The King is Dead

I was doing my hair, when I heard the news. Going through the familiar motions of “wash day”, happiness wrapping me in comfortable oblivion, I missed the first message that came in. The hair dryer was in one hand, hot air blowing into my face with every pass over my hair. No matter how hard I tried, the thick frizz that formed a dark halo around my head and shoulders could never be tamed. The only thing that brought some semblance of control was a meticulous and coordinated process of brushing, applying hair mousse, and drying using a downward motion. My roommate thought it was ridiculous but I had sworn by it for years. My phone vibrated where it was balanced on the sink. I answered. I dropped to the floor in disbelief and instant pain. The King was dead. 

Our King, our hope, the only light in what had seemed like a year of never ending darkness…had died? The wailing started then, first muffled then gradually getting louder and louder. The voices were tumultuous and jumbled up, ragged and sharp and full of pain. The King was dead. The phrase cartwheeled through my mind, fighting for volume with the cries that surrounded me. My phone buzzed again.

“You ok?”

My roommate was texting me. That’s when I realized the ragged cries were coming from me. What I thought were voices was just my own mournful weeping. The King…was dead. Why did this hurt so much? Pain radiated out from the center of my chest all the way to my fingertips. The bathroom had become too hot, there was a rushing sound in my ear, my throat had become dry and— oh, the hairdryer was still on and still pointed at the side of my face. I didn’t move from my place on the floor. Instead I just snatched the cord right out of the socket, seeing an electrical prong bend and not really caring. My phone buzzed again.

“???”

The screen, bright fluorescent blue, lit up with another message from my roommate. It lay on the floor next to me, forgotten until that moment. I hadn’t known him, I mean, who really gets to personally know the celebrities they follow online? Sometimes they didn’t even seem human, just a carefully cultivated entity representing a giant studio, working as a machine to churn out entertainment. I had only ever seen him in pictures and in what would now be his only leading roles. Just two short years ago, we were all dressed up going to witness his greatness. That was the fun part you see, feeling the connection to the story, excited to don the patterns that defined our far removed cultures. Grandmothers and younger brothers, aunts, uncles and friends all proudly waved ticket stubs while in line to see our hero and crown him King. He had brought our rich history to life. Little boys and girls looked up at him on the screen, handsome and tall, with a smile that was wide and just a little crooked, and saw themselves reflected there. With his hair that was coiled, just like theirs and his skin that was brown, just like theirs, they saw possibility and a future that had no boundaries. He gave a piece of himself to all of us and when we reached for him, yearning for the paradise he presented in his work, he reached back, letting us know that we were beautiful. He gave his time, the most precious thing he had to offer, making sure that those who needed him the most felt loved and powerful in their own right. 

A humorless laugh huffed out of me. How ridiculous I must look, hair half dried, the left side wet and stuck to my face, the right side dried to the point of crisp stiffness. Still I did not move. Our beacon of all things good and better things to come after this time of chaos…was gone. I felt…powerless. Death is certainly not something you can stop, it is inevitable after all. Yet I never would have thought that someone so strong and full of life would slip away from us so easily. His silent battle with that terrible disease was now our public pain. Even as his body was failing him, he still managed to make us all feel just as strong as the characters he brought to life. 

The hairdryer was still in my hand but I didn’t let it go. It felt like the only thing anchoring me to this new reality. My stupid phone kept vibrating. Each new ping meant that the story had reached someone else and then another and another. News outlets had caught on by now and soon the whole world would know. The door swung open abruptly to reveal my roommate, pajama pants on, hair tightly woven in neat cornrows. 

“Girl, did you not see my message?! Why are you in here…crying?

Her terse reprimand drifted off into a soft exclamation once she took one look at me on the floor, tears and makeup smeared across my face. 

“What is it? What’s happened?” she asked, kneeling down and grabbing me by the shoulders.

I took several deep breaths and still I couldn’t find the words. Finally, I was able to rasp them out.

“He’s dead”, I said softly.

I blindly reached for my phone and held it up for her to see. Her eyes moved frantically across the screen, trying to make sense of what she was reading. Her eyes widened and instantly filled with tears and she fell forward into my chest. This time the cries really were coming from someone else. Her sobs were interspersed with cries to God as the same gut feeling that had hit me mere minutes ago now struck her. She held on to me and I to her, unsure of what to do next. We were both shrouded in the same heavy sorrow I was sure others were feeling at this very moment. One thing was for sure, we would eventually have to get off the bathroom floor. For now, all we could do was hold each other and mourn our fallen hero.