Yellow-Footed Pigeon

Content warning: suicide

The sound of pigeon beaks knocking my window frame woke me from my sleep every morning, but for the past few weeks, I slept longer than usual because I had been dreaming about Mariam. I didn’t know why. It was strange because I hadn’t seen or heard from her in close to twelve years. Then suddenly I got a call two days ago from my father that the whole family was getting together because Mariam’s husband had just died. He said she was devastated and needed us to be there for her desperately. Even though she was only a cousin, she had no one else. Our family was an odd bunch—we grew up so distant from each other that we never really showed deep interest in the state of affairs of the next person until he or she was sick or something bizarre had happened—like when Luke almost died from an OD. It wasn’t deliberate. We just honestly weren’t good at communicating.

Mariam lived some states away, at the outskirts of the Central Capital. I took a leave of absence from my father’s newspaper firm where I worked as the Chief Editor to join the family over there. My father had leased the 5-bedroom duplex next to Mariam’s. Meanwhile, Mariam’s house itself was an old family building Father had sold to Jack (Mariam’s husband) for a ridiculously small amount of money as a gift during their wedding and it brought back memories of our childhood together—especially the times Mariam and I chased each other around when we returned home from school and there was nobody around but the two of us. In the nostalgia, I started to feel an echoing effect of both of my parents’ absence even more. On my way there, I had thought about what seeing her again would be like after such a long time. I wondered what she looked like—if she had changed; I certainly had.

Unlike the city, this environment was much quieter and peaceful, and life seemed slower in this part of the world. For the first time in a long time I could take a deep breath, close my eyes and give my mind liberty to wander.

The funeral was a quick, closed-casket ceremony. As expected, everyone dressed in black clothing. It was a sad long evening and the rain that fell earlier in the day chilled the air with the smell of wet grass. Jack’s best friend gave the eulogy and some of his family members said kind words about him. He was a young man, only thirty-seven. I didn’t know what he looked like because I hadn’t even met him in the first place but it made me think about the shortness of life and how easily one could go in a snap. The priest closed the ceremony and we each left separately. I still hadn’t got a chance to see Mariam throughout this time. I only saw glimpses of her figure from a distance moving here and there. She seemed preoccupied with a number of things.

I stepped into Mariam’s home for the first time. It was quite different from the house we once lived. It had been renovated on the inside. The rooms on the ground floor had been torn apart and only a large living room and a front yard were present. There were lavender plants growing by the windows that gave the home a very earthly and sweet fragrance. They also had very simple paintings on the wall, but there was a silence in the house that was loud enough to make you feel the absence of a soul. I saw pictures of Mariam and Jack and their little boy, Mikey. I had seen him at the funeral.

Our family stayed behind after other guests left. I thought it was a good time for us to reconnect. It must have been five or six years since I had seen anyone other than father who I met occasionally because I worked for him. Mother was there, as lovely as a dove and as old as her youth. My older sister, Faith had grown obese since the time she travelled and spent a number of years in the States. Meanwhile, she was overly concerned that I had lost so much weight and taken the shape of a broomstick, in her words. I didn’t know what to tell her so I shook my head and smiled. It was good to see Luke, my younger brother. I had missed him so much. I didn’t think he would come, considering his relationship with Father. I was happy I could see for myself that he was doing well.

Among the many problems our family had was that we didn’t know how to make things NOT about us and the night after the funeral was no different. After Mikey was put to bed that evening, things had gone off to a rocky start and heavy rounds of insults were fired at the table. It happened after we had said our prayers and were just about to eat. A quarrel erupted quickly between Father and Luke—and Faith who took sides with Father received her share of shots. Father had tried to make Luke feel guilty about mother’s fragile state of health, reminding him of the drug problem he once had. Frankly, he hadn’t forgiven Luke for dropping out of the university and turning down a role at his pharmaceutical company some years earlier. Luke was stubborn, and he didn’t want anything to do with Father. He didn’t want my kind of life. Instead he ran with his passion, set up the restaurant business of his dreams and became a Chef. Father thought he was a disappointment and made sure he knew that.

The air remained tense for about a minute or so, after which my mother apologised to everyone at the table and sent Father home, before leaving herself. Luke was the first to go. Afterwards, my sister and her husband left for for the night and our family dinner had come to an end with just Mariam and me at the table. Finally.

I hadn’t said a word to her before now and though I was eager, her mind seemed to be elsewhere. After all, her husband was just put to rest.

Now that I could see her closely, she reminded me of those old classic paintings. She was beautiful and had a glorious sparkle in her eye, only that the serenity that came along with her grit now seemed to have been overtaken by an indescribable hurt that made me feel sorry and somehow responsible for her pain.

“I’m sorry this had to happen here and now. You know how they are. Father’s always trying to prove a point.” She was silent. I was uncomfortable. Maybe I should have said something kind.

‘You guys seemed happy.”

But she erupted with a sharp look.

“Please don’t do that.”

She stood up and walked to the front yard leaving me at the table. Although I was taken aback, I went after her. I was slow to speak. She was gazing at the stars. There were so few that night.

“What did I do?” I asked innocently.

Without even looking at me she said so bluntly,

“You left.”

I was shocked.

“You’re still angry at me? It’s been twelve years Mariam.”

She became quiet and then she sighed.

“I don’t know. I feel so many things right now.”

I couldn’t imagine what was going on inside of her. I was deeply concerned.

“What happened to him - Jack?”

She paused and then spoke slowly, taking breaks between sentences.

“Some days ago I heard a gunshot when I was in the laundry room. He’d been out of work for a while. He was broke but I didn’t know how bad it was. You know he wasn’t talking to me. He just kept drinking, and drinking and seeing other women. We used to fight a lot.”

She paused again and continued,

“He had taken all of his savings, all the money he worked for fourteen years, and lost everything in a property scam. It was horrible. That day I ran upstairs and stepped into his blood. His brains were all over the floor.”

She paused again and continued.

“I just…”

“I thank God Mikey was in school.”

“I didn’t even know he had a gun.”

There were tears in her eyes. I felt terrible. Why did she have to go through that?

 “I’m so sorry.” I said.

“No you’re not.” She snapped back softly.

“Aren’t all men the same?”

“You left me.”

I felt even worse but I thought it was important to tell her,

“Come on. We were teenagers. You were my best friend. We should have drawn a line.”

“There’s no way…”

She interrupted me.

“Tell me Alex. Why did you run? What were you so afraid of?”

There was no point in trying to make myself look good. I told her,

“I’m a coward. Look at me.”

“Don’t you know already? I run from things. I don’t have the fight in me.”

“You’re too old to be a coward, Alex, don’t you know that already?”

It was funny. She was still the same old Mariam who tried to convince people out of things they thought they knew.

“You haven’t changed one bit.” I told her.

“You’ve changed a lot.” she said.

“I know.”

"It’s ironic isn’t it?"

"What?" I asked.

"Life."

"I never wanted to get married. That was your dream." She said.

"You wanted to write poetry for a top magazine." I said.

"Well, life's just beginning again. We can start over. We can be there for each other. We can help each other. I won't let you go, not this time. I promise you." I said.