photo credit: agsandrew/shutterstock.com via livescience.com

*

Between the end of ColdPlay’s I’ll Fix You and the start of James Blunt’s Carry You Home, I first heard your voice.

I counted in seconds. I heard it in the squeaking of the ceiling fan and the tappings of light rain drops on my roof.

I listened.

You said you were stuck somewhere that smelled like baked human flesh.
Had I tasted baked human flesh?

No, of course not. You don’t eat your own skin; you don’t peel off your own skin and place it in an oven at 260degrees Celsius and wait for it to cook, so you serve it as dinner to yourself…
no, I had not tasted baked flesh.

Your voice disappeared, fading away as James Blunt’s voice peaked.

The next time we had a talk, I was forcing a poo out, in the neatness of my toilet. My face was contorted, my abdomen clenching itself so hard I thought the force would stifle my air passage and I’d faint from asphyxiation. I head your voice in the ploop!
There were tears in my eyes as I tried to breathe.

Your voice awashed me with relief.

But I sensed the mockery.
Nate was 8′. I was Nine years old.
I had received him there, behind, one time, hadn’t I?
So why was I crying?
Poop that was barely 7′?

I wanted to ask how you measured the sizes, but didn’t.

You said you were getting tired of your cell. Did I recollect you quetching about how you were stuck the last time we spoke?
I said yes…
yes, I remember.
You said good, your memory is good.

You said you wanted to leave, to get out.
To escape maybe, did I have suggestions?

I did not, so I said no.
You called me a liar and kept quiet afterwards, your voice trailing off once again.

It was the Ovwuvwe festival of the Abraka people. Shops were locked and I didn’t think it was necessary.
The gods here are not crazy.
But as I stood outside my house that warm morning,
watching the celebrants dance from Orhia to Abraka main town,
I heard your voice again. Rasher.
It resonated from the clashing of machets and spilled from the flying colors of red and white.

Have I ever been to a prison? You asked. I said no, but I had watched movies that showed people in prison.
You asked if I liked watching those movies.
I said no, but I watched them all the same.

Why?

I said because I could relate: being inside one large prison with everybody, and then handcuffed and placed in another prison inside that prison, isolated.
Couldn’t they just break out?
There is no point, I said. Even if they do get out somehow, there is always the bigger prison. They don’t just realise this early.

You said you were stuck. You wanted to get out. That you were locked in a filthy, cold place. That you were lonely.
You had been living there for a little more than two decades, won’t I agree that you’d tried?
I said yes, 20+2 years was a long time to not be free.

I asked you to tell me where this place was but before you could answer, the Ouvwhe festival people had danced past my house.
Your voice disappeared with them.

The last time we spoke was on Friday. Your voice arose out of the ticking of my clock, between 4am and 5am, in seconds.
My room was dark,
i was lying in my bed.
You said, ‘I am tired. I am very tired of this dark, lonely, and wicked place.’

I did not reply.

You asked, irritated; ‘Why are you thinking about your life? Why are you thinking about your ulcer? Why are you thinking about other things?’

I did not answer.

You got angry. You yelled, ‘I am tired! Say something!’

I asked, ‘Where is this dark, dirty, and wicked place that smells of baked human flesh?’

It took a minute before you replied, ‘Stand up.’

I did.

Your voice led me to the light switch and made my fingers switch it on.
White light flooded my eyes.
You directed me to the mirror, nailed very close to my school bag.

You said, ‘Look.’

I looked.

You whispered, ‘You see that thing? That’s my prison.’

I asked, ‘How can I help you leave?’

You started to laugh.
You laughed and laughed.

As you laughed, tears flooded my eyes.
I said I was sorry.
I had been sorry for 20+2years right? Liar!
I said I was.
You said prove it!
I asked how?

But the clock ticked 5am, and you disappeared,

once again…