GRACE

“Grace be with you”


You had followed me for six months now. In every interval, Chan will tease you and ask you “So, who’s it you want?” and he will point his fingers between us, a thumps up flip turned crookedly then raise his arms up like he was praying, as if he was some god and your answer was a wish he was keen to carry out seriously. It had always made you blush, not colors creeping in slowly on a white wall but a pail of paint being poured into a face, quick like you had known the question coming but not quick enough to command your skin to hide and your face had always betrayed your heart

I had always liked your hair, the way it fell over your shoulders to stop at your waist – dark as if it was the bosom of the Night I could lose my face in, dark as if your were peace and quiet and sleep. Occasionally, I had stopped to watch you from a distance, watched your hair dance a shiny dance with the sunlight every time you moved or talked or showed you were alive. All live beings are filled with movement, muscles contracting, nerves twitching, fingers tucking in a stray hair, lips parting to show teeth and smile, a tongue made of blood and vessels, feet thumping and going up and down a staircase.

Chan had once told me that just before a body dies, it, for the last time releases its bodily fluids by contracting its bones to an impressive length.
“And then it emits this low rattle, a sound that comes from deep within the throat, a guttural cry followed by a long sigh and then an endless silence”, he’d said. He had witnessed his grandfather die.

“You mean the body for the last time protest death', I had thought about it, ‘ or accepts it”. There must be some plausible explanation that could explain this newfound knowledge

“I’m not sure if it is a form of protestation or an act of acceptance but it is scary”, It was scary because it was no daily occurrence. If death was a normal routine of waking up and brushing our teeth, we’d have gotten used to it. I told him we are afraid not with death but with the question of what happens after death, with the unknown and the unforeseeable. He agreed.

Our body is a flurry of movement when we are alive. Even when we are asleep in our bed or zoned out in our thoughts, we are of blood and nerves and muscles constantly twitching and flowing and spasming, constantly reminding us to wake up, come out and get back to life

Once all movement dies, the body dies. Maybe that’s why the final movement is a protest, a kind of denial for the truth that is approaching in the next second. The body standing up for itself without an armor, the body vulnerable and susceptible to the final shot. Or maybe, it is as simple as acceptance. The body letting itself go, falling back or down a cliff, arms spread like two wasted umbrellas, headed towards an endless silence, towards a long sigh filled with silence. Maybe it is as peaceful as that long drawn sigh

You had eyes that stood out when I was with you. If mine were clouded, it felt as if yours were unnaturally too bright for your face to contain, a kind of pleasant brightness that comes with the sun after a long week of mist and rain. You laughed the same way every girl or child laughed, often and lightly – like wind chimes clinking or wine glass kissing.

And you had followed us around that year, laughing to Chan’s silly banter, every now and then looking at me with your light brown eyes, suddenly deepening like a bucket of paint if I talked to you or looked at you and although I didn’t say it loud, I enjoyed making you blush. I liked how I could look at you and see your shyness, how every time Chan teased you if it was me or him, you’ll laugh and blush but not before your eyes had lingered on mine, a second or so time where your instinct had already betrayed your heart chidings.

It was now a habit for me to look around for you – I’ll watch you arrive at school, knew your friends by now, feel a bit restless if you didn’t sit with us. The day dragged on its slow arms if you were absent.

“You like her?”, Chan had caught me staring at your empty seat one day

I knew he was talking about you.

“Want me to talk to her? I can make it work out for you both you know”, His laughing eyes made me feel uncomfortable, ‘just say the word and it will be done”.

“Shut up”, I punched him playfully.

“Ouch!’, he doubled back with laughter. His other hand massaging my punch

“You like her”.

I liked her. Not "like her" as though it was love and I couldn’t live without her. We were too young to understand love but I liked how I felt when she was with me

†††‡†††

Do you remember Grace?

Winter, just before our vacation, you had asked me to wait for you after school and I had asked Chan to go ahead without waiting for me. You had something behind your back, as if you were too shy to come forward, you had looked at me for a while, undecided, your hesitation as plain as the stillness of your body and the way you stood. I hadn’t liked it then and I had though “No Grace, move. I don’t like you dead”.

I had smiled at you then. More so to assure myself you’ll smile back, more so to know if you were really dead or alive and you’d followed my smile and come nearer, your head under my chin. Then winter wasn’t as warm as now. I had half a mind to wrap my arms around you but I let my arms hang next to my hips because I didn’t know what I’ll do with you or warmth or body, if I was required to close the gap between us by holding you or kissing you

The first time you gave me the parcel, I hesitated. See, someone I once loved had also done the same in this school. I had grown weary of people handing me gifts or envelopes at odd hours and had always thought it was some kind of farewell.

I had hesitated to take it but you nudged my hands open and placed that thing inside my palms. It was as light as your laughter, only this thing was a yellow box with my name written on it, a simple handwriting that had glitters all over it. Did I tell you your laughter took me to places such as the hill I had slept most evenings alone or the skies I had looked up at in which I was a bird headed somewhere to the stars?. In a room full of laughter, I’d recognize yours for the way it wormed itself into my back as if I was a body made of sun and warmth.

We were both awkward now. You, for having shown me your heart and I, for not knowing how to respond to it. You see Grace, I am only half of me. The other half of me is still somewhere lost in the past


“It is my Christmas gift to you’, Christmas was two weeks away but I hadn’t been counting. It was the same as every year in which joy was always as elusive as the carols that filled the air but never our house or our hearts.

I had relaxed then, assured we weren’t saying farewell to each other, for now. Not now.

The wind was cold but I had been warm. I think it was you or the fact you blocked the wind away from me. I didn’t know how to thank you so I only clutched the box, a little too tightly with my hands. If it was you or anyone, you would have asked me to stop because I was hurting you

I had wanted to give you back something but I couldn’t so I only put the box into my bag and held your cold fingers. And like that I held yours until I was sure I’d given you a bit of my warmth

“Won’t you open it to see what’s inside?”, you had asked softly

“Not now. When I get home”, I didn’t know how to open it and not show I cared and so I had not wanted you to see me

“I hope you like it”, you had murmured

I will. I knew I will. It wasn’t the gift Grace. It was something more than the gift

††††★★★★††††



Do you remember Grace?

Christmas night, I had taken you to my hill – a world away from my rage. Then I didn’t tell you I had just fought with Father, that I had kicked the door and punched the wall because he had asked my brother to die or go kill himself. Ron had started drinking now. He said he wanted to go away.

Where?
Anywhere where we didn’t exist.

He hated college or home. Ayo and Father had equally wanted him gone too.

Go anywhere as long as you don’t bring home your troubles.

Ron was breaking apart quickly. The years were taking its toll on him. He wouldn’t turn up for college neither did he like staying home either. He didn’t ask for anything knowing he wouldn’t get any. But he was happy to work in someone’s farm. It gave him something to do and earned him money, just enough to buy himself new clothes or buy alcohol. He was heavily built. Tall and handsome, his labor work made him appear tough

Every evening, he would lurch home and demand that father find him a job. I hated that he wasn’t making our life any easier. In his drunken state, he spoke without caution

“I’ll make you remember for making our life hard”, he would constantly remind Ayo.

If he wasn’t threatening Ayo, he was taunting Father, “You aren’t our father. If you were, you would have placed us first above yours or her happiness”.

It had been the same that Christmas evening too.
Father had been furious and he had asked Ron to kill himself.

I was angry Grace.
You see, no one has the power to play the role of life and death. Father was no God that he could direct my brother to take his life.

A child scorned will come back to bite anyone.
And he was no different. He only gave back the same hate he had been shown. I understood why he wanted to go away. I have often wished I was anywhere but home. Home is so easily a place of death.

You and I had looked at the Christmas light from the hill. This was the best view. So beautiful it could’ve been a dream. If it was, I didn’t want to wake up

Just a while ago, I had told father that it was their fault. Then I had punched the walls because I didn’t know what to do with my anger. But it all seemed unreal now. Here was something, so light it could have been mistaken for happiness. Here was a dream in which the light was so soft it didn’t matter when I took you into my arms and kissed you.

I have known hunger Grace. Both of the heart and the belly. I have known that the former is a hole that cannot be filled and the latter, frothy and acidic but fillable. I kissed you as if I was begging you to help me fill that hole, my tongue hot as the same anger I had tried to keep in – pushing and prodding yours, now one with yours – mild and gentle and warm unlike mine that burned your mouth and your body.

A kiss is a question. I had wanted to know if I was human as I dwelled in your mouth, my one hand balancing your head, the other on your waist. It was sweet, not like some fruit you’d pluck from a tree and eat but sweet as if we were water and waves rolling into itself, calm and cool.

You were sweet. I could taste you. I was human.

Later, we had come up for air and laughed. I had not let you go. I didn’t think I was any better but I didn’t feel any worse either.

“Thank you for the gift’, I had told you then, ‘I liked it very much”.

You were small in my arms. It was as if we belonged to this hill – the light, the kiss, the grasses, the stars. Winter nights are best in the skies. The stars shine with a luminance that’s dazzling. The moon so full we can make out the color of leaves even in the night.

“I’m glad’, you had said simply. I liked you so much in my world then.

“Dad’s getting a transfer next year’, you had a certain sadness in your voice when you told me, ‘I may not be here. I might study where he is headed. Won’t you come with me?”

No. Even if I wanted to. I only hugged you tighter

But you knew, didn’t you? That I couldn’t come with you? You knew I would rather not break my heart by wishing for something that wouldn’t come true?

Grace, life didn’t change when you left. Then we had both aced our board exams. I had enrolled in the same college my brother left but I have always kept your card with me. I never wore the socks you gifted me fearing I’d tear a hole in it and when it was evening I had many times slept on this hill to feel closer to you

The next day you were to leave, we had sat on this hill again.

“I love you”, you had said and held me tightly as if any time now, I’ll disappear from your view.

I hadn’t wanted to answer you. I only planted a kiss on your neck.

Grace, this is just to say when I kissed your neck, I had meant I loved you too. That I had wished I could hold you back from leaving by saying something but I couldn’t keep you back with a love I didn’t know how to keep


I love you
Amen






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