In Siegfried.
By Dede Israel.
“The markings on your surface…”
I have always loved scars, facial scars. Scars I can touch with my hands. Scars I can see in the soul of people I have come across and witness. I have always loved scars because I have so many. Mine isn’t the the one you’ll see on my body. My scars are everywhere inside. Neatly wrapped around the flesh of my heart. They are imprints in my soul. I wonder, what I would be without them?
This should explain why I fell in love with you. Scar. It’s why they say misery loves company. We always attract our kind of scar and more often than not, they leave us with more scars.
There’s something blissful that happens to two people when they can see each other’s scarring, you can hear it in the way their voice breaks, in their silence, their laughter and most especially see it in their eyes. The eyes is the ocean that reflects scars.
I have seen people’s eyes cloud with emotion, like a sudden rain that falls only to clear in an instant. I never asked you how you got your scar, all I know is that the day I noticed it, I loved you more. I don’t want to know what happened or who had hurt you. Actually I do want to know. Who tore your face?
Some days, I wondered, why you? No answer sufficed. Nothing. I asked myself this question when I felt blank and thought I had forgotten what it felt to love you. But the image of your pink lips, would come as a response, I remembered our conversations. Remembered that velvety rich voice that made me smile over the phone, that sound that made me pick my words delicately and still stutter. I stammered when I spoke to you. Your voice was always new, always refreshing, and shocking like I never heard it. It took me off balance, tripped me.
I tripped for you the first day I saw you, sat close to you. In fact I fell on my face. Fell in the mud! On Tweeter, I tweeted that I couldn’t breathe close to you. You made me hold my breath when I was close to you. As if breathing the way I had always known would let me out and expose me. And If I didn’t hold my breath I may have died from breathing too fast.
At home, I would lie down on my bed, remember my day with you and smile like a fool, I used to be content in those days. It was a love that was enough until it wasn’t.
I knew then, that I would do anything for you, I think you also knew. You wielded so much power over me. I packed so much food each day we met. I once told you that I had fried plantains and eggs all for you. My back started to hurt because of the extra weight in my bag and I told myself it was because you weren’t eating well. You had no time cook, no time to care of yourself. It was a valid excuse and I didn’t see any reason not to help.
It took me some time to stop that foolishness. You hardly said please, or thank you. And I liked the tone of your voice each time you asked me for something. I have never been the one to agree easily too soon, but I have always given too much too quickly when I am begged. Okay, I lied I am a very agreeable person. Someone once asked me why I said yes to everything and I shrugged. Once I can do something for people within my power, I do it without thinking. With you, there was no thought. Just doings.
I said yes each time when you asked and yes when you didn’t ask. Each time my mind suggested I get something for you, I said yes. This was different and so natural. I would end the day sometimes in your house and I cooked for you.
When I started to say No, I saw the shock in your face and I relished it. I was already learning how to un-love you. When I told my friend about your tone, he said I should let you ask for things kindly and I should make you say ‘please’. After that, you asked me to go to the market for you and I said no. Follow you there, and I said no. I made all kind of excuses when I could easily run the whole city for you.
That was when you realized something was wrong. And you asked what was upsetting me and I said nothing. You were so persistent that I almost gave in. The last time you asked, it was in front of the market, and I almost told you. That day, I had given in to one of your request. Here I was, in the market with you, failing woefully at learning to say no. I was tearing in pieces and if you had asked that question at the right place, and not in front of that smelly market, somewhere else, I would have come undone. Probably lost my shit and confessed everything. How would I have told you that I was upset because of the way you made me feel? That I knew that loving you was a disaster? And I that I had tried to un-love you in vain? No, I told myself that we were better of this way. I would endure this torment till I felt none of it again.
All these was before I told you, before heart break anniversary and before an attempt at trying to convince my best friend that I am trying to heal. I was talking about the scars on your face.
***
LESSONS FROM WALKING ON EDGES.
What is falling more than the reconciliation of our bodies with the earth, with stability? And even if we are one with the earth, can it hold our bodies down?
Maybe where we fall is wherever we are meant to be. I know that heights hold no promise; anyone can fall…
To be continued…
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"We always attract our kind of scar and more often than not, they leave us with more scars"- omo! Was about to call you out when you made yourself unagreeable, lol. Th narration is akin to a love letter that decides it's an essay mid-sentence; it's like coquettish and I love it. I love this love story even knowing how it ends (or parts of it). I can't see her face in my head when I read this. But I can see yours; the smile you must have had. It pains me that I didn't get to see Preye-in-Love. Beautifully read, your speckled face. alug.
Gosh this was exhilarating 🥺❤️❤️