For the thousandth time, I looked her over, from bottom to top. My eyes trained up her slim body and supple breasts, ending in a face that could have starred in the Dukes of Hazzard. She strode in and plopped down in her usual spot on my couch. She looked at the numbers I had done on my notepad on the coffee table. "What's all that?" she asked. "Just some quick figuring," I replied, "Remember how you always ask to borrow money? I don't recall you've ever paid any of it back. The total adds up to approximately 3,400 dollars."Her eyes widened for a moment, then she smiled and leaned towards me. "That much?" Yes." And you expect me to pay it back?" No. I certainly don't expect it to happen, but it would be nice if I were adequately compensated."It sounds like I was thinking what you're thinking. But I wasn't thinking what you're thinking. I was thinking along the lines of organizing some papers for me, or running some petty errands. She, however, was thinking exactly what you're. In fact, I was out of clothes more than in them, especially before I started school.My parents encouraged me in music, buying me a violin when I was six and making sure I practiced (not really a problem, as I loved the sound I was getting from it and how I was able to use it as a second voice). So my childhood was a happy one, up to the time when I was nine.That's when my parents' marriage fell apart. My dad had fallen in love with somebody he'd met at his job. I remember the long talk he had with me about it, and how he explained things to me. Yes, he still loved Mom, but he felt they'd married too young. He'd changed, and she hadn't, and there was this new woman who gave him what Mom couldn't. He also said that I had nothing to do with the break-up, and that he still loved me and would make sure I was happy. I said I understood, and gave him a hug. And that was that.After the divorce, I ended up with Mom. That was OK. She needed me more than Dad did. It was a long time before she.
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