CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ONE
Your SOS
“Hey!”
A
hand came to rest gently on my shoulder. I looked up, and before I could see
who it was, the person had already moved around me and slipped into the seat
beside me. Then I found myself looking into Joy’s bright, happy eyes. She
smiled at me, the kind of smile that should warm me up, but I only found myself
frowning.
“Hey!”
I replied dryly, barely giving her a glance before turning my eyes back to the
garden, which opened into a wide terrace, where round tables had been dressed
in white linen and scattered with candles that would glow once the sun began to
disappear. This was one of those afternoons in Paris when the weather seemed to
have made an effort.
The
sky was pale blue, almost cloudless, and the sunlight fell softly over
everything, warming the trees surrounding the garden. Somewhere beyond the
trees, I could hear the faint sounds of the city. A string quartet played
somewhere near the entrance, their music drifting lazily through the air.
Guests
stood in small groups, dressed in suits and flowing dresses, their voices
blending with the occasional burst of laughter. Waiters moved quietly between
them with trays of champagne, while the scent of freshly cut grass mixed with
roses and the faint sweetness of the flowers arranged along the tables.
This
was beautiful, painfully beautiful.
Everything
looked good, felt light and alive, but I sat down in the middle of this
heavenly wedding and had never felt more alone. This was supposed to give me
joy. I was supposed to find joy in this. I was surrounded by beautiful things,
by people laughing and celebrating, by the kind of happiness I had once been
able to recognize without trying, but why do I still feel empty?
A
hand touched my arm, and I flinched so violently that I nearly jumped out of my
seat.
“Hey!”
Joy exclaimed.
“What?”
She stared at me, clearly taken aback by my reaction.
“I
was just asking how you are doing?” she clarified, her voice softened now.
“We
don’t have to talk, Joy.” I looked away. “I know you don’t want me here, but I
promise you that the moment Marcus is ready to leave, I will be out of your
hair.” She looked at me strangely, as though she genuinely had no idea what I
was talking about.
“Of
course, I want you here. Why would you say that?”
I
let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that you told
Marcus that I was a loaded cannon that you don’t want imploding in your home.”
“Ahh!”
she exclaimed, as though the memory had only just returned to her.
“Yes.”
I turned to her. “You told Marcus to abandon me and that what I needed was
professional help while in the lovely embrace of my family because I don’t
deserve yours.”
“That
was months ago. I was mad.”
“About
what exactly?” I questioned, my voice sharper than I intended.
“I…I
mean…” she stuttered.
“You
mean the fact that I won’t leave my husband for Marcus made you mad?” I spoke
loudly, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “The man I loved and, in
his own twisted way, loved me back, the fact that I won’t cheat on him and
divorce him made you angry, was that it?”
“Now,
when you put it like that, you make me sound unreasonable.” Joy shifted in her
seat. “And in my defense, you hurt Marcus. He was heartbroken.” She almost
looked proud of herself for having an explanation.
“In
case you didn’t know, he has moved on. His dilemma was not forever, but mine
is.” I watched her confidence deflate, but I didn’t care. “I lost my baby. I
had so many things planned for her, but she never got to take her first breath.
I was in hell, my personal hell, Joy. So tell me, who needed your support more,
Marcus or I?” She lowered her eyes, and for a moment, she said nothing.
“We
didn’t…” She stopped, took a breath, and looked at me. “I didn’t handle the
situation well. I let my issues with you cloud my judgment. I am so sorry for
your losses, Bewaji, and I am so happy you got professional help. You look
better,” she uttered, her voice losing its earlier defensiveness.
I
sighed heavily and rested back in my chair.
“What
is it?”
“I
look better, but I don’t feel better.”
“Give
it time. I promise you will feel better.”
I
scoffed. “Time is really becoming my enemy.” I don’t know why I am telling her
this because I know she does not like me, but what the hell.
“They
say time fixes everything, but I don’t want time to fix me.” I stared at the
floor, my fingers twisting tightly together until my knuckles began to ache. “I
just want to forget.” Joy said nothing.
“Just
for an hour,” I continued, my voice growing smaller. “Hell, I’ll take five
minutes. Five minutes where I don’t have to feel this.” I pressed a trembling
hand against my chest. “This… this soul-crushing weight sitting right here. I
would give five minutes of not feeling this soul-crushing ball in my chest.”
She remained quiet for a moment, watching me with an expression I couldn’t
quite read.
“Did
you tell your doctor?”
“Yes.”
“And
what was her advice to you?”
I
let out a humorless breath. “She told me I need to live my life. To start doing
the things I used to love. Things that make me feel like myself again.” For a
few seconds, Joy simply stared at me, and then, almost as if a switch had been
flipped, her face brightened.
“Why
didn’t you say so earlier?” She suddenly sprang to her feet, and I looked up at
her in confusion. “Let’s get you on stage.” She gestured toward the stage.
“What?”
I blinked.
“We
are performing, and that was why I went a little overboard with the suits and
dresses, so, let’s get you on stage to do what you love?” She turned and
started walking away as though the decision had already been made. After a few
steps, she noticed the silence behind her. She stopped and looked back at me.
“What
is the problem?”
“I
am sorry, I am not going on stage.” Joy sighed and walked back.
“Why
not?” She studied me for a moment before moving closer.
“Because
I am not ready.”
“I
thought you said you want some joy, right?”
“Yeah,
but I am not going to get that by embarrassing myself on the stage.”
“Why
do you think you would embarrass yourself? You love music.” Her voice softened.
“Yes,
I do.” I swallowed, trying to keep myself together. “But all music does for me
nowadays is make me bawl my eyes out.”
“Then
cry.”
“Excuse
me!” I retorted. Joy sighed lightly and moved closer to me.
“Music
is an expression. It allows you to express what you are feeling. Singers all
over the world write and sing based on what they are feeling. Sometimes, music
makes you feel excited, elated, like you’re floating on a cloud. And sometimes,
it crushes you, maybe even almost breaks your soul, but most importantly, it
heals. It helps you confront the feelings you don’t want to confront.” I gave
her a skeptical look.
“Other
than the ones that I really confronted in therapy?”
“Yes,”
she replied without hesitation. “Other than what you confronted in therapy.” I
stared at her.
“See,
therapy isn’t the solution to your grief and I am telling you this as a doctor myself. I mean, if it were, why would people
still be prescribed medication even when they’re seeing a therapist?” She
paused, choosing her words carefully. “I’m sure there have been times you’ve
walked out of therapy feeling worse than when you walked in.” I lowered my
gaze.
“Therapy
is a guide,” she continued. “It helps you understand your feelings, put a name
to them, understand where they’re coming from, accept that you’re hurting, and
figure out what you can do to start feeling better. And honestly, I think your
therapist is doing a fantastic job with you.” She held my hand. “But therapy
can only take you so far. At some point, you have to do the things you’ve been
guided to do. You have to allow yourself to heal.”
I
swallowed, my chest tightening.
“If
music makes you cry, then maybe there’s still something inside you that needs
to be cried out. And that’s okay. You’re angry. You’re grieving. You’re
hurting. You’re in agony, and you’re sad.” Her voice softened while her thumb
gently brushed over the back of my hand. “So why not put all those feelings
into music?”
I
shook my head slightly.
“Pour
your sorrow into the music, throw your anger into it. The pain, the loneliness,
the questions you don’t have answers to—put all of it into the music and let it
flow through you.” She squeezed my hand. “And I promise you, that joy you’re
desperately searching for…” She smiled faintly. “You might find it somewhere in
the middle of all that pain.”
I
took a shaky breath.
“So,”
she asked softly, “what do you say?” I looked at her, my expression uncertain.
Every
part of me was screaming, I’m not ready.
I
wasn’t ready to stand beneath those lights. I wasn’t ready to hear the music. I
wasn’t ready to let strangers see the depths of anguish I had been buried in
for months, anguish I had spent months trying to hide. Joy stood and pulled me
to my feet.
“Come
on.” She encouraged me with a bright smile on her face, but I abruptly yanked
my hand away from hers before we took a step.
“I—I
can’t.” The words came out barely audible. She turned toward me.
I
shook my head, fighting the tears that had already begun to gather in my eyes.
“I’m
sorry, Joy. I really can’t.”
“Bewaji.”
“If
I go on that stage and do what you are asking me to do, I will break down.”
“Then
break down!”
“I
won’t!” I snapped, louder than I intended, and the words echoed through the
room. A few people nearby turned to look at us. I immediately lowered my voice,
suddenly conscious of all the eyes on me.
“Today
is the happiest day of your sister’s wedding, and I know that because mine was
the happiest day of my life. If I go on that stage and I break down, it is not
going to be a lovely sight. People came here to celebrate your sister. They
came to watch her begin her life with the person she loves. They didn’t come
here to watch me fall apart.” I quickly wiped away the tears that fell down my
eyes.
“I
am not about to drag your sister into my agony.”
“She
will understand.”
“Maybe.”
I shook my head. “But no. No one deserves to feel the way I am feeling right
now. I understand what you are trying to do, I really do, and I appreciate your
help. I even forgive you for all the crappy ways you treated me, but I won’t
ruin your sister’s wedding.” A faint, bitter smile tugged at my lips.
Joy
stared at me for a long moment. Without another word, she turned and walked
away. That was Joy, always throwing a tantrum whenever things didn’t go her
way. Then, I watched her approach her sister and the groom. She said something
to them, gesturing in my direction.
They
both looked at me. There was something in their expressions that made my
stomach twist—pity, sadness, maybe even understanding. Then they nodded.
What
was she doing?
Joy
left them and walked toward Marcus and the others. She spoke to them too. One
by one, they looked in my direction with changed expressions. Then they nodded
before making their way toward the stage.
I
frowned.
What
was happening?
I
watched as Adebayo picked up the guitar and settled it against his body. Abdul
moved behind the piano and began adjusting the microphone. Lucia, Marcus’s
date, and Fatima took their places in front of the backup microphones. My heart
began to beat faster as I watched Marcus walk over to the drum set and take his
seat. I stared at him. He caught my eye for the briefest moment. He looked at
me with the same look he always gave me.
Understanding!
Joy
stepped toward the main microphone and blew gently into it, testing the sound.
A soft thump echoed through the speakers.
“Hello,
everyone,” she greeted.
“Hello!”
everyone chanted back. The response filled the room, followed by a few
scattered laughs and cheers. Joy waited until the room settled. “Today is a
happy day. We’re here to celebrate the love between my sister and her wonderful
husband.” She smiled toward the newlyweds, and everyone applauded.
“But,”
she continued, her voice becoming softer, “there are people among us who may
not be feeling as happy as the rest of us.” I froze.
Oh
God!
Please,
Joy, don’t do this.
“I
would like us to take a few minutes to remind those people that even in the
darkest moments of their lives, there are still things worth being grateful
for. There are still reasons to hold on to hope. There is still love around
them.” Then she looked directly at me. “This is for you, Bewa.”
No,
it isn’t. I don’t need this. I just wish for the floor to open beneath me and
swallow me whole. Then I heard it, the soft, gentle notes of the piano drifting
through the room. Adebayo joined a second later, his guitar blending seamlessly
with Abdul’s melody. My breath caught. I knew that sound. I knew exactly where
this was going. I shook my head again, but Joy had already begun to sing, and
somehow, the first note went straight through me.
You are not hidden
There's never been a moment you were forgotten
You are not hopeless
Though you have been broken, your innocence stolen
I hear you whisper underneath your breath
I hear your SOS, your SOS
I will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
It's true, I will rescue you
I couldn't move. I couldn't look away. I couldn't even seem
to remember how to breathe. It was as though each word had reached through the
noise around me and pinned me in place. My fingers tightened around each other,
my feet rooted to the floor as I stared at Joy.
There is no distance
That cannot be covered over and over
You're not defenseless
I'll be your shelter, I'll be your armor
I hear you whisper underneath your breath
I hear your SOS, your SOS
I will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
It's true, I will rescue you
I will never stop marching to reach you
In the middle of the hardest fight
It's true, I will rescue you
I hear the whisper underneath your breath
I hear you whisper you have nothing left
I will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
It's true, I will rescue you
I will never stop marching to reach you
In the middle of the hardest fight
It's true, I will rescue you
Oh, I will
rescue you
I
remained exactly where I was, unable to move. I wanted to leave. I wanted to
tell Joy to stop. I wanted to turn around and walk away from all of it, but my
feet wouldn't move.
I
want to believe.
I
want to believe every word they are saying. Some small, exhausted part of me
wanted to believe it so badly. But wanting to believe something didn't make it
true. I kept my eyes on Joy as she sang, as though she knew exactly what I was
thinking.
How
can they rescue me?
“Will
you come on now?” she said after she finished singing, but I was stuck, and I
remained caught between disbelief and longing, between the desperate need to
escape and the terrifying possibility that maybe I didn't have to do this
alone.
“It’s
okay,” she said into the microphone, her voice gentle enough that it somehow
felt like she was speaking only to me. “Just know, I’ll stand here and continue
singing until you come on stage.” Then she turned toward the others and leaned
closer, whispering something to them.
A
moment later, the tempo of the music changed. The piano shifted first, followed
by the soft strumming of the guitar. Marcus adjusted himself behind the drums,
and the others exchanged knowing glances.
For he has stolen all, all of the good that you had
All the things you loved and was sure of
And I have given less, oh, oh, than you deserve
For I should rebuild this broken heart
And darling, when your feet are cold
Wait up, I'm coming home
And all of you, I will hold
My love will clothe your bones
Ooh, ooh
My love will clothe your bones
Ooh, ooh
My love will clothe your bones
A stranger to your shield, you had let the devil in
Basking in the depth of your surrender
The king of all you had won't let your fear go
But when you close your eyes, may you remember
And darling, when your feet are cold
Wait up, I'm coming home
And all of you, I will hold
My love will clothe your bones
Ooh, ooh
My love will clothe your bones
Ooh, ooh
My love will clothe your bones
And darling, when your feet are cold
Wait up, I'm coming home
And all of you, I will hold
My love will clothe your bones
And darling, when your feet are cold
Wait up, I'm coming home
And all of you, I will hold
My love will clothe your bones
The last note lingered in the air, and for a moment, I remained exactly where I was, tears slipping silently down my cheeks. I wiped my tears off with my hand. Suddenly, I looked down at my hand and realized that I was no longer frozen. Slowly, I lifted my head and looked toward the stage. Joy and the others were still standing there, watching me. No one spoke. They simply waited, their eyes fixed on me with a quiet expectation that somehow didn't feel demanding.
“And
now?” Joy inquired.
Nothing
had changed. The emptiness was still there, the giant, suffocating ball of ache
in the middle of my chest still sat there. The pain was still as heavy as ever,
but something had shifted. I felt something I hadn't allowed myself to feel in
a long time.
Maybe.
Just
perhaps.
I
wasn't completely alone.
The thought frightened me almost as much as it comforted me, and at that moment, I took a shaking breath and took a step forward before I could convince myself not to.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT SATURDAY, 9.00 PM WAT
MUSIC CREDITS
This chapter references the following musical works:
“Rescue” — written by Jason David Ingram, Lauren Daigle and Paul Brendon Mabury
“Bones” — written by
All rights to the songs and their lyrics belong to their respective songwriters, artists, publishers, and copyright holders. The songs are referenced solely for storytelling and thematic purposes. No ownership or copyright claim is made over the musical works.
0 Comments