for the humidity in Singapore and its culture. Mum's dressing made all the neighbourhood kids laugh and she was given nicknames in multiple languages and dialectal variations. She didn't care but Logan and I did.

The car sensor beeped. Unconsciously, I had gone past the speed limit. Gently, I pressed the brake pedal with my foot and the car slowed down.

Yet, she would drive really hard bargains at the wet market so much so the stall keepers would avoid serving her. The fishmonger would even fling fish guts in her direction as she walked past. She was known to beat them down to negative profit margins. That is why, a part of me wasn't really surprised, when I discovered TUF had two sets of books, and that we had been overspending in some areas and been involved in unfair business practices in others.

I turned the corner and the car went up and down the curb. The instructor grumbled at me about making late turns in English and how I was really serial killer in disguise in Hakka. I ignored him. I knew I was already gaining a reputation amongst the driving instructors.

Last night, I found a box of bills at the back of mum's wardrobe. Thankfully, they were paid, unlike the countless others. These bills made no sense to me, expensive men's watches like Tag Heuer, men's clothes like Givenchy, hard liquor and cigarettes. None of them were dad's. Dad wore grandpa's watch, T-shirts from the market and did not smoke or drink. Did mum have a relative she was financing that we were unaware of?

Perspiring as I gathered my thoughts, I turned up the air conditioning.

"Miss, maybe you should not grip the steering wheel like that. You should have a loose hand like this," said the young driving instructor who had beads of perspiration running down the sides of his cheeks.

"Like this?" I said trying to loosen my grip and turn another corner. I swerved into another lane.

"Too loose, too loose...." said the instructor quickly as he gripped the wheel before we rammed into a fire hydrant. "Em ...try this," the instructor gripped the wheel with his hands leaving his thumbs up erect.

"Like this?" I said. I put both thumbs up as I held the wheel in a ten-to–two position.

"Yes, yes, better now. Much better," he said, nodding. Then for added encouragement, he held up both thumbs and grinned saying, "Good, good."

The day had turned from hot to hotter. People were walking around dressed in the barest minimum. A bus pulled up pass me, filled with sweaty red-faced people squeezed up against each other.