Tears in Heaven-Eric Clapton.
Baadaye-Amos and Josh ft King Kaka

1.//She wasn't sugar, she wouldn't melt.

Waridi.

A free fall. She was falling faster than she could break the fall. Her eyes were closed and arms thrust instinctively in front of her, she shielded her eyes and covered her head. She could feel the vehicle bouncing from rock to rock, the sickening crunch of someone's bones breaking, whose, she couldn't tell.

She wished with all of her might that she could be somewhere else, anywhere, just not where she currently was. Finally, it stopped the bouncing, the screams, the crunch of breaking bones, and the breathing.

Dragging herself across the lawn, blood staining the green grass a sickly reddish-orange, copper, the metallic scent of acrid blood tainting the air around her. She laid a short distance away the car exploding and burning, sending the black smoke spiraling upwards, staining the clean air. Perhaps sending a signal for help...

She smelt oil and burnt flesh, putrid, the smell choking her, and the sound from breaking glass, deafening, shattering her ears.

                                        ***

Waridi woke up on the floor, a film of sweat covered her, blankets on the floor beside her, thrown carelessly, and sheets ruffled, clearly, a sign she was having that nightmare again, the one she couldn't remember. She craved fresh air, and the windows in her room were covered in thick, red, velvet curtains...

Standing up slowly, she entered into the ensuite and poured ice-cold water on her face. Maybe to wake her up, or startle her existence just to remember what it was she had been dreaming about. She looked at her reflection in the mirror above... and she just looked like... her, nothing looked different, but it felt different. Her phone lit up with a notification, and her eyes passed over the time, 4:30 a.m.

She went downstairs to the kitchen, just to find something to occupy her hands with. Slowly, quietly, careful not to wake up the sleeping household. The whole house had been carefully set up, a project of her parents, but she knew it like the back of her hand, and that was a good thing. She could go through it without having to switch on the lights. Her mother had done the interior designing of this house with the same meticulous diligence and precision she did everything. She loved perfection, not in the obsessed bad kind of way but in a good way. Sometimes bordering into OCD tendencies.

Her parents had both been acclaimed architects, a firm of their own and even though it was a partnership with some friends, they still had a higher claim with both of their shares combined. Not everyone had been happy about that and they still were not, seeing that they wanted her voted her out of the board, once her parents passed away.

Honestly, she never really wanted to be on the board of an architectural firm. She had just inherited both her parent's shares making her the biggest shareholder in that firm, therefore automatically becoming chairperson of that board. She did that as a way of keeping her parents legacy alive. That's what they would have wanted for her, but sometimes, she wanted to know if they would have wanted her to follow her own dreams, to become a lawyer just like she'd always wanted.

For some reason, she knew sleep would elude her for the rest of the night. She rose on tiptoes, barely reaching the porcelain cup in a higher cupboard, feeling the onset of a migraine. Her system needed some tea, maybe it would calm her down a little. It was small, white, and gold-rimmed, her mother's set, they always seemed to remind her of her mother. She always wanted the best and the cup she was holding screamed elegance and class at its best.

Looking at it, suddenly the need for tea vanished, she did not want to be around anything that reminded her of her grief.  She was just almost getting over it, anytime she thought about it, it tore her heart apart, making her feel the pain, down to the roots of her very own existence.

Grabbing a paper cup, she filled it with water, turned on her heels, and fled back to her room. At least the paper cup wasn't going to remind her of anyone.

Sitting on the chaise lounge in front of the window, she opened the curtains and the windows wide. The cold air soothing the nausea she had felt coming, away.

She gritted her teeth, agitation sinking in, she had to make a decision. Fight for what her parents left behind, their legacy, and everything they had worked so hard for or follow her own dreams. The sky didn't look like it wanted to answer her. It was a clear night, and stars grazed it lightly like they had nothing better to do, godamn, was she also angry at the stars, just because they did not go through the same thing she did.

Clenching and unclenching her fists, she stared into the city down below, it looked beautiful and kind of calming, at least she wasn't angry at one thing.

They say they are different ways of how different people dealt with grief, that not everyone cries, but the people who do should be allowed to and other people don't deal with it at all, this was the group she belonged to. Sure she had gone through the immediate phase of grief, her appetite had decreased, to the point of not eating anything at all, she always had this pain in her chest that wouldn't go away.

Her thought patterns were irregular but always strayed to the fact that she hadn't said goodbye, there hadn't been enough time to, always thinking that maybe, just maybe if everything had been different that day, if anything would have delayed traveling that day, she would have taken it.

Then stress settled in... She had so many things to do, so many things to settle, but did she even have the courage to do it. She had wished for the responsibility to be taken away, or at least to be cut in half.

The thought of socializing always brought her dizziness. She simply did not want to be around anyone. No one understood her, all they seemed to say was sorry, she wished they'd ask what she'd like instead of thinking they knew what she wanted. She wished someone would buy a box of tissues and place them in her room silently, without saying anything.

Everyone she met up with seemed to have moved on so fast, granted it was six months already, and it wasn't their parents, but she was angry at them for not seeing the hurt she was feeling. She felt as though it was a betrayal to her and the memory of her parents. Everywhere she turned, there was something reminding her of them...a scent, a name, a band or a program on t.v she just couldn't live past it.

She felt like she hadn't been given enough time to grieve, but she had to make a decision, and she had to make it fast... The shoes were too big to step into, but there was no one else to do it but her. If she wanted to keep everything her parents had, she was going to have to do it. She was going to have to be strong. She was going to have to be brave.

She sat there by the window, watching the sky morph from a midnight blue and a chilly cold to a bright blue and the golden orange of the hot, rising sun. Somehow that's how she felt, warmer, stronger to face all of her fears. It filled her with resolve, the kind she hadn't felt in a long time.

With a determined gait and an added spring to her step, she proceeded her way to the bathroom, to bathe, to start her day. Even though sleep had eluded her the previous night, she had never felt so refreshed for the longest time. She watched the steam rise up and fill the glass compartment in her bathroom with ease. She wished for that fluidity, to have the ability to do something without thinking about it, without having to consider other possibilities or worse the consequences.

Pushing clothes aside, she tried to decide on what to wear on her first day of office. She wanted to be taken seriously but not harsh either.

Architecture was mainly a male-dominated field, and she did not want anyone to feel out of place with her dressing but she also did not want people to think of her in a sexual way. She settled on a navy pantsuit since she was too careful to choose anything colorful, cropped at the ankles, it gave her an illusion of being chic, but still powerful enough at the same time. The teal blue silk blouse she'd chosen would work, added color to her ensemble, after all, she knew she needed it in her life. Her make up was impeccable, barely there, that was how it was for women out there, always having to prove a point, always having to work twice as hard. She hoped the black patent leather heels she wore, thanking her stars that at least they did not have a red bottom or God forbid look sexual in any way.

Her hair was wild, had always been that way since childhood. That morning, she tried her very best to contain it, generously applying gel to try and make it appear professional enough. Tying a black hair tie to it and adding a scarf for extra measure. She felt it pulling at her scarf, almost to the point of setting off an induced headache.

Pouring coffee on a styrofoam cup, she made her way outside and found her driver patiently waiting for her. Of course, she had notified him to be ready, because, for the last six months, she hadn't ventured outside much, preferring to the silence and solace of the indoors. If he was surprised, he masked it well.

"Do you want Kahawa," she asked her driver ready to fetch another cup for him since it was ready.

"No ma'am," he shook his head, holding an umbrella over her head and her door open.

Rain is just confetti from the sky, they said, but sitting that car, gazing at it, only served to make her anxious, but she wasn't sugar, so she wasn't going to melt either.

"Can we pass by the place we usually go to before going to the office," she added tapping him on the shoulder.

He already knew what she meant, the graveyard where her beloved parents lay, cold. It was the only place she had only ever gone to, the past few months. She needed the comfort she needed someone to tell her what to do, she needed to listen to her heart, but even that needed a little direction.

*Waridi is a Swahili name meaning rose.
*Kahawa is a Swahili word for coffee like you all must have guessed already.

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