My Two Boxes of Ledgers

The table at the Mid-Autumn family feast is the rosewood table Grandfather left behind, bearing a crack on its edge that I accidentally made as a child. On the table were eight dishes, including braised pork, steamed fish, and Harry Lincoln's favorite—cola chicken wings. Mother was holding Yolanda Scott's hand as she spoke, the silver bracelet on her finger swinging gently. Yolanda is Harry Lincoln's girlfriend; she was specially invited today to meet everyone. When the conversation turned to the bride price, Mother suddenly sighed and turned to look at me. "Viola, do you still remember how, when you were little, we spent all our family savings on your medical treatment?" The conversation came to an abrupt halt, and everyone's eyes turned to me. Yolanda was momentarily stunned and instinctively looked at Harry, her eyes showing a trace of confusion. Harry Lincoln immediately replied, his voice full of grievance: "Exactly, sis. If you hadn't spent so much money back then, how could I not even have enough for the down payment on the wedding house now?" Mother nodded in agreement, wiping the corner of her eye: "Yolanda, you know it hasn't been easy for our family. Could the bride price be lowered a bit?" "Viola, you are the elder sister—you should help her younger brother." The relatives echoed the sentiment. Third Aunt said, "Family should support each other," while Uncle said, "Viola has a stable job now; it's only right she contributes some money." I bit into the braised pork; its rich aroma spread in my mouth, yet inside I felt completely hollow. I put down my chopsticks, stood up, and went into the room to pull out a small cart. On the small cart were two storage boxes: the blue one marked '2005-2015' and the gray one '2016-2024.' "Mom, you said a lot was spent on my medical treatment when I was little. Do you remember exactly which year and month, and how much?" I opened the blue box and took out the ledger on top. "I've been keeping track all these years; let's check it together." Mother's expression shifted, her eyes flickering away slightly: "It's been so long, how could I remember the details? Anyway, it was a lot of money." I smiled softly, my fingers gliding over the yellowed cover of the ledger. This ledger is something I began keeping when I was three. Back then, I couldn't fully recognize the characters, so many were replaced with pinyin or drawings. The first time I saw Mother's ledger was when I was five years old. That day, while searching for socks in Mother's wardrobe, I found a red cloth pouch containing two notebooks. One was very thin, with 'Harry Lincoln' written on the cover; the other was thicker, bearing the name 'Viola Lincoln.' Holding the notebooks, I asked Mother, "What is this?" Mother snatched the ledger roughly, stuffed it into a cloth bag, and said sternly, "Don't be silly. This records the money you spent from the family funds, which you all have to pay back later." I was upset. Harry Lincoln clearly had more clothes and toys than I did, so why was his ledger thinner? I argued with Mother, telling her her records were wrong. Mother raised her hand and slapped me. My cheek burned with pain, and she punished me by forbidding me from having dinner. Mother locked the cloth bag in the drawer. "If you ever dare to go through my things again, I'll break your legs!" That night, I was hungry all alone, curled up under the blanket crying, but inside I clenched my fists—I would keep my own account and record every single expense clearly. From then on, every day I carried my little notebook to jot things down. If I couldn't write a word, I'd ask my kindergarten teacher. If I could not understand the teacher, I'd draw little pictures instead: bought an ice cream bar, I'd draw a small square with '1 dollar’ beside it; Wore my cousin's old clothes, I'd draw a little skirt with '0 dollar' written next to it. To make the ledger more credible, I developed the habit of keeping receipts. Whether it was a supermarket shopping receipt, a pharmacy payment slip, or even a receipt for a single spicy snack, I would carefully tuck it into the ledger. The old phone at home was barely usable; the photos were blurry, but I still used it to take pictures for record-keeping. Harry Lincoln's new toys, the new shoes Mother bought for him, the meals we ate at home—anything involving spending money, I photographed and saved in the phone's album. Later, when I went to school and learned to recognize more characters, the ledger became clearer and more detailed. I compared Mother's ledger and only then realized it wasn't true bookkeeping—she was clearly showing favoritism. When Harry Lincoln bought a Transformer, Mother recorded it as "toy, 50 dollars"; but when I bought a workbook, she noted "books, 200 dollars." When Harry Lincoln bought fever medicine because he was sick, Mother recorded it as "medical expenses, 30 dollars"; yet when I had a cold and cough, she recorded "medical expenses, 500 dollars." I marked all these discrepancies and slipped them inside my own ledger.