The Queen of Cats

Anamnesis 7: Something Tragic About You

  Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

-From Eden, Hozier 

This is where my mother died.

I breathe in the smell of expensive coffee and cheap consumerism. People ebb and flow around me. I stand in the middle and look up at the transparent top of Tower Mall. Sunlight scratched at my cheek. I smile and let it.

The place is vibrant and livid with shoppers all scrambling for purchase. There is no room to stand.

I move.

I don't know why I decided to come here. I had gone to school this morning. For the first time since we put her cold cadaver into the ground and threw sand on her coffin. They gave me a little plastic cup. There was a little cartoon of a smiley-faced coffee mug on it, vague vapours of steam rising from its head. "Coffee is life." was emblazoned on its side in thick cursive.

And it was filled with sand.

And I threw that sand. And I heard the dull patter of grains striking polished oak.

And then I left.

And now here I was.

I remember something else, after that. I remember my father crouched next to my bed, his fingers running through my hair.

"Listen." he said. "Treasure, It's going to be hard but I need you to forget. You can't go around visiting the places she used to visit or anything like that. You have to let go."

I remember wondering. The callousness of that. I wasn't even allowed to remember. A fresh start. New life. Everything that happened before wasn't supposed to matter anymore. New life was all we needed now. New life.

I kissed his hand, turned around and pretended to sleep.

I wade.

I wonder why I'm doing this. I slipped out of the house thinking this was just an act of disobedience. I was wearing her pink sweater, her perfume and my hair was pinned up the same way as her and I was going to her favourite place.

But this wasn't that anymore.

This was something else entirely.

This wasn't an attempt to be her. This was an attempt to be me. The me she stole.

I wonder why I feel that.

I know where the shop is. It's small, tucked into a little corner at the side next to a toilet and a pseudo hanging garden. The place is dank with the smell of cleaning fluid and old plastic. It reeks of cigarette smoke and it is plastered with old, hazy posters and hallucinogenic wallpaper. Laser beams emanating from its dark depths bounce off the plastic plants opposite.

A big signboard hangs outside. Vish Media.

It is home.

This is where my mother chose to spend her time.

I enter, gingerly opening the old glass door and feel my way inside as my eyes adjust to the dark.

Rows and rows of CDs and old cassette tapes, some of them semi-legal, some of them just plain illegal and all the squeaky clean Bollywood one's hanging behind Vish's head.

Oh Vish.

He's old and fat and stoops over his counter, his sausage-thumbs pawing at his smartphone. He looks up at me.

He is reserved now, after what happened. He wanted to close shop for a while, but I talked him out of it last week.

We don't say much to each-other. I run my fingers through the plastic cases and pick one out at random.

"What's this?"

Vish chuckles. "You remember that old rock 'n roll band, right? Holy Wood?"

I shake my head.

"Yeah, whatever. It's their new record. Acoustic."

I pay him for it and put it in the bag.

"Does anybody else even come here?" I ask him.

He flips me the bird. I blow him a kiss and get out.

It was easy to forget, once I was in there again. It is darker now and soft rain is beginning to patter on the glass roof. I stop at one of the little cafes and buy myself a cold coffee. I taste it and I watch the rain.

By the time I am done, it is pelting.

I pull out my cell-phone and call my father.

He is curt, but trying to be kind and I suppose I have to appreciate that. "I'll be there in about half an hour." he says. "Visit the bookstore or something."

I don't, though.

I go sit near the entrance and watch the people struggle with their raincoats as they try to leave. Some of them have kids. A lady clutches her baby tight to her chest and rushes out into the hazy, grey outside world.

Brave. Taking the smallest, most perfect, most precious thing you could ever have. Your treasure. And then walking out into the rain.

But you have to get home, don't you?

The lean, black car rolls to a stop and I walk. I open the passenger door and sit.

We begin moving.

"Did you get something you like?" he asks.

"Yes. I got this." I pull the CD out of my bag.

His jaw tightens.

I sit quietly and watch.

He relaxes.

"You can play it in the car if you want." he tells me.

"That's alright."

"No. Put it in. I want to know what kind of music you like."

My jaw tightens. It doesn't loosen like his.

I tear open the packet and load it into the deck.

The music begins.

It is soft and slow and lilting and the harmonies pulsate with life. It hits me right in the head. It is vital and narcotic and I cannot even remember where I am and what I'm doing here. Only the music.

I don't realize when he pulls up in front of the house.

He gently pats my shoulder and I come to. I pull the CD out and walk back in but I think of nothing.

Nothing except the music.

Hello! Thanks so much for sticking with this story so far. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please do comment to let me know if you did. Comment if you didn't as well. I'm always trying to improve. 

Bye!