At first, it is only but just a news.
For the room they slept in still smells of them
Their dirty clothes still stack at the laundry basket, the one they talked about laundering. And their best clothes still hangs in the wardrobe, the one they said they will wear for the special occasion y'all was anticipating.
Their documents still intact, only that this time there handwriting, the strokes and curves of ink on paper by their hands now spell different meanings to you. But it is still the same thing, same meanings, same tone, same writing.
And their updates on social media is still same. You peruse each post like a girl checking out the new man that's asking her out, you read in between the lines, your eyes peers the screen as though to smash through it, through the word and get the essence of what they are saying, were saying. To find something. Anything. But there's nothing to find, there's nothing in the post. Just what they felt as at when they made the post and the words they chose to string together their thoughts.
And their phone still remains same, the network provider doesn't bar the line. It's still connecting and if you send a Dm or an SMS it will go through to their phone. Only that...... It wouldn't be them replying anything. Maybe this is when it starts dawning on your heart. You wait for those dots to pop out showing they're typing but it isn't coming up anytime soon, now or forever. And you just wish they pick their phone themselves but there's this finality in the ring back sounds. The finality of the person who always picked and start that funny reply won't anymore, but you call anyway. Hoping.
And their sandals are still there, their shoes, bags, favorite item, restricted item. You look at them and they silently mourn, their colors no matter how bright becomes dim bright, though they are there what makes them bright just left!
And their body is still with you. You stare at the new emptiness called them, carefully perusing their body recalling memories. How their mouth once moved when they talked, how they batted their eye lids, how their hands caressed you, spank you, or patted you depending on what you both shared whilst they existed. And you can only stare, grab them. In fact they are there in their fullness bodily, but the them in them, the them that once loved, screamed, hated, smiled, commended, laughed has gone. Yeah they go leaving behind everything!
And your imagination becomes all you have, what they would do. How they would have fitted this shoe, clothe, critique the pictures or hiss about societal ills. But well, you only think that!
But all these doesn't really make you feel an absence of them. Because their empty shoes and hanging clothes can also mean they travelled abroad and they will return, and fill them. And everything will return to normal, and yes you feel they went to another state, and if you felt them so bad you'll just branch the mortuary, tip the guard and have them draw them out for you, even though they now are stiff but at least their presence, staying with them. Or whatever is left of them. Until that fine morning, the blast of the siren, the ambulance resembles an unwanted visitor, the one you badly want to drive out, that unwanted visitor in itself meant no harm, but what they carry!
And when you set you eyes on that thing after that barring transparent screen, something begins to settle in your heart. But you fight so hard. To push it off, at least they came home. They came home. So the funeral procession looks like a home coming party, you're comfortable, serving meals, gisting, laughing and being you because your heart seems to say "oh they are outside, or inside, but they are around" only at the graveside are you forced into a blanket of cold reality. They didn't take a trip, they died!
Chines Zoe!
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