The last person that gave me such a look was my mom. Not a foster or a step mother, my biological, my real mom. I still feel her blood cruising my veins, drawing my roots from her DNA. But I forgot how her nipple felt between my toothless gums. I’m not even sure if I got the chance to suck her breasts. Too bad for me I am a bastard. I don’t even know who my father is, I never got to see his face and the surname I got was my mom’s. I remember quite well whenever I inquired about his whereabouts all I got was a slap that is if she was in good moods. So I grew up believing she was both my mother and the father I never had.
We are all proud of our mothers right? Well I hated my mother. Hated the fact she settled for less, she opted to be strong when strongest was there as an option. We lived in the shanties, dimly lit room made of rusty corrugated iron sheets. Openings everywhere that constantly reminded me when a new dawn broke. Only to get worse when it rained, the damn room leaked like almost everywhere Simply the life was hand to mouth. Illiterate and having two mouths to feed, she had to settle for less.
Chang’aa business boomed for her and that’s where she or I can say we got a leaving from. Sooner or later, we started getting visitors and the sleepovers became more frequent. Every night, my mom would walk in with a different man. Since there was only one bed, I would sleep on rags on the floor while they would sleep on the straw bed on one of the corner of the room. Only a faded, dirty sheet separated us and acted like a wall. Insomnia was real back then and it was her moans and groans overnight that kept me awake.
What I couldn’t tell was whether it was pleasure or agony. I would wake up and notice a black eye. Some bruises on her arms, or even a limp when she walks. The number of men rose steadily and I just couldn’t call her a bitch. To be honest, it broke my heart hearing the bed creak all night. Then in the morning all she got was abuses, kicks and some of her so called “clients” had the guts to spit on her.
Her beautiful face began fading and what was left behind was a skeleton skull like face, a former shadow of herself. Her chubby cheeks were replaced by protruding cheek bones and her eyes sank inwards and lost their glow. The morning kiss was always warm like the sun’s rays but with her cracked lips now, it all felt empty. She became the famous harlot of the area and I had a hard time dealing with that.
I perfectly remember that day after coming home from school on an empty stomach, I found her sitted at her bed. Something that doesn’t happen that often. I looked deep into her sunken eye sockets an they spoke depths of how much pain and suffering she had undergone. Everyone despised her, though they never say it you can feel it when they stare at her. I stood there not knowing what to do, no one had spoken to the other and I felt I was not the one who would break the silence.
Then without even speaking a word, tears started falling from her welled up ears. I admit I’ve never seen her cry before and this time I was shocked. “Mom!” I called to her and she pulled me closer and embraced me. Gave me a hug, kissed me on the forehead and she left, never to be seen again, and that was the last I ever heard about my beloved mother.
Here today, a lady probably in her early thirties gave me the same look. I’ve known her for quite some time now but tonight it wasn’t the girl I knew. She had this bottle of Ballantines, halfway done and I was sitted across her in the table. I was not to break the silence here but her eyes mirrored the pain and suffering I was damn sure she had undergone.
Amidst sobs, lifting her left hand up, pointing at the ring on her finger, she asked me “Do you wanna push a button and make all go away? Everyone you ever loved and lost, everything that ever hurt you. Just one button, no more fighting, no more regrets, no more noise, blow it all up and see what happens. Blow it all up so that you can get some damn quiet. Some real, real quiet?”
We never really got the chance to have a conversation but her looks spoke more than words could even do.
And just like that, she rose up and left the bar. What I found most shocking about this young lady is the way she speaks. She had this voice command, fearless carrying with it a certainty that I found difficult to comprehend.
I have no idea what she had in mind but by the look in her eyes, they symbolized defiance, like she can almost handle anything thrown at her, that I had no doubt. When a woman cries, the whole world stops and listens. When a woman roars, the earth trembles. But what happens when a woman unleashes her wrath? What happens when a woman goes out of control?
They say when she loves you she’ll fall for you like earth has let go of gravity but what really happens when gravity falls?
