She Fell

 

She fell. She fell? What is the big deal if she fell? People fall all the time, plus Sarah has always been a klutz. She usually found ways to break things or soil the carpets or get herself on the ground. Why is aunty Kemi telling me in such a sombre manner that my friend fell, why is the air dense, and why is the house too quiet?

I am not sure what an appropriate response to, "your friend fell" is, so I give a disoriented smile and say I would warn Sarah to be more careful. 

As I make to leave the massive living room for Sarah's room, Aunty Kemi holds me back. She is blinking rapidly but I see it; a lone tear making it's way to the edge of her rounded chin.

Then there is silence. The wurrrrrriwurri of the welder's tools sound in the distance as if to further bare the quietness, making the wholeness of her existence more apparent. 

Something is wrong. I can sense it from the way Aunty Kemi doesn't even try to hold the tears back anymore and has broken into loud sobs and sister Mimi rushes to her side to comfort her.

" Was it a terrible fall? Is she in the hospital? Can I see her now?", there is a knot in my belly already. The kind of twisty knot that was there every time a teacher reached my side with a wooden cane.

Aunty Kemi doesn't look up to answer my questions, she mumbles something. It is after a few 'eh's that she yells, shocking me, "Your friend is dead! She fell from the balcony! She hit her head! My daughter is gone!"

It takes a few minutes for this new information to sink in. Sarah is dead. Sarah is dead! The realization send waves all over my body and I jerk forward, like I had been hit from behind by something very hard. Sarah is dead, I whisper.

Sister Mimi takes over the talking from here to give a proper narration of what had happened. She was alone in the house, she must have sat on the railings that separated the balcony on the second floor from the rest of the world and fallen while she was dozing off. 

They think that is what happened because there were dried drool marks on the notebook she was writing on. I'm wheezing while she narrates the story.

She had died on Tuesday this week. That Tuesday was the day before my school had vacated. I thought hard for any bizarre signs I might have seen on that day but I don't remember any. On Tuesday I was very excited about the school year that just ended, I had even attended the socials party organised for the students. I had been dancing while my best friend was dying. How did I not get the memo? How did I not feel that something was wrong? No warning, no premonition, Sarah just tip toed out of the world and as the terrible friend I was, I had no idea until today, this Friday evening after barging to her house in hot anger to query her for not coming to my house to give me a welcome visit.

I tell aunty Kemi and Mimi that I am sorry and I have to go. I am trembling as I make my way to the gate. There are no tears until I reach the tarred road. Even the sun decides to punish me and is burning with fury and my tears resemble sweat. I sob quietly in anger. Anger at my mother for not letting me know earlier, anger at the fact that they had left Sarah home all alone and the most anger at myself for not feeling or seeing or knowing the way people felt or saw or knew when their loved ones were in danger or hurting—or dying.

I take off my sandals and hold them in my hands. Sarah once took off her sandals and walked barefoot with me when mine got spoiled so that I didn't have to look weird alone. That was years ago in primary school, when our schools were still the same. She had been my best friend since then, till Tuesday.

The heat on the asphalt is burning my heel but I do not mind. I wonder instead if Sarah is in heaven or hell, if things would have been different if I hadn't chosen to go to Queen's college and remained a day student; surely if I wasn't in the boarding school at that time, I would have been in her house and she wouldn't have been alone to die, or was this God punishing me for not praying hard enough and disobeying a few commandments? In every way I think about this situation, I am at fault, so I stand on the tarred road longer, accepting the pain the jagged surface of the road is inflicting on my bare feet and I cry and cry and cry.

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Author's note: In the creative writing community that I belong to, we all had to write about our reaction to a close friend's death. This has to be one of the most vulnerable things I have ever written. Grief hits all of us differently, and sometimes, just when you think you have healed, the hurt creeps up again. It never really goes away, but it gets better. You may be scarred but you will heal, you will stop blaming yourself and you would continue the journey. Love and light!

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P.S what does "love and light" even mean? I see it as one of those things people say when they empathize with you but just don't know the right things to say. What does "love and light" mean to you?

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