I flipped a page in my diary. My eyes stayed on the blank page before I shifted to the window. Sitting on the window bench, the sun pours through my suburban neighborhood. A burst of water arose on the grass near a house. Kids ran around while being rained on by the water sprinklers.
I returned my gaze to my diary. There was nothing left to say at this point. I closed the diary and threw it on my bed. After landing at the edge, it slowly slipped down the covers and fell flat on the floor. I groaned and had to pick it up to place it on my desk.
I walked toward the window bench to bury my face in my knees. My legs press my chest when hugging myself. I cannot tell Dad. If I did, I don't want to make him upset. He already has enough to worry about what Mom left behind.
The paws of a dog attained my knees. "Hey, you!" Ritchie wagged his tail when I rubbed his yellowish head. I scratched his furry neck as his tongue stuck out, breathing rapidly. His breath hit my face, having a meaty scent.
"Sasha!"
I flinched at the sharp sound of my name. My legs wobbled once I rose to my feet. The adrenaline rush poured through me, my pacing heart pounding within my chest. I touched my chest to take deep breaths to calm my tense heart.
Grandma Chioma peeked through my door, creaking it open to see her face. Her eyebrows scrunched when her nose sniffed something in the air I couldn't smell. "Let that dog loose, or else I will send his Retriever behind back to the compound," she threatened sharply. "I don't want him smelling like outside in this house. Oh, and take out the trash on your way out!"
Thank you, Grandma Chioma, for scaring the shit out of me.
Ritchie followed me from behind as I carried a black trash bag on my back. I could sense his eyes on me, even though I didn't turn around to look. The wheel-vented trash can stood in front of me near the mailbox. While carrying the trash bag, the water bottles and metal food cans put light pressure on my spine, but the weight was not heavy enough to tire my arms. I placed the trash bag inside after I opened the can lid.
Ritchie's paws brushed against my legs, whimpering for my attention. I was about to comfort him until he ran off. On the grass, he rolled a tennis ball on his nose. He slowly came up to me and stuck his tongue out, smiling.
I smiled at him, grabbing the ball in my hand. "You wanna play? Ritchie, go catch it!"
Throwing the ball drew his attention, and he pursued it like it was meat. Kids were running in the streets as I observed the neighborhood. One man carries his daughter on his back, running together through showering water. I looked closely to see the same kids from the window. They were wearing swimming costumes, joining the Dad and child in fun. As other children ran on the grass, a mother shouted at her son not to get wet. It was too late when his shorts got soaked.
Ritchie lunged toward my stomach to my eventual fall. He spat out the ball once his saliva caught onto it. I scrunched my eyes at him as the ball fell on my neck. He slobbers me with licks while pinning me down. I laughed, tears spilling out of my eyes. His claws pressed softly on my stomach, resting on my skin. I gently pushed Ritchie to the side. He lay on his back on the grass, sticking his stomach out. His organs jiggled through that thick yellowish fur as I rubbed his belly.
"Honey!"
I turned to see Dad in a gray short-sleeved shirt and black sweatshorts. He beams a big smile, standing in his power pose with his hands on his hips. Ritchie rolled his body upward and landed on his feet. His paws were on Dad's legs, leaping to get a good look at his face. Dad caressed his fur, causing Ritchie to stick his tongue out widely.
Mia came holding a leash and strapped it on Ritchie's neck, tightening it. He steps down on Dad's legs, wiggling his tail. Mia grabbed the leash, pulling Ritchie to walk.
"Come on, girls. Let's get your Vitamin Ds!" Dad beckoned, curling his fingers toward the palm of his hand.
"Wait!" I commanded, raising my hand. "I need to change. My PJs aren't exactly running material."
"Okay, sweetheart, take your time!" Dad nods in understanding.
I ran inside to change quickly from my tank top and grey pajama pants into black shorts and an oversized light green hoodie. After getting changed, I returned outside to meet Dad and Mia.
Nowadays, this is our family exercise routine on any other morning if the sun is out and about. Dad quickened the pace once we hit the sidewalk. Mia uses all of her strength to keep Ritchie still. Yet, Dad ran a little bit faster, which made him run.
"Ritchie!" Mia cried out.
I held onto the leash, helping her out. Mia's face reddened, and small pools of sweat dripped from her forehead. Dad was long gone the moment he made a run. Ritchie calmed down and walked accordingly at our will. "Good boy," I said, complimenting him.
We caught Dad running while waving at our neighbors. "Hello, Alfred, Sally, Gregory, and Allison!" Out of his mouth, people in their front yards looked up or turned around when they heard their names called. A blonde-haired woman with a sun hat focused on digging up her red flowers. She lifted her head and grinned at us. Dad returned the favor by waving at her. I watched him jog backward, then matched our slow-paced walking.
"Come on, baby girls! Don't let my running make you be slowpokes!" he exclaimed, playfully teasing us.
"Dad, we're trying! It looks like Ritchie loves the chase," I stated.
"Aw!" Dad scratched his furry ears, and Ritchie stopped to enjoy the affection. As his tail wagged, Mia rubbed his neck. Ritchie pats his paw on the ground, his tongue rolling out, saliva dripping from his mouth. He licked Mia's hands, making her giggle. Dad grabbed the leash from me, and we continued our walk. This time, Dad didn't run.
I strode beside Mia, who plugged her purple earphones into her ears. She held her iPod Nano in her hand as we walked. Man, I wish I had gotten my phone earlier. I was in a rush, so I shouldn't blame myself.
I gazed at the sidewalk walkway instead. Two colonies of ants form a small brown sand-like hill, scurrying into their holes. I raised my head, turning away from the ant colonies once Ritchie alarms a bark.
Dad halted in his tracks, holding Ritchie's leash tight to his neck, gently stopping him from moving. He uses his arm to block us from passing him, preventing Mia and me from walking. Dad laid his eyes on someone, then waved at an old Caucasian woman farther away from us, standing on another sidewalk road verge. "Hello, Muriel!"
Once Dad called her name, it was her signal to approach. A wide grin spread across Muriel's lips when she appeared. "Hello Kenneth, lucky seeing you here!"
Something about Muriel's facial expression is a cheery vibe I get from her. Despite her wrinkled skin, Muriel's stylish white pixie-cut hair gave her the impression of a funky-looking Grandma. Maybe she's trying to look younger at an age like hers.
"Yep, we're walking as usual. And oh, girls! I'd like you to meet Muriel. She lives right down the street, just a bit farther from where we are." Dad explained, gesturing his hand to present her.
She grabbed our hands instantly, shaking our beings. "It is wonderful to meet you girls. Your father has told me lots about you!" Muriel said, beaming a smile. I could feel her warm, wrinkly palm in her soft grip, but Muriel let us go eventually. However, she leaned closer to examine me. I touched my cheek to see what she was looking at. Her bright blue eyes got curious, staring into space.
"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen! Are they green?" she asked, her eyes glued to mine.
"It's hazel-green."
"What?" She cupped one hand over her ear for a closer listen.
Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulder and chuckled. "My baby girl gets those hazel-green from me!"
I nodded, putting my hands on my waist. Dad removed his arm from my shoulder and stepped closer to talk with Muriel. He went on about what's been happening in our family that revolved around Mom. Mia and I said nothing but let Dad express his words. Muriel eagerly listened since she was tuned into the conversation.
"So things have been going rough," he said. "Hopefully, God will pull us through."
Muriel nodded in agreement. She looked at me with her eyebrows raised, "I'm so sorry for your mother. I've heard about it on the news. I've always wanted to stop by and bring tea for you all. I didn't want to intrude."
"Don't worry, Muriel. You can always stop by our house anytime," Dad assured her.
They went on again, but I turned my focus to the streets. The lamppost stood near a sidewalk across the street. I noticed a dove, the white bird resting on top. I crossed my arms over my chest to lock eyes with the stare I got from that bird. Somehow, my stare sent the dove running because its wings flapped away.
"Honey, don't you work there?" Dad nudged my elbow again to get my attention.
"Huh?" I stared at Dad, puzzled at his question.
"Texas Roadhouse?" he clarified. "Muriel has been telling me that her grandson will have his first day on the job tomorrow."
I shook my head, remembering that place. "Oh, okay. I'm sure my boss will show him around."
Ritchie began walking, pulling the leash from Dad's grip. He moved, almost off-balancing Dad's standing position. "Whoa! Stay still, boy!" He held onto the leash, keeping Ritchie from being out of his sight. "We better keep moving before he runs to nowhere."
Muriel responded with a big smile and waved at us. "Have a nice day!"
We came back home afterward. Dad handed Mia the leash, and he stepped into the house. Ritchie walked quicker as Mia followed him inside. I sat on the light green couch on the front porch, staring at the grass brushed by the wind. That compliment from that old lady Muriel was lovely.
I gazed at the cloudy sky where that bright morning had vanished. Silence lingered in the neighborhood, tuned into a noiseless state. Those kids by the water sprinklers were nowhere to be seen.
The door closes behind Dad when he comes out of the house. I looked up at him to have his gaze fixed on me. He sat beside me, holding a gray water bottle. "How are things going on between you and Pablo?" Dad asked.
"It's okay. I guess..." I replied, shrugging my shoulders.
He sighed, sipping his bottle. After taking a sip, Dad puts the bottle near his leg. He returned his focus to me and said, "Honey, you don't have to make it hard on him."
"He makes it hard on me."
"That is because you have an attitude," Dad pointed out. "You know Pablo. So, try to be in a good mood when you return to work tomorrow."
Tomorrow on a Sunday? I thought it was Monday for a minute.
"I can tell by your wide eyes that you forgot," he stated, calling me out.
"You know how cranky Grandma makes me!" I told him, defending myself. "Dad, I will do better. I just...I need a better way to release my stress than out on Pablo."
"I understand that. Your Grandma makes me cranky too, but she doesn't affect me when I'm on duty," he added. "Look, you can always vent to me and pray about it."
"Dad," I scoffed, taken aback by his words. "Praying? That's the last thing on my mind."
I shifted my focus to the neighborhood, avoiding eye contact. Dad ceased to speak after he brought up prayer. The silence was only filled with the whistles of the wind. Its gentle, cooling sensation brushes against my skin. From observation, the wind shook the tree's leaves.
"Why are you silent?" I asked.
"You know why," Dad replied. "I know how you get tense whenever I mention...prayer. Even when we pray at the hospital, I know you don't participate. And I'm not going to hold it against you."
I closed my eyes to exhale. After I got up from the couch, I placed my hands on my hip to twist my back. I was ready to step in my doorway, but Dad called my name before I could.
"Yes?" I said, returning my eyes to him.
"Is there anything you want to say to me?" he asked, circling his thumb on his bottle. "About your dream?"
"No." I shook my head sideways, confirming it.
_
Alcohol wafted in the corridor the second I stepped into the hospital. My nose twitches from the scent. So far, my dream has unfolded right before my eyes. Everything is the same: Ritchie is alone in the car, whereas Grandma Chioma is at the store.
From the African-American family's crushed faces to witnessing the same surgeons rushing a wheeled bed to somewhere with the patient's stomach wound that bled excessively. Yep, my dream is prophetic.
Mia's reaction stayed the same, including Dad's response. I said nothing and only let them talk. The nurse led us to the hallway like she did and stopped at Mom's door. As she pushed the door wider, I walked toward Mom's bed. With her eyes closed, her chest slowly moved. She breathed through her nasal cannula. Her pale complexion was reflected in her deep brown skin. I looked up at the nurse, saying the same thing from my dream. Once she left the room, I waited for Dad to go after her.
He didn't this time. Instead, Dad held out his hand. His gesture was telling me to come closer, which I did. Mia did the same. We joined hands when we hovered over Mom.
"Father God, we need all your strength to pull through this," Dad says, "we don't know the outcome, yet you comprehend the future, are steadfast in your promises, and say it will come to pass."
Dad continued to praise God and hope for Mom to be brought out through a smooth recovery. I kept my eyes open to notice the vein in Dad's forehead. He prayed hard for Mom.
"Amen!" Dad and Mia proclaimed.
Later on, Dad pulled the nurse to a corner to talk about Mom. Mia and I sat on the black chairs in the lobby room, waiting for him. I tap my foot, steadily ready to get out of here. I scanned the room, seeing a female doctor pushing a wheelchair forward with a wrinkly bald man. He stared lifelessly at the floor as his cheeks sagged. My fingernails weren't long enough to scratch this itchy sensation. All my mind could preach: I want to get out of here.
"How long could it be for Mom to wake up?" Mia asked.
I wish I had an answer to her question. Knowing me, I'm not God. I cannot open my brain to the possibility of predicting the future. If I could, it would be cool not to stress about impossible situations I fear I may never get out of.
"I-I don't know," I finally said. "What is most important is that Dad and I will take good care of you."
Mia leaned against my shoulder as I wrapped my arm around her. "That's good to hear. I think I should not worry," she said calmly. "At the same time, I am."
"Always remember your vision, Mia. Angels will protect Mom," I assured her. "I am in the same boat as you, worrying about many things."
I looked up with my eyes raised to watch the small box TV hanging on the wall. In this precise 2004 red-carpet interview, E! News showed Mom dressed graciously in a sparkly dark purple sleeveless mermaid-style dress; she styled her hair in a bob with bangs shielding her eyebrows.
I noticed an enormous silver hand gripping a gold microphone on a white wall below its title in the background. When people walked past Mom, VOICE4STEEL displayed its hand symbol to represent its rising power. She was at an event related to the record company she worked at.
Many men held their cameras and flashed bright lights behind her. Mom spoke to the woman interviewer, smiled at the camera, waved at her audience, and left.
Next, the TV transitions to a different channel, Entertainment Tonight. The photos of Mom on stage are in black and white, displaying a quick slideshow of photoshoots Mom has taken over the past three decades. I scooted forward in my seat to pay close attention. Mom's name was mentioned by some lady reporter who talked about something. Except. It's old news, recalling that fateful day:
"Martha Kanu, also known as "Marie," has been in a deep coma for two years. On September 3rd, 2009, she was in a fatal car accident during stormy weather. She was rushed to the hospital immediately. Now, her fans await an update on her miraculous recovery. Her family members haven't provided any updates yet. Who knows how long the singer can hold on because without her presence, losing such a talented Black woman would be a shame."
"Girls, let's go!" Dad cried out.
Following Dad's signing us out of the hospital, we left. I glanced at the sky; dark clouds appeared stuck together, but no rain emerged.
"It looks like it's about to rain," Dad said.
"Could be," I mumbled.
We strolled past a couple of people on the sidewalk. Everyone was minding their own business as usual, except for one. I only noticed an almost balding Caucasian man staring, but Dad or Mia didn't. His blue eyes were fixated on us, watching our every move when we walked past him. Creepy.
A bright white flash shot at the corner of my eye. I turned to see him carrying a black camera strapped on his neck, ready to take another picture.
"Hey, hey, Lawrence family! Is our lovely pop star princess up? Is Martha dead or alive? Are the rumors true? Come on, do you have a few minutes to talk? Spill the tea!" The man spoke fast with a big smile, causing Dad to glare. He held his black camera closer to his chest and pointed the lens at us.
Dad put his arm on my shoulder and gently pulled me away from him. I felt his warm hand hold mine as we moved quickly to escape the stranger. The man flashed photos from behind.
As we entered the car, I sat in the front passenger seat while Mia remained in the back. Droplets of water appeared on the windshield. When Dad gripped the stirring wheel, he breathed heavily.
"Dad, are you all right?"
I touched his shoulder and leaned closer to witness him lowering his head. No signs of anger showed on his face when his eyes met mine. Instead, Dad exhaled sharply and gave me a short nod. "I'm fine," he replied. His eyes turned to the road, and then his hand twisted the car keys to start the engine and drove out of the parking lot.
I rest my chin on my hand as my elbow presses against the car window. Dad and Mia haven't spoken a word throughout the car ride. I wondered what Dad was thinking about because earlier, he seemed agitated—yeah, to put it that way.
Man, what was that guy's problem? I sit here wondering, can there be a day when he doesn't sneakily trace our location and leave us in peace? In the paparazzi's case, they won't leave you alone.