A PLACE WHERE THE SUN SHINES

The worn green sofa groaned under her weight as she plunked herself down on it. She switches on the TV, lowered the volume, and dialled her mother’s number. It was answered on the second ring.

“Hello” her mother breathed into the receiver

“Hi Mum, I called as soon as I could”

“You were supposed to call half an hour ago”

“I know.” I exhaled heavily. “I just got back from work. I called immediately”

“You got a job already? Does it pay enough?”

“It is alright. It provides food and shelter, also enough to put him in day care.”

There was a long silence, then a shuffling. She sniffed, moved what I assumed is the small coffee table, and gave a half cough.

“I told you what to do. Give it away and save yourself this…this…”.Her voice trailed off. “You never listen to me”

“Maybe that is one thing I took from you Ma” I managed a stiff smile

It has been long I have smiled let alone laugh. The happiest times had been the times I spent with my brother. The long walk to and from school, the times we dressed up as musicians, just being silly. We had the luxury to be silly. When we felt the pangs of hunger, we would go pluck fruits from the trees scattered at the back of the house. We had no neighbours to share it with. It was a lone shack.

“You should find a church. You should serve the Lord”

“How…how can you even say that now? At this time.” I gasped

“You should. You need it”

“I probably do…I probably do”

I could hear the creak of the chair as she rocked back and forth in it. I could just see her draw an invisible circle with her index finger on her thigh. I knew that gesture like the back of my hand. That was how I saw her when the cat died, when he cheated on her with the milk lady, when the doctor diagnosed her with splenic and liver trauma. Several times I saw her rocking on that old creaky chair, with a black eye or a swollen joint. Rocking on that chair was how I found her, when she discovered that he got knocked down by a drunken trucker, the night he tried to run away. He always got hit more often. “Be a man!” He’d growl. We had always imagined running away to a place where the sun shone and the air was clean, but we never had the guts to try.

On a night when the moon was out, he had crawled into my room from the sitting room, where he normally slept, on the dingy couch. Though I had a strange feeling that night, I didn’t know why. He told me the story of the boy who travelled around the world in search of a healing flower for his sick mother, it was my favourite story. He sat on the edge of the bed, he combed my hair and he tucked me in. He was still there when my heavy eyelids gave up, and that was the last time I saw him.

“Last Sunday, the pastor spoke about-”

I sighed heavily, “I can’t do this anymore Ma”, I yelled. Or I thought I did, it happened I had just whispered.

“What was that?” The rocking stopped

“I ca-can’t…” I could barely get the words past my suddenly croaky throat. The last time I spoke back, I couldn’t sleep on my back for days. I had to wear loose dresses.

Years of my childhood flashed past me. The uncertainty of tomorrow, or of even the next hour.  The denial, the pretence. Sometimes, I am happy he died, if only he did peacefully in his sleep.  The town gave us nothing and took the little we had. The dreary house, the gritty smell of smoke and beer. Light barely came in, immersing the rooms in gloom. I’d curl up on my bed at night, and stare hard at the door, wishing it would stay close, not daring to take my eyes off lest it flew open, crashing against the wall in a drunken rage.

A cat shrieked in the hall way. It jeered me back from my reverie.

“I can’t do this anymore!” I shouted, louder than I intended.

“You put yourself up for this. Lay in the bed you made. If only you didn’t sleep around like you did.”

The phone shook in my hand, and I felt blood run through to my arms and legs. I thought I’d burst open.

“You know I didn’t! You know what happened!! You know what he did!!!”

“I have to go now. Remember, call me on Fridays, at 6 in the evening. Not later, not earlier.”

“What are you hiding from?! I have got nothing to hide.” My voice shook. “Why won’t you just open your eyes and see?! Why won’t you stop denying?! He did it!”

“I need to go prepare dinner.” She ignored the question. “He has been out all day to earn a living.”

The baby gave a whimper in the basket by the wall where he slept, in the one room we lived in. I walked to him, and the amazing semblance dawned on me. The memories of the laughter I had with my brother came rushing back, and I realized why I couldn’t let him go even considering the circumstances in which he came to birth. He is what I have left of my brother. What I have left of the pleasant memories, how very few they were. He clutched my thumb in his finger and a smile spread all over my face.  I looked at the shabby room, the cracked and peeling wall paint, the worn chairs, the rotten cupboard, and most of all, the sun shone through the rusty windows.

“I’ll never call again,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “I’ll never visit. You’ll never see me again”

“I need to make dinner.” She said again.

I heard a sob, but it was too late for pity. I spent my whole childhood doing that, trying so hard to understand why. Now I’ll only love myself, my life… what is left of it.

“Bye.”