Maame(93)

“Really?”

“I will of course pray about the counselor. What is her name?”

“Angelina.”

“Is she Black?”

I nod and this seems to mollify her instantly. “That is good.”

“Ghanaian too. I think she’s even Christian,” I add. I obviously have no idea if she is the latter, but Mum looks pleased.

“Maybe she can mentor you for your future career,” she says.

“Mum, I work in publishing.”

“And so? Can you not keep your options open? Publishing doesn’t make you a lot of money, does it? How much does Kristine make?”

“Mennim.”

Mum raises her eyebrows and a wide smile breaks out across her face. We continue to converse in Twi and she corrects me where I go wrong until I can repeat it correctly.

“Try and find out Kristine’s salary.”

“That will be difficult.”

“I bet Angelina makes more.”

“Maybe.”

“Maame,” she says after a while.

“Yes, Ma.”

“Seriously, when do you think you will marry?”

I smile and look her in the eyes. “Not any time soon.”



* * *



When I get back to the flat, I pour myself a glass of water and sit in the kitchen, drinking it slowly.

Upstairs, I untie my hair, brush my teeth and shower, standing with my head low under a cascade of hot water. When out and dressed, I sit on the floor facing the window. I stare out to the sky with my back leaning against my bed and my legs crossed.

“Hi, Dad.”

I wait to see if the sky changes at all and when it doesn’t, I continue.

“It’s me, Maddie. I’m not one hundred percent sure how heaven works, whether you can see me or if it’s possible to tune out everyone else who’s talking to heaven right now just to hear me, but it’s worth a shot. I thought I would start doing this, if you don’t mind. We didn’t talk much when you were here; I always thought you didn’t care, but maybe you thought I was the one who didn’t care. Regardless, maybe we could get to know each other a bit better; start from the beginning almost.”

I clear my throat.

“I’m twenty-five now, twenty-six in four months. I know your memory was slipping at the end so you couldn’t remember those kinds of things, but you’re healthy again now, that’s how heaven works, right? When Mum and I went to see you at the funeral home, your feet were no longer swollen. Can you walk on your own now, Dad? Can you run? You must feel so free. You can stretch your fingers and run laps in the clouds.

“I haven’t heard you have a proper conversation in years and I know it’s because your brain wouldn’t let you. You must be talking people’s ears off now. I wish I’d recorded your voice…”

I would get a tissue but I don’t want to move, so I use the back of my hand to pat my face dry.

“Maybe it’s not even a physical thing up there and it’s just your weightless soul and that, for you, is just a feeling, so you’re not actually running or stretching but you are weightless. The soul thing would explain how everyone fits in heaven. If you could have a chat with God about some questions and doubts I’m having, then come and explain them to me, I’d appreciate that. Don’t feel like you can’t come and visit me, not in a spooky way—I scare easy—but you know, in like a dream or a voice in my head? Although, not in a way that will make me think I’m having a psychotic breakdown. I’ll leave the technicalities up to you. Have a chat with the other souls up there and see what the preferred method of communication between the living and the dead is.

“Anyway, Dad…” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry we had to say goodbye to you today. I’m sorry I wanted to leave the house, to move out and find out who I was. Especially since it was all for nothing; I’m not entirely convinced I’m any better than I was before. Maybe, that’s a bit harsh.” I think of Alex. “I learned some things.” I think of Ben. “I learned a lot of things.” I think of Mum and James. “Actually, I’m going to take that back; it wasn’t all for nothing. But I’m sorry that on some days the guilt melts away and I feel relieved about not having to worry about you so much. I’d have you back in a heartbeat if … I probably shouldn’t have said any of that. Please don’t hate me.”

I pause, thinking about what Angelina said about love and all its varied forms of expression. “I do love you and you must know that, but it is a relief to not worry, to know you’re no longer in pain, spending your life sat in a chair swallowing pills. I’d rather you were here, but I can’t help thinking you’re much happier now. You must be. Are you happier now or am I kidding myself?”

I sit in the silence with my eyes closed.

“I hope you’re happier,” I whisper. I open my eyes and wipe the sticky mess from under my nose. “Night, Dad. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

It’s only when I get into bed and hear him say, “Okay, Maddie,” that I finally smile.

Because there’s no tremor in his voice when he says it.



* * *



It’s raining and I can’t find myself amidst the dark night, but I keep running because I have to save him. The cemetery is so large, larger than I remember it, but I spot the tree he’s buried under, sprawled and wild in the wind, the mound and its familiar flowers. I drop the torch I’m holding and begin to claw at the wet dirt with my hands, mud embedding my fingernails.