mєdíα: 'gumвσdч' вч вurnα вσч ft jσrjα ѕmíth.
Kam
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Run, run, lost boy...
Away from all of reality.
Lost Boys, like me, are free.
-Lost boy by Ruth B
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As sappy as this sounds, I believed that this world wasn't my home.
I nursed a quiet belief that I was only lost in it. Me and the rest of us. I was untethered, free, not bound to anyone or anywhere.
And I also believed in letting the stars guide me through this chaos called life, to my real home. In trusting my internal compass and letting it take me where I needed to go.
That night, it had led me to her.
Again.
Not as if she'd remember... But I saw her and I immediately remembered. Unforgettable, was she.
I smiled, recalling the first time I saw her at the school library, last year, not being able to talk to her because she had looked so unapproachable. Deep scowls and deeper frowns.
She had the strangest eyes. They were the darkest brown I have ever seen. The colour of coffee, sitting in the sun, turning amber by the second.
But that's not what is strange about them. It's that heavy sadness in them that was trying so desperately to hide behind scowls and eye rolls. A sadness that crippled you when you looked at her.
She looked like every sad song I've ever heard. Every sad story I've ever read. I saw her eyes and I thought of plane crashes and thunderstorms.
"Your guys are going to kill you." She said when we hit a stop sign.
I looked at her, bitter coffee brown eyes, staring back at me.
"And why would they do that?"
"You invited me and Kosi to a party that's meant exclusively for you guys."
"It's not an exclusive party. Anyone can come. We just happened to know about it and you didn't."
She rolled her eyes, seeming reluctant to talk, and I watched her fumble with the buttons on the radio, switching from one channel to another until she finally gave up and brought out her phone.
Connecting to the speaker through Bluetooth, she tapped away on her phone and very soon, 'Gumbody' by Burna Boy was crooning softly from the speaker.
"Woah! You listen to Burna boy?"
"Yeah." She nodded, refusing to look at me. She was looking out the window, staring at the empty Saturday night road as we drove past.
Her friend, Kosi, had hitched a ride with the others and by some weird miracle, Asa and I had ended up together. Alone.
Asa.
She looked like her name. Beautiful. Embodying the word so well on the outside that I longed to know if she was as beautiful on the inside.
She had golden brown skin and thick black hair that fell to her shoulders in strangled curls. She had a dainty, willowy figure, and her silky short black dress clinged to her slender curves.
Her face had that sharp, enchanting edge to it that designers and advertisers craved for their models. A type of beauty that was so raw, so harsh, you saw it the moment you looked at her. But her innocence softened that raw, harsh beauty. She had that unpretentious look of someone who didn't know how pretty they were.
"He's my favourite musician and his songs are cool." She continued.
"Is that all?"
She looked at me now, raising an elegant eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Is that all you have to say? C'mon. Spill. Tell me why he's your favourite musician. What makes him unique to you? I want to know everything."
"Well..." She was twisting the charm bracelet on her wrist, nervously."I love his bass voice and his style of singing. He makes his songs look like a whole new genre on their own. Something that's so much more than Afropop. It's Reggae and R&B and dancehall and hiphop all at once. It's majestic really, when you hear him sing. He's the voice of the streets to the entire world."
"What do you mean?" I turned to look at her.
She had a giddy smile on her face as she turned towards me.
I smiled to myself at this. She had passion for something after all.
"Take Dangote for instance. If you don't listen deep and understand even the air he takes in before each lyric, you've missed the entire point of it all. He's literally screaming wealth inequality and the beauty of hustling in the song. He's strong, fearless, provoking."
"I never looked at it that way." I mused.
"He's much more than a voice, really, he's like a resounding cymbal. He's sung about everything, from corruption and police brutality to the unfairness of our Democratic system. The best part is, he's gone international and he hasn't tried to whitewash himself. He still speaks pidgin English and Yoruba because he knows the souls he's singing for and he doesn't sing for the recognition or fluctuating charts. He doesn't seek validation from the West. He doesn't conform. He's authentic."
She had universes in her eyes.
"It's nice when you put it like that." I nodded.
Her voice was serene. "Like Angelique Kidjo said, 'he's changing the way the African continent is perceived and the way African music has been the bedrock of every type of music'. Hopefully, they don't steal our pidgin and afropop and give it a stupid name and call it theirs."
I chuckled. "You look like you've been dying to say that."
Embarrassed, she tucked an errant coil behind her ear. "Well, it's nice to have someone to talk to about music."
I looked at her. Soaking in the smoothness of the curve of her nose, perfectly shaped lips and beautiful hair as I tried not to run over someone's grandma.
"So, what other genres do you like? Besides afropop."
"The usual. I like most Pop. I don't care whether it's English, Latin or Afro. Most mainstream music appeal to me. I like jazz. I sort of grew up with them because of my mum. And who doesn't like hip hop?"
I hmmed, trying to digest her words. "I don't like hip hop, to be honest."
She sat up in her seat now, looking at me like I just committed a taboo. Her eyes widening in amazement.
"What?" I asked.
"You don't like hip hop?"
"Yeah. Mainstream hip hop is usually just all about drugs and bitches and chasing the bag."
She scoffed. "That's fuckboy rap. You should listen to real rap. You've obviously never heard 6lack, or Jcole or Roddy Riche, sing before. At least, tell me you've heard a Drake or Kanye song before."
I shook my head no.
"Geez, we need to fix this," she said seriously. "Give me your phone." Outstretched her hand adamantly.
I shrugged, handing her my Samsung phone. Unlocking it first so she'd have no problem with it.
"I'm sending you the dopest hip hop tracks I've ever heard and if you still hate hip hop, then I'd be forced to believe there's no black blood in you."
Her words forced a chuckle out of me and I tried not to watch her as she tapped furiously on the battered screen of her ancient Lenovo.
Ah! I said to myself, nearly chuckling as she typed away furiously. There is hope for her after all. She has passion. Music.
"Here." She handed me back the phone. "I sent you the good stuff."
"I suppose I should thank you."
"You should build me an alter. Offer me a sacrifice while you're at it."
"I heard somewhere that orphans were your favourite. And you liked your priests butt-naked and sexy."
I wriggled my eyebrows at her quickly, turning back to concentrate on the road.
She snorted, exploding into short, restrained bursts of laughter.
I bit my lip, wishing I could look at her. Wanting to see if that intense sadness in those strange, beautiful eyes, had evaporated now.
I'm not yours to save.
Her voice lingered in my head. And as always, when I thought of her, pain slashed through me, wringing out my insides, making me want to double over in pain and sadness.
After two years of trying to forget her, she creeped back into my consciousness. She always found a way of creeping into my consciousness.
And I remembered her in the most awful way. Intentionally overdosed on painkillers, lying listlessly on the couch down in the basement, covered by a sheen of sweat. Barely moving. Barely breathing. Faint pulses and weak heartbeat.
And I remembered, ever since then, my resolve to never let a sad or lonely soul, remain sad or lonely.
Because, after a while, a sad soul would go numb. Would stop feeling all together. And in it's loneliness, long for pain or for something more.
Something more final.
And every time I looked at Asa. It was like looking at her. Those strange brown eyes that refused to share her pain. That strange brown eyes that was swimming in sadness.
"What about you?" She asked. She had sat up in her seat. Kicked off her heels and folded her legs under her, turning her body towards me.
"What about me?"
"What do you like?"
"I like a lot of things."
"Like songs, genius. What type of songs do you like?"
"I don't like a certain genre, if that's what you're asking. I like artistes, I guess. Ed Sheeran is my favourite."
"It's kind of hard to hate him." She laughed.
And because I decided I liked the sound of her laugh, I laughed along and switched our lanes, taking the longer route to the beach. Not wanting our conversation to end. She didn't notice my change in direction.
"What other things do you like?"
It wasn't small talk anymore. She sounded extremely curious, shifting her body towards mine in an almost frantically excited manner. Like she really wanted to know more...
Like she really wanted to know me.
"Well I like pretty girls-"
She rolled her eyes, "all guys do."
"You didn't let me finish." I chuckled. "I like pretty girls with pretty minds and prettier energy."
She nodded. "Okay, wow. That's something you don't hear everyday." She gazed out the window for a while. "I get jealous of people that are humble and kind but still strong and confident. They're too perfect. I hate them but I like them too."
"It's not possible to hate someone and like them at the same time."
It suddenly got quiet.
"Yes, it is," She whispered out of the quietness, and I swear, I could hear the shattering of something in her words. "I do it to myself everyday."
She gasped, biting her lip and nervously twisting the delicate golden charm bracelet around her wrist and I realized she hadn't meant to say that out loud.
We were quiet for a while. The air around us had gotten thicker. Heavier. Something darker, palpable in the space between us. Something... Something about her voice, tugged at my heart, reeling it in.
"You have to tell me the kind of books you read. That sounds like something a poet would say."
She twisted her face. "I don't read poetry. Do you?"
"Yeah. I fell in love with it in my Literature class in eight grade. Ever heard of William Shakespeare?"
"Don't mock me. Of course I've heard of him." She tried to look serious but there was a smile playing on her lips. "So who's your favourite poet?"
"I don't think you've heard of her. She's a little unorthodox. It's Bridgett Devoue."
"What's your favourite phrase of hers?"
I thought for a while, then recited. " 'Society told me to fit a mold. I'm claustrophobic.' "
She nodded. "That kind of suits you."
"What?"
"You don't fit a mold. You're not what I expected."
"And what did you expect?"
"Well I've watched you for a while-"
"Should I be worried I'm sharing an enclosed space with a potential stalker?"
"Shut up."
Her laugh consisted of short gasps of breaths and snorts and grunts. Restrained and strained. So aesthetically imperfect.
"As I was saying. You're Kam. The cute half caste with the nice accent and richer than God parents. You're the star striker on the football team that managed to break the curse Trinity Highschool has carried for a decade. You are friends with the richest and the coolest guys in school and your girlfriends don't last more than a few weeks. I expected you to be arrogant. Annoying. Kind of stuck up. Flirty."
"Oh, I can be flirty when I want to be. But you don't look like you'd appreciate it."
"I won't." She agreed. "Anyway, you're so much more than just half caste Kam or super striker Kam. You're worth so much more. I bet your insides are worth as much too. "
I looked at her warily. "In case you're thinking of selling me off, I don't think you would get a good price for me on the black market."
"But that's not true. Exotic species are the priciest." She smiled swiftly. It was gone as soon as it came. "But seriously. You're deeper than just a cute rich kid. You've got multiple layers. You're not just one thing."
"No one is ever just one thing. There are layers to everyone. That's why stereotypes shouldn't exist. There's more to a person than what you see on the surface."
She hmm-ed in agreement and collapsed into silence for the rest of the ride.
A/n
Loool!! Wats the most beautiful thing a guy has ever said to u?
👀 my curious ass wants to know♥︎♥︎
Bring 'em votes ma waaaayyy🌟👏