My Un-Prodigal Brother

I hate travelling by mule. Grumpy, onerous creatures that I suspect want more than anything to tip you over at the first opportunity. And that waddling up and down motion that makes me feel sick, urrgh! Well, I am at least grateful to be travelling atop said mule, rather than trudging alongside it. There was just enough room for me to perch alongside the load it was carrying.

Dawn was still at least an hour away when our mule train reached the outskirts of the Galilean town of Sepphoris. My brother, Yaʿqob was waiting for me like he’d promised. It was on account of him that I’d had the long ride on the querulous mule. In fact, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even have any business in Galilee, not to talk of making my way there on foot with my meager possessions on my back. He had found some work for me with one of the merchants he did business with and had arranged for my transportation down to Galilee as well. I would have been able to afford to ride in a proper waggon if I hadn’t had to use some of the money to buy the threadbare cloak I was now presently wearing, as well as my shearing knife.

How did I come to this? How did I become this man?

Better not to think about that. At least, I have a cloak and some decent work. Just two sabbaths ago, I was not only tending swine, I was stealing their feed. Somethings are best left unthought of.

Yaʿqob embraced me as always, despite the unmistakable stench of swine on me.

          “How are you, Brother?” he asked, kissing my cheeks.

          “I’m well.” I replied, returning his kisses. “And yourself?”

          “God be praised. Hadassah sends her love and raisin cakes. She has not stopped weeping for you, Brother.”

My heart ached for our little sister and how she was still too young to understand my leaving.  Her innocent heart still could not fathom how complicated things had gotten between Father and I. She had been unable to bear our frequent disagreements and it had broken her heart to see our family torn apart.

I was never good enough and could never hope to be. Me leaving was best for everyone.

Despite all of that, my empty stomach growled at the thought of Hadassah’s cakes. It had been more than a full day since my last stolen pig-feed.

          “Tell her I long for her too.” I said to Yaʿqob, and he sighed in resignation. We’d had this conversation countless times before and we both knew how it would go.

          “Eliyahu….” He started, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder.

          “Brother, please don’t.” I said wearily. I was suddenly bone-tired, and not from the long journey and starvation. My heart felt hollowed out.

          “Just come back home to Nazareth.”

          “But how can I? after all that has happened?”

          “None of that matters!”

          “But it does!”

There are just somethings you don’t come back from. There are some things you can’t undo or un-say.

          “Father…”

          “…hates me! That is why he turned his back on me!”

Yaʿqob recoiled from me like I’d raised a fist to him.

“How can you even think that?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“He was never there in the times that I needed him!”

“That's not true!”

“Well, that's how it looked from where I was standing!”

“He would never shut you out, not even now...”

Yes, he shut me out of his heart, long before I did the unthinkable.

Yaʿqob had always been the better son. Older, wiser, more grounded, the responsible one, the loved one. There was no doubt that he was the very apple of Father’s eye, his pride and joy. As a little boy, all I ever wanted was to be like my golden older Brother whom I loved with my whole heart. I longed for his excellent spirit, and I hoped to win Father’s love like he had. Instead, it seemed like the older I got and the harder I tried, the more I messed up and the farther apart Father and I grew. I started to realize I could never get it right with him. I came to realize there was something wrong with us and there was nothing I could do to fix it. I started to wonder if he would ever love me like he loved Yaʿqob, if he even loved me at all. I felt the distance between us grow, and I could feel him judging me every time he looked at me, measuring me up against Yaʿqob, and finding me lacking.

All I ever wanted was to earn his love, be good enough.

I turned away from him, not wanting him to see how deeply it still hurt. Not even the months and months of partying and wild living had been able to dull that pain.

Leaving had been the only option. I couldn’t bear to stay another day knowing I was a failure. Shaming Father had been my payback for the anger and hurt.

          “We should go. The shearing will begin soon.” I said, grabbing my tiny pack from the ground. I thought Yaʿqob would protest and try to reason with me some more, but he didn’t.

We mounted the fresh mules my brother had acquired from his inn keeper, and rode through the empty streets in silence, each one lost in his own thoughts. Soon, we saw the flickering lights of the shearing shed in the distance. I hoped that Yaʿqob’s friend had at least half as many sheep as Father did. That would mean I would earn about two days’ wages, three if I was lucky. Hopefully, enough to tide me over until I could find some more work. Maybe I would strike gold, and other shepherds would bring their sheep to be sheared and I would have work for up to a fortnight.

At the gates, we embraced, Yaʿqob holding on to me one moment longer.

          “I will see you again soon, Brother.” He said.

          “Thank you Yaʿqob. For everything.”

          “Phineas knows to expect you. He will treat you fairly.”

          “God’s blessings, Brother.” I kissed his hand, and he rode on towards Ginosar.

I tethered my mule to a post, and then made my way into the shed. A few other shearers had arrived before me, and I was approaching one of them to ask about Phineas when I saw him. Even in the dim light, there was no way I could have missed that distinct plane of his shoulders, the graceful way he moved among the men. My heart leapt in my chest and then froze.

Dear God, what is he doing here! How can he be here?

I turned around and stumbled out of the shed. How can this be? What was Father doing all the way in Galilee, so far from our pasture lands? He was wealthy enough to hire the best shearers in all of Israel, yet he decides to come to a small town in Galilee? And he didn’t even send the shepherds, he came himself!

You meddling fool, Ya’qob, what have you done?

I should have known he would do something like this! I should have known. Did Father put him up to it? Did he want me to come begging for mercy?

I’d do it in a heartbeat if it would mean he would love me just a tiny bit. I would grovel just to get his acceptance.  But how do I ever face him again?

Blindly, I groped at the knots on the rope tethering my mule.

The things I said, the horrible, hateful things I said to him. How do I ever look him in the face again?

My pack slipped from my trembling fingers as I struggle with the knots and crumpled to the ground. At the back of my mind was the thought that Hadassah’s raisin cakes would be crushed.

It’s too late for us. The damage is irreparable.

I gave up on the knots and grabbed my pack from the ground. I stumbled away from the shed, not caring which direction I was going in. I desperately needed to run, to hide, to get as far away as I could.

I’m sorry Father. I’ve failed you yet again. I’m doing what I do best, I’m running away.

I heard the gate creak open behind me. I kept walking, breathing fast and hard.

I’ve sinned against heaven and against you. I’m not worthy to be your son. I never was.

The tears came hard and fast, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

          “Eliyahu?”

Even from the distance, I could hear the tremble in the voice. I froze for a moment. I was probably imagining things. For starters, why would he come after me? And then, what was that emotion I thought I heard in the voice?

          “Eliyahu!”

His voice was stronger, and I dared to entertain the thought that that was hope I heard in it. And love. And desperation. And a myriad of emotions I never thought anyone would ever show towards me. I stopped my rambling walk, still breathing hard.

I can’t do this. I’m not ready to face him. Oh, the shame!

          “My son!”

Was that a sob I heard?

Take a chance on him, he loves you… Ya’qob’s voice floated through my mind.

Shaking uncontrollably, I turned towards the voice of my Father, and what I saw nearly brought me to my knees. My Father was running towards me…

*

I have sometimes wondered about the un-prodigal son. I wonder if, just if, instead of being the pissed-off brother, he’d been the one to go after his brother to bring him home because he saw just how much his absence was killing their father. I wondered how that story would have panned out if he’d been the instrument of reconciliation.

In a round-about way, you were that version of the un-prodigal son. Even though I doubt you ever realized it, you helped bring me back home at a time that I was so desperately lost, and you forced me into a place of confrontation with my Father. Thank you! Thank you for being an important part of my story. I’m so sorry I never told you that. I can’t possibly say how bloody much I’m going to miss you.

Bestie of Life

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! This can’t possibly be happening!

I was having a heart attack, cross my heart and hope to die. Really. I refreshed the Internet Explorer window again and tried to open the word document. I got the same error message that the file I was trying to open was corrupt and could not be opened. I ejected the flash drive and tried it on another laptop. Same results.

Kai! T’emi bami!

That wretched stick of a thing had somehow gobbled up my project and I was due to show it to my Supervisor. Unfortunately for me, my supervisor is stationed at Idi-Araba, not Akoka, so I always have to make the dreaded weekly visits there to meet with him. And if you had a sadistic supervisor like mine, you would realize that you didn't even need a world-people flash drive for him to do you strong thing. In fact, my predicament would have him doing cartwheels in glee.

There was only one person that came to mind in that instant and I called her up immediately, knowing she would have a solution sha.

                “Bimpe.”

                “Hey what’s up!”

                “I need your help.”

                “What’s the matter?”

                “Please tell me you’re still at home.”

                “Why, what’s wrong?”

                “My stupid flash is corrupted! And I have to show Ajayi my Chapter six today!”

                “Wow! “

                “Everything is on my desktop at home. I just need someone to send it to me.”

                “Okay, let me see…”

                “You’ve left already abi?”

                “Yeah but don’t worry about it.”

                “Ah, how will you do it now?”

                “Shebi you can access your emails from Idi-Araba now?”

                “Yes but I don’t want to put you out like that oh, I’ll just rush back and pray that there’s no traffic.”

And Dr. Ajayi will gladly kick me out of his office for being late.

                “Don’t worry, I’ll email it to you.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Of course! Don’t worry about it.”

                “You’re simply the best!” I gushed, relief washing over me.

                “Haha, and I know it!”

                “Thanks a million, I owe you big time!”

                “Yup you do! Give me like twenty minutes.”

                “Okay, oshey ore mi!”

                “Laters.”

What ever would I do without that girl? Bimpe is simply the best friend and sister anyone could ask for. She is the Martha to my Mary in the practical sense of it. She is as organized as I’m scatter-brained and the thing with my project is just one of many instances where she’s come in and saved the day. Who went to face off my Landlord when he suddenly decided to disconnect me from power supply? Who plans our shopping and cooks for the week on weekends? Who helped me pick out the dress to wear to my class Dinner? Who helped me sort things out when my junk-heap of a car was burgled and my laptop and handbag stolen? Me, I just had a total meltdown. Who was there to kick my butt through second semester exams last year when I lost my mum? Now you’re starting to get the gist.

We had been roommates in Moremi in year three and we got along so well even though we were in different faculties. We decided to step up to the Big Girls level in our final year, so we got BQs in Ozolua and stayed just around the corner from each other. We were more than Besties, she was more like the sister I always wished I had. I had even introduced her to my clan of crazy cousins and nieces and nephews and all what not. We'd all been close growing up and had gotten in and out of trouble together. She had been a big hit with them and had been literally adopted into the mad-house. That was why I was doubly excited when Capt’n Zii, my usual partner in crime within the clan gave me gist of this road trip to Ghana. When I got back home that day, I was bursting to tell her the news.

                “The guys are organizing a road trip to - wait for it!!” I started dramatically and she laughed. I started to make dramatic drumming sounds.

                “Hope everything went well with your supervisor?” she asked and I ignored her. That one was past tense joor. I was talking legendary stuffz here and she’s bringing up Mr. Ogre.

                “Ghana!”

                “Wow nice!”

                “Yup, yup.”

                “Gee, can I come?”

                “Of course! Why do you think I’m telling you? Zii has warned me not to show my face if you’re not there too!”

                “Yay!”

                “I’ve thought the whole thing through.” I said and she gave me a dubious look. Everyone knows I’m soooooo not the planner. “We have to go by air because we only have the long Independence weekend, but we can save money if we share a room. We can also save on feeding by taking some edibles along. Then we can…”

                “Really? We’ll share a room?” she interrupted. “The both of us?”

                “Yeah. We could save more money if we got a bigger room and shared with two other people but I guess it’ll be better if it’s just two of us, I know my family, they can be cu-ray-zay!. The cost shouldn’t be too bad and I’m sure we’ll be fine. Worst case, I’ll pull the Baby-Sis-card with my Brother and get some money off him.”

                “You’re willing to let me come on a family trip?!” She asked getting all mushy. Bless her, she was such a sentimental wuss.

                “Of course! It’s going to be such an amazing trip, we’re going to have such fun!” I said literally bouncing off the walls in excitement. "It's gonna be just us, no adults or babies! Tunrayo and Derenle are coming, and the twins as well. Dare is bringing a friend as well and uncle Leke said Ireti can come, which should be interesting, what with all that drama between her and Dara! Oh God I can't wait!" I gave a silly little laugh and she laughed too, getting infected with my excitement. Then she threw her arms around me and kissed me smack on the lips.

                “I love you Boo, I’m so glad I found you.” She said earnestly.

Say what?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I pulled back from her, totally lost for what to do or say!


*An abridged version of this story was originally published here on Breakpoint.
Breakpoint is the official Blog of Connected, a Christian Entertainment and Social Networking Platform. Read up on events and activities on Breakpoint and follow @connectedlagos.

Meetings and Dressing Rooms

          “Mr. AJ, what do you think?”

He looked up from his phone at the yellow dress with multi-coloured stones on the neck line.

        “This shade matches my complexion better and I just love how it flows easily without too much drama, simple and elegant!” Mrs. AJ was saying.

She made a half turn and smoothed her hands over her hips, arching her neck to see the back. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, wondering if he was actually expected to give an answer. Truth be told, he couldn’t see how this shade of yellow was different from the last one she'd tried on.

        “What do you think?” she asked again, still inspecting herself.

He didn’t mind going shopping with the Mrs (well not too much) as long as he wasn’t expected to know the entire colour spectrum or which style fit which body shape or any of the other weird things women worried about.

        “Err…well, I think it’s okay.” He replied.

She paused her inspection to stare at him.

        “Just okay?” she asked, arms now akimbo.

        “Well…it’s okay…I mean it’s good!” he floundered. What was he supposed to say, that it wasn’t an okay dress?!

She shook her head at him, giving him her signature look and went back into the changing room.

What did I do now!

        “Never ever describe a woman as okay.”

        “Sorry?”

        “You’ll never live that mistake down.”

He vaguely recognized the guy who’d spoken to him. He’d seen him around earlier that day at Ikeja City Mall, first at Mango and probably at MRP as well. The guy seemed to be in the same shoes as he was, tagging along with a woman on a shopping spree. Unlike him though, the guy looked unruffled and had the sort of confident poise that could only come from several years of experience.

        “But I said it looked good!” Mr. AJ replied defensively and his new friend tsked.

        “That’s even worse.” He said, juggling several carrier bags from one hand to the other. “Common rookie mistake.”

        “But it was a nice dress!” Mr. AJ spluttered.

        “Another forbidden word.” He said with a shake of his head. “I have a twelve year old so I’ve been in this business long enough!”

Mr AJ raised an eyebrow. How can he possibly compare shopping with a twelve year old to shopping with a grown woman!

        “As a rule, everything is beautiful or stunning or dashing or amazing.” He said. “Sometimes, they’ll take pretty but that one is a bit dicey. You should read the situation before dishing that one out.”

Say what!

        “If you’re ever caught off guards and can’t think of an appropriate word quick enough, just go for ‘Wow’”

        “O…kay…”

        “Trust me on this one.”

        “But what if the dress looks hideous on her!”

        “Diplomacy, my friend. You think the politicians are the ones with the tough jobs?”

        “Omo mehn!”

        “Rule number two: it’s always the fault of the dress. The colour doesn’t flatter her eyes. Who made that dress, a carpenter? That dress isn’t doing your amazing figure enough justice. Catch my drift?”

        “How do you even wrap your head around all that colour shade and style nonsense?!” Mr. AJ asked in exasperation.

        “Take it from the man who had to hunt down a Barbie Pink Mac Book Air, you learn!”

Just then, the door to one of the dressing rooms banged open and a girl who could have easily passed for sixteen flounced out, clad in a pair of pencil jeans, a silk shirt and Louboutin's.

        “Daddy, how about this?” she asked, arms on her hips.

        “Wow, look at my little Princess! I think it’s perfect!”

        “Really?” the girl asked uncertainly. “I’m not so sure of the shirt. I think peach will go better with my new purse.” She said pulling at the shirt at the edges as if that would miraculously change its colour.

        “Peach? But this one…”

        “I just knew beige would be too far off. I’ll go ask them if they have this style in Peach. If they don't, we'll have to go somewhere else.” She said going back into the dressing room.

        “Rule number three: sometimes, even saying the right things doesn’t work.” Simon said on a resigned sigh.

        “You could say that again!” Mr. AJ replied. “By the way, I’m Mayowa.” He said closing the distance between them and proffering his hand.

        “I’m Simon, but everyone calls me SB.” Simon said juggling the shopping bags again to shake his hand.

        “SB?” Moyowa asked.

        “Oh yeah, my initials. I can’t really remember how it started but at some point, even my little girl called me that.”

        “Oh well, SB it is then!” Mayowa said smiling.

        “Nice meeting you.” Simon said returning his smile.

        “Pleasure’s all mine!”

        “Mr. AJ, what of this one?” the Mrs said, coming out of the dressing room again. This time, she was wearing an A-cut midnight blue dress with a high neck  which stopped just above the knees.

        “Oh wow!” Mayowa gasped. “It’s….wow!”

The Mrs beamed from ear to ear and Simon turned away to hide his smile.

*Thanks a million Mayowa and SB for giving me permission to share your story. I love you both specially!!! :*

My Best Friend

My Best Friend, or London Bestie, like we like to call ourselves, is not the easiest person to befriend but I still love him all the same. I’m not the nicest dude around either, but he still sticks by me, no matter what.

Tell me, how do you keep up with someone who never picks up their phone (the damn thing has its ringer permanently turned off), What do you say to someone who never replies to their messages or never even seems to read them?! And me? I’m really rubbish at visiting or meeting up, I usually can't be bothered to make the effort. Dunno what you say to someone who never catches up with you or checks up on you even though you’re just fifteen minutes away.

Well, I guess we're both quite used to it now. That’s how we are, it’s how we roll and it works so damn well. We’re in each other’s pockets for a few weeks, months even, then we drift and go our separate ways for a bit, and then one day, one of us just wakes up and goes “hey, I’ve got a London Bestie somewhere” and we get to roll as thick as thieves again, until something happens and we end up in different cities or different priority-landscapes or just simply get caught up with doing our own things, living our separate lives. He can be the most infuriating creature alive and I know I drive him up the wall more than half the time, so I guess we’re a perfect fit for each other.

So here we are, paddies again, and I think this time, we’re closer than ever before, in the sense that I think we’ve both grown over the last few years and we both have a deeper understanding of our friendship. He seems to have a way of knowing me in ways I doubt anyone else does, my quirky bits and the downright weird stuff that get other people squirming.  And he gets it, gets me, always has. Plus I guess if your friendship can survive our kind of on and off connection for so long, the mismatch of personalities and the living in different continents 90% of the time, there’s got to be something special about it.

So, despite all the crazy in our relationship (or maybe as a result of the crazy!), our Bromance is still waxing stronger and stronger with the passing years and I’m grateful for having my Best friend. So, here’s a toast to us, BFFs forever!

My Portrait Of You

The shrill sound of my phone roused me from a deep, dreamless sleep. For a moment, I felt dazed and disoriented and couldn't for the life of me figure out where I was or why. My head felt heavy and woozy and I imagined this was how an over-ripe water melon felt. I reached for the phone, or at least attempted to. The dull ache in my neck and my rubbery arms confirmed my suspicions that I'd fallen asleep at my desk.

"Hello!" I croaked into the phone just as the person at the other end rang off. In that split moment before the line went dead, I thought I'd caught the sound of a voice. I didn't know if it had all been my imagination or the ripe fruit waiting to burst out of my head, but I couldn't help feeling that if only I'd been a fraction of a second earlier, I would have just caught the voice and somewhere just out of reach of my subconscious was the speaker's identity. I was going to return the call but the caller had withheld the number. Just great!

I got up from my desk feeling stiff in the clothes I'd had on yesterday. I decided to take a bath and get on with the day even though it was just a few minutes shy of 4 am but of course there was no running water yet again. Knowing it was still too early for the meruwa to be pushing their water charts about, I resigned myself to starting the day with the sickly sweet smell of stale sweat. I pushed the windows open all the way and the netting too, ignoring the mosquitoes that immediately swarmed around my head, their love songs buzzing in my ears. I pulled myself up onto the window seat and stared down at the streets of Igbosere. In the darkness, it all looked peaceful, beautiful even. It was hard to believe that in just a couple of hours, these same streets would be transformed into the chaotic entity the world thought it knew. At that moment, it was all quite, shrouded in the seeming solemnity that bellies the madness that is Lagos. It brought back memories of another morning like this one, me, up well before dawn and having absolute no idea what the day would bring: another dull day of lectures and papers to hand in, or news that would change your life forever. Somewhere in the darkness, someone started to belt out some drunken tune, fracturing the serene picture. I sighed. So much for my little daydream, or rather dawn-dream. My drunk companion seemed to be weaving his way towards my building because his voice started to get loud enough for me to hear. Or should I say her. I really am not sure but what I'd taken as a drunk's voice actually turned out to be probably the most hauntingly beautiful sound I've ever heard. I had no idea what song it was, I couldn't even make out the words but the voice was soothing and for a few seconds, I was able to forget everything, past and present, and I let it wrap me up in its cocoon. As slowly as it had drawn close to me, it faded into the pre-dawn gloom and the world was silent again for a moment or two before a bus conductor's voice shattered it. Lagos had come to life.

When I finally got my act together and set out for work, I felt a tad better. At least, my neck didn’t ache so bad if I was mindful not to move it and I’d managed to cover up the mosquito bites on my arms with a long sleeved shirt despite the temperature being somewhere in the forties. Just the way random and totally unrelated thoughts can sometimes interfere with your thought process, I remembered the sun beating down fiercely on me that Wednesday morning a million years ago and how numb and ethereal I’d felt. While waiting at the bus stop, my phone rang and the call that woke me up came to mind. I fished the phone out of my bag, my fingers starting to tingle, not with pins and needles this time but with anticipation, you know, that feeling you get when you’re so sure you’re close to unravelling some mystery. My bus rocked up just then and I made a dash for it along with what seemed like half of Lagos. I snagged a seat by the window and hit the green button desperately hoping I wasn’t too late again this time.

            “Hello!” I gasped as the woman who’d wrestled her way onto the bus after me squashed me into the side of the bus.

            “Hey, you there?!” And just like that, my bubble burst and I felt the crushing weight of disappointment even though I’d really had no idea what I’d been hoping for.

            “Mr Ahmed?!” I said as the very generously proportioned woman beside me forced what little air I had left in my lungs out.

            “Are you on your way in yet?” He asked.

            “Yes…” I choked.

            “Something’s come up on site. You need to head there now.”

            “What? Why?! I’ve got a meeting with…”

            “I’ll take care of the meeting. Head straight to site and sort out whatever the issue is.” He replied curtly.

            “But…”

The line went dead and it was all I could do not to scream in frustration. In all fairness, I really didn’t have any air left in my lungs for a scream, but a girl is allowed her theatrics right? Trust my colleague-from-hell to pull rank on me and dump me in the deep end. Never mind that the only “rank” he had on me was a six month head start at the company and maybe six odd years in age. That was his style and I didn’t expect any better from him, but still, it  made me spitting mad that he always made me do all the dirty work and he took all the credit. I imagined my generously proportioned neighbour wrapping her beefy hands around his scrawny neck and giving him a good shake!

Typical of Lagos weather, the temperature that had been threatening to boil us all alive less than twenty minutes before, dropped suddenly and it actually started to rain. I sighed in resignation. On top of everything else, I was going to get drenched as well. I heaved my biggest poor-me-everything-is-so-unfair sigh and stared out the window absently as the bus crawled through rush-hour traffic. Across the road from me were two little kids, no more than about three or four years old. They had probably slipped out of home when their mum wasn’t looking, and they ran out into the rain with their arms flung out and screaming in glee. I watched them jump and splash in rain puddles like it was the very best thing in the entire world. One of them raised his face to the sky like he wanted to kiss the rain and I could see the sheer delight on his little face. I could almost feel each individual rain drop hit his face, feel the exciting shock of cold water-balls on soft skin, feel the rivulets they formed as they charted their course down his face, slipping into the cracks between his eyelids, streaming down the slopes of his cheeks, into the hollows of his ears, falling onto his little pink tongue. I felt suspended in time even as the boy disappeared from my line of sight and in that moment, I forgot all about my anger and frustration and self-pity and the fight went out of me. There really is nothing as humbling as a three year old raining on your pity party, pun intended, and that gave me quite a bit to chew on.

At my stop, I got off the bus using my hand bag as a make-shift umbrella. Literarily two seconds later, a jeep zoomed by and covered me from head to toe in muddy rain water. That definitely wiped every last image of magical rain drops from my mind! I gasped in shock and disbelief and then quickly spat out as some of the filthy water got in my mouth. Then another vehicle passed by and I got a second, more thorough dousing. I had absolutely no idea whether to laugh or cry or scream or tear my hair out. If there had been anything child-like about me right then, it definitely had nothing to do with the simplicity and innocence I’d seen no more than ten minutes earlier, I desperately wanted to stamp my feet and throw a mighty tantrum! I angrily wiped the muddy water from my face, gritting my teeth, and it was then that I saw it. Just pushing its way out of the dark, angry clouds was the faint outline of a rainbow. I stood there on the side of the road, shivering and dripping from head to toe like a drowned chicken, staring in wonder at the rainbow and all I could think was that life had never felt as beautiful as it did right then. 

Looking back now on the events of today, I realize it doesn’t always matter how bleak and dreary life might seem. All it takes is a voice at the other end of the line or a beautiful song at dawn, dancing in the rain or a rainbow after a storm to bring out the beauty and to turn those shades of grey into splashes of vibrant colours. And that was how you lived, in full colour, no matter what. You always saw the cup as full, regardless of what filled it, whether it was air,  water, a little bit of both, or even coke (I remember you always did love coke!) and that is how I remember you, always seeing the silver lining, not just the storm. Love you babes, still miss you like crazy…