When I was little, I used to have a little music box that would spin and spin, the little ballerina in the box.
Sometimes I would turn the key so much that the music would jam, and my mother would have to send someone to come fix it.
She would have one hand on a cigarette, a finger tapping the ashes on my floor, the smoke filling the room as it was the building climax to her anger.
Little things would irritate her, and she didn't have patience at the time; she didn't really have patience in the first place, to be honest. She was always anxious, especially around me, like I was going to do something she didn't like or something that would surprise her.
But I don't think I was a bad kid, a little curious maybe, but with how my mother raised me, I tried not to be a burden.
Yet everything I did seemed like it was too much; even with the music box, eventually she took it away because she was tired of getting someone going to fix it. Even if it was a simple job, she didn't seem to care if it was simple. All she knew was that if I continued to have the box, then it would continue to break, and she must have gotten annoyed at me, so she focused my attention elsewhere instead of the music box.
Dance.
Since I couldn't keep the box alive, I was going to become the ballerina in the box. The spinning girl trapped in her own personalized box with decor of jewels and cameras to watch her every move.
Melancholy, but the truth of the ballerina's tale as her life would fall into a slowly repetitive pattern like a record.
Safe she would be, but also captive in her protective bubble, watching as the world she knew would slowly crack until the building would fall. Eventually, giving a clear path for the ballerina to make her grand escape.
"A Golden Garlic Greek Salad with Escargot and French bread to finish will now be served." Stated the announcer, with servers quickly bringing out each dish after he finished.
The Bellums looked unamused at the announcement of the starter, yet satisfied at my mother's place next to my father. While red wine was being served to each adult promptly, my father made it a point to finish his glass with the quickness. Refills poured into his rounded glass by the minute, and the Bellum parents raised a brow at his 'never-ending cup'.
"Is the wine required of that many refills?" asked the head of the Bellum household, and my father simply nodded. "Why not? If your wife made wine as successful as mine, wouldn't you drink as much as you could?"
My mother's brow twitched as Madam Bellum looked to her husband, and he responded with, "I suppose there is some truth in your question, yet gluttony as well."
"Isn't that what being rich is?" My father asked yet another question to the head of the Bellum Household, which sent Sir. Bellum trying one of the snails.
"Not sure; that is all it seemed to be", he slurped one of the snails and swallowed hard.
"We flaunt, though, Sir. Bellum, our children, our wealth, our competition. We push our children to be better, have more, just as our fathers did to us. Is that not what we want? To have more than we could ever dream of?"
"Part of the plan." Sir. Bellum continued to eat, and his family started to as well, biting on snails as my father and the twins' father continued to talk.
"What is the other part?" My father laughed as Sir. Bellum bit on a piece of French bread. "Better for the children, not just in wealth but in society, which is part of what you said but not the whole reason that we do what we do. Our fathers worked hard so that we could continue the legacy that we would never have to worry about. That is what we want to continue: a cycle of people who don't worry about the simple things that others do. Our goal is not just to make more wealth but to make sure we never go back to the bottom, don't you agree?"
My father started to clap and looked around for the servers to join in, and they did, even prompting my mother and I to do so as well. We did, but it soon stopped after Sir. Bellum cleared his throat. "That is not necessary, but I thank you, Sir.Acres."
"I thank you for your amazing speech; really, you should have had the press record it; it would look perfect on the news. Just imagine, they would have even tried to spin some story like I lost an argument to the great Sir.Bellum the first!"
"The second, my father the first and it was more of a friendly disagreement but I suppose you are right they would try to spin the story." Sir.Bellum sipped some wine as my father broke into a wide-tooth smile.
"Exactly, why I am glad we have these conversations private, am I right? We don't need the press in all of our business."
"That is interesting because the press is barely in your business, Sir.Acres, yet your family has such a high reputation."
My father shrugged, "What can I say? We know how to keep ourselves number one."
My mother tried not to drink her wine glass too quickly, as my father continued to spout, her eyes looking over to Madam Bellum and seeing as she was just as quiet as her. Which probably made her think, but my eyes were at the twins who seem to be observing just as I was.
When Bertram caught my eye however, he smiled and seems to finished his plate with a small wave in which I waved back with a returning smile. His sister didn't wave and seem to elbow him for looking at me but he still kept the smile on him, not taking his eyes off me just as long as mine were on his.
Which my mother didn't care to mind more focused on my over indulgence father. Her eyes giving the impression of wanting to stab him with the fork but she didn't instead stabbing her nails into the bottom of the table cloth.