Young People Die
It’s scary you know
“Please stay
I want you, I need you, oh God
Don’t take
These beautiful things that I’ve got”— Benson Boone
Three evenings before the evening you passed, we stretched our legs two streets away from our place in the name of getting some exercise. I remember. I still carry the memory of what you wore and the things you said to me. You lived. This is a homage to the good fortune we had in sharing space and time. This is not a message of farewell.
You’ve remained here 13 years later — a guardian angel. The first story you shared about yourself was that your mother had laboured so hard for a child before she eventually had you. You were the only one who stayed after many others before you went back. Then you gave your blessings, and another stayed after you. Your mother would come to have two of you.
Káshìmawò, it was easy to ignore your habit of lateness because you were so flawless in ways that could not have been taught. Do you remember the day you came to visit at the hostel and brought me food with fruit juice but you claimed you were only there to bring me my pyjamas? Of course, you remember. Or when I became ill and you said, “If only sickness was transferable,” while staring into my eyes with a piercing grin that made me believe you meant every word. Of course, you remember.
Your eyes. I could never forget them. After all, I own the exact pair of kind ones that you had. I vividly remember having breakfast at Café bonjour after stopping to fuel your car tank at TotalEnergies (which used to be just Total back then). Your demeanour was as though my existence blessed you. As if it were an honour for you to witness time pass in my presence. I’ve gone ahead and made that my standard.
I can still hear your thunderous belly laugh from that midnight of the Golden Gate reservation. I woke up earlier than everyone else in the house because I was not about to take any chances. Home Alone was real as far as I was concerned. I imagine you were awake because it was unusual to hear running water at that hour. Then we arrived at the restaurant, and the thrill of washing our hands with a hot towel before eating would not leave me even decades later.
Seeing you in people and places never gets old; it reinforces that you have always remained. Which is one of the reasons the film Anikulapo made some sense. I see you in the way people drive their cars. I see you in places where enjoyment is the only business of the day. I see you peering behind the refrigerator questioning why I keep drinking cold liquid when it’s unhealthy. I see you and it’s unbelievable how you continue to see me.
Thank you for seeing me and letting me know that you love me.
