A story beginning with “money”

I’m 12 years old I’m about to ask my mom for money. Not bubblegum money or sneakers money. This is me asking for money as adults ask for money, only that it’s me doing it, a victim of that world, not a member. I told her what I’ve been asked to tell her: This month’s tuition payment for school is due today. Do you have the money? She says what I said she would say: Honey, you know I don’t, I’m still behind on the utilities bills. She bends to eye level, which I didn’t expect, and says something I should’ve expected: Did your dad ask you to tell me this? My eyes drop. Of course he did, but I wasn't about to admit it because it would mean admitting that the world has changed, and how on earth did she figure it out anyway, it’s not like they were married for fifteen years until things unraveled like three days ago and now their only son is caught in the mudslinging. Not like that at all. I just walk out of the room and I call him, this was before cell phones so it’s a landline call, and I tell him it’s done and I tell him what she said and I asked if he can now pay the school so the school bus driver won’t ask me to step down as he did last month, not embarrassing at all. And he says yes, he’ll pay, only it’s a landline call, so my mom had picked up another receiver and listened. At that point, they take a deep breath and say they can stop now, they can stop pretending they hate each other, they can stop acting as if they were bent on ruining my life, and they laugh, for three or four minutes straight, and they cry for three or four minutes straight, and they tell me it’s all an act, they were just acting out an acrimonious divorce, but they love me still and they love each other and they would never do anything to hurt me, ever. Only they don’t say that at that point. Instead, at that point, they explain: they tell me it’s a grown-up thing, falling out of love, and they’re really stressed out trying to make ends meet, and they take long laborious minutes explaining why all of this is happening, they talk debts, they talk pension funds, they talk alimony, and I listen and mmm-hmm a lot and they tell me everything, their hopes, their fears. Only they don’t do anything close to that. What happens next is ugly and it will happen again, many times in fact, and it will become fabric that I will weave into a sweater and wear it everywhere, even when it’s warm, even when I mean to tell others that this isn’t me, it’s just this sweater I picked up at a second-hand store, sure there’s still someone inside, wearing all this.