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Literature, Short Stories

They are playing your song mama

They are playing your song; it sounds better than it did in your car. I am smiling and tearing up at the same time. It’s been 3 years; I still don’t like starting pity parties. But I miss you so much. I have to stop myself from thinking about you, because when I do, I get a lump in my throat, and it seems like the world expects that I should be fine with everything by now. It also feels like I am wallowing and I know you would tell me to shape up.

The melody sounds soooo sweet; I can’t stop thinking of how you would speak over the song telling me the same story as you were a few months before. I am reminded of our brief chats, me with my unorthodox view of the world and you with your short and bitter sweet words. Never knew I’d be so desperate to hear them one more time. I never knew just how important it was to have someone who can tell you the worst truth and you wouldn’t need to question their intention.

The lyrics are so much clearer now, but that’s about it since you passed. All else is blurry, uncertainty, not sure where to or not to step. Life is one big second guess, forced to see things for what they are and people for who they really are – some days its life and some other days its why me Lord?

I wish the hook could be on repeat, just the hook, like a bad habit that you won’t stop. Speaking of bad habits, I started drinking when you passed. I haven’t been able to put the bottle down. I was angry at the world; Gadi got the worst of it. I pulled away from everyone so much and buried myself in work, and now all these habits I used to escape seem to have defined me, I don’t know how to stop. Lwandle needs his dad but all Lwandle’s dad wants to do is work around the clock and drink. I am scared.

This beat goes in. I can still see you tapping your pretty fingers, with long nails on the steering wheel as this part of the song plays. I was shying away from manhood when you passed on, and now that I’ve had to look it in the face; I know I am giving it a hell of a fight. With that said, there are so many things I needed from you still. You taught me independence and I appreciate it, but there were so many things I needed still.

The short break before the chorus, making everyone jerk as the beat drops back in. your death broke a few people apart. Pinky spoke about you till the day she passed on. She loved you. You seemed to give so many people a belonging, a meaning and a solace. It’s been like a terrible dream. I have stopped dreaming about you, except I didn’t want those dreams to stop.

The Chorus is playing now, and everyone is singing with me, but only I would understand why I am teary and in a tranche. I look at them sometimes and think if only they understood just how lucky they are because they still have their moms; that one true source of unconditional love. Linda’s mom asked me: “Whose mom is supposed to die, who wants to lose their mother?” it was the realest thing anyone had said to me at that moment of darkness.

The final verse, I am the only one who knows all the words. I am the only one who is still singing. They all just realised what is happening with me. That it’s not just a song I like, or just me showing off knowing the lyrics. I am in a tranche and they’re about to start looking at me like a limping puppy. I have hated that look since the day you passed on.

The Outro is playing, the song is about to end. Except I don’t want it to end, I want it to be taken to the beginning, I want to experience it all again. I want to have another shot at it. At this stage of things you only get what you don’t want, and I don’t want hugs, and shoulder rubs, I don’t want consolations or words of wisdom, at this point I just want you back, but I guess between then and now I am going to have to wash down this lump on my throat and sing on.

They were playing your song mama…

Image: Pixabay


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