|Imran Adebayo Ibrahim|
"Let me go."
In Zayd's car, I said to him, kicking at the car's dashboard like a possessed entity.
"Let me go!" I repeated again as he drove to the driveway, he did a great job in ignoring me. I know I should be thankful that he came for me, but I couldn't give him the pleasure of being a great big brother - it makes me feel bad - he was different from the person who adviced me to change my wallpaper from the picture of the Kahaba to something else. As he pulled over, my heart rejoiced, I had been feeling the urge to throw up.
Like a log, he carried me up and threw me on his shoulder; my stomach pressing against his broad shoulders, causing a groan to fly out of my stoned lips. "Let me go!" I yelled again as he locked the car. I slapped his back with greater might as he carried me to the front door. I could hear Mr. Axel's dog barking, just like the German shepherd always did whenever I was minding my business and watching anime.
Zayd Raymond was an hesitant and dedicated person. If only he devoted half as much dedication to his future as he did to our journey, he would likely find success at his age. Despite my attempts to resist, he remained unaffected, effortlessly overcoming my defenses. As we travelled from the abandoned complex to the house, his careful steps made my stomach churn with hunger, causing me to fear for my organs, especially my innocent lungs.
Throughout the journey, I kept my eyes shut, only to find myself abruptly tossed onto my less comfortable bed, resulting in a painful collision with the frame. "Ouch. Omoale!" I exclaimed in Yoruba, expressing both pain and frustration.
"I'll look that up later," he replied casually as he exited the room, momentarily leaving me feeling abandoned until he returned with a silver bucket and an apple cider. Placing them beside the bed, he explained, "You'll need these to feel better."
"I don't need them," I seethed, questioning his sudden concern. "Why the pity party?" I added, managing to sit up.
Ignoring my inquiry, he cautioned against eating a chocolate bar I reached for, insisting it would only worsen the situation. "Why do you care, I can eat what I want, you're not my father!" I said to him, picking another bar.
"You don't get it, do you?" Zayd remarked, perched on my bed, looking at me with vexation. "Ma won't be pleased if she finds out you skipped school, and worse, Pa will be deeply disappointed in me, blaming me for your actions, saying you've learned it from me, that I'm a bad influence," he explained, seeming at ease for a moment.
Amidst his explanations, all I could focus on was the thought that Mum - my mum - was mine, solely mine. "My mum is not your mother and never will be. You can stop pretending and calling her mum - please, we both know you don't want her around. Just know that she is not, and never will be, your mother," I yelled, mostly in anguish. I didn't intend to be overly possessive of my mother, but the idea of him taking her after his dad had taken her from me was infuriating. I couldn't bear to lose her as I had lost my dad.
"So, that's the only thing you heard?" he asked, his surprise evident. "You've got nothing but garbage for brains, kiddo. You can do whatever you want with your life, you little piece of shit-" he yelled, clenching his first, "-drown in your own vomit for all I care, so ungrateful," he spat out as he left my room, pausing at the doorway before turning. "Nigerians are so arrogant," he declared, walking away this time.
"How dare you! You're just as despicable! American trash! If we're proud, then you're the embodiment of evil, godless creatures!" I cried out in agony, saying the first word that I could remember from an English series. I didn't curse him in response to the insults he hurled at me, but rather in reaction to the mistake I had made. All those insults were directed at me. What was I thinking, skipping school and doing drugs? America had surely changed me.
In less than a minute, I had forsaken my Islamic teachings, all for the sake of fame. Well, on the bright side, I would be famous - my video of getting stoned would probably be circulating across the student chat groups at school.
Zayd was right about two things though, me being a piece of shit and arrogant.
* * *
If all dreams have a meaning, then what does this one mean?
A dream where you're an alien whose family is disappointed in you and then send you down to earth, to make you learn from your mistake, you must stay with your picture perfect alien cousin on earth - what does that mean?
My scaly and veiny face, my big black eyeballs almost made me shit my pants in my sleep. The dream felt real, like I had really evolved into a big skulled monster. Alhamdulillah, it was all a noonmare. I'd passed out for minutes or hours when I didn't know the sun had gone to its cave and stars had already scattered in the night sky. From where I rested, I could see through my opened window, looking at my neighbor's flat. Gentle breeze blew inside, cooling my heated forehead from the nightmare.
I glanced at my table clock and realized it was already 10 o'clock. Having slept for a solid seven hours, I vowed to abstain from getting high again. Next to the clock, my MacBook was plugged in and charging, courtesy of my mother who had returned it to me.
Realizing I had missed both Maghrib and Isha prayers, I swiftly got out of bed and made my way to the washroom. As I passed the hallway, I noticed the bright glow coming from downstairs, indicating the television was on. Wanting to save electricity, I quietly descended the stairs to switch it off.
Upon reaching the ground floor, I found my stepfather and mother sitting on the armchair, engrossed in a TV show. My mother had already dozed off, her head resting on my stepfather's shoulder, snoring softly, while he enjoyed the movie and snacked on popcorn, washing it down with cherry cola.
Seeing my mother so at peace with Jamal brought me joy. She had never slept so soundly since my father's passing, often working late hours and sacrificing sleep. Witnessing her peaceful slumber in Atlanta was heartwarming. I whispered a prayer of gratitude before continuing with my tasks.
"War-Lay," Jamal's voice called out to me. I turned hesitantly, offering a soft nod and a forced smile. "How are you feeling now, son?"
There it was, his unmistakable fake demeanor, that ever-present smile, even when I was rude to him. "What?" I inquired, never having mentioned my sickness to him.
"Yeah? How are you feeling? Zayd told me you've got a mild migraine, yeah?" He repeated, gently adjusting my mother's head on the other side of the armchair. I nearly flinched at the way he handled her head, but he seemed to be a pro.
I inhaled deeply, "I am better now," I lied, silently thanking Allah for not allowing Zayd to snitch on me - he sure was loyal.
Jamal approached me, suddenly placing his palm on my shoulder and touching my forehead to check my temperature: playing doctor, huh?
"Yeah, you're better now," he said, dropping his hand from my forehead. "Son-" he began, looking into my eyes and pressing on my shoulder even harder, "I know you don't have friends here in Atlanta."
Oh Dad, thank you for reminding me, I thought initially, but all I could muster was, "yeah?" with a slight frown.
"I want you to know I'm a friend, you can trust me, like your buddy, your broda," he ranted, dancing to his words like he was rapping.
Corny as hell.
"I'm okay, I have friends in Nigeria and we still communicate. I don't think Atlantan friends are a good influence for me now," I said effortlessly, wanting to provoke him, "-let alone an Atlantan grandpa." I whispered that part, but he heard me alright.
"Son, I just want you to be happy. Guess what?"
I faked a surprised expression, "what?"
"Your mother and I think it would be best if you started a side hustle. Zayd brought up the idea," he dropped such shocking news on me.
My eyes widened in horror, "what? Where? When? How? But I have friends, I can't work shifts, I have books to read. You can't control my life," I ranted, spiralling in place.
"Don't worry, War-Lay-"
I cut him short, "it's Imran to you."
"Imran," he maintained his stupid smile, "you'll love your new job, and you'll make decent moolah. Working at Starbucks is every teenager's dream here in Atlanta."
"Starbucks? What happened to boycotting them?"
Jamal scoffed wryly, "they support Palestine, and besides, don't play that card with me. My uncle lives in Palestine, so I understand where you're coming from."
He left me speechless; I'd never lost an argument before, but at that moment, I had nothing to say. "Goodnight, pops!" I muttered angrily, storming upstairs with fury.
"Careful with the floorboard, son," his reminder followed me.
"Once I earn that decent 'moolah', I'll have it fixed!" I yelled back in retort.
Author's Note
Assalamualaikum mi vida. How was the Eid celebration? Alhamdulillah, I guess. I hope y'all are living your best lives, I'm doing well myself. So what do you think about this chapter, about Zayd's sudden change? Comment down your opinion and please, vote after sharing!
¡Mucho Gracias amigos!
Glossary
1. Kahaba: Refers to the Kaaba, a building at the center of Islam's most sacred mosque, Al-Masjid al-Haram, in Mecca, Saudi Arabia.
2. Alhamdulillah: Arabic phrase meaning "praise be to God" or "thanks be to God," often used to express gratitude or relief.
3. Maghrib: One of the five daily prayers performed by Muslims, which takes place just after sunset.
- Isha: One of the five daily prayers performed by Muslims, which takes place in the late evening or night.
4. Omoale: Yoruba word meaning "child of a wealthy person" or "spoiled child."