Two decades. That’s twenty years. That’s me.

I am 8, she is blind. Doctors can’t find any medical errors that would cause blindness in her body but that doesn’t stop him he keeps on going back and forth, getting this laser surgery, consulting that doctor, getting those pills – she drinks seven pills twice a day – he has faith. It is worse now she can’t see any type of illumination but that doesn’t stop her she creates a blueprint of the house, she starts examining appliances in the kitchen, she even starts cooking.

It is December. She is in hospital. Her sister is here helping him but she is especially here for her. The weather is sunny, beautiful and peaceful – the type of weather that makes you want to grab a blanket and lay under a tree, with your eyes closed, listening to the tranquil sounds of leaves shaking to the soft warm breeze that lightly massages your cheeks as if to kiss you like a shy debutant kissing her suitor for the first time, the type of weather that allows souls to float peacefully – she’s watching television. He’s in the shower. His phone rings, she runs to answer. It’s a white lady, she sounds awkward. She calls again. He steps out of the bathroom with tears in his eyes, he answers. “She’s gone. Mamma is gone, Juju”. Everything’s blank, she sees nothing she hears nothing. She finally opens her eyes and sees tears on the clothes, she can smell her everywhere. The smell makes her sick to her heart. She looks at the wall and sees a calendar, the date is December 22. “Would you look at that Christmas is in three days, I guess Santa Clause delivered my present early”

“She died peacefully” (they said), “she just slept and never woke up… painless” (they said) but that was all pity, stupid shallow sympathy. How can someone who died at the hands of green, vile jealousy die a peaceful death? Someone who was robbed from their 70 years?

How could you? You call yourself her friend, now she’s dead because of your evil heart. Tell me, how did it feel putting your muti under her desk? Did you even think about him? About her?  No curse on earth is evil enough to destroy you, no jail traumatizing enough to kill you and no hell hot enough to burn you – I bet Santa Clause got you a new phone.

One decade. That’s ten years. That’s me.

I can’t remember her voice. I can remember her hair, her smile, her face, her hands, her eyes. But I can’t remember her voice – love sounds so better when it has a voice. Now I don’t have the ability to remember what I had all I know is what I will never have. I will never have a phone number to call when I need to complain about a boy and ask for money. I will never have her to thank for bringing me to life at my graduation. I will never get to feel to her unconditional love, that close to the soul love… that “emotionally no one should be able to survive without it” love.

I might be twenty but I will forever be ten, because when I was ten that was the last time I heard her voice.

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