A few grave truths

You are not usually superstitious but your horoscope for the day said you are going to meet someone from your past and you have walked around with that expectation, staring intently into stranger’s faces and taking your time on your walks around the campus so that you don’t lose your date with fate.

Before you see who destiny has in store for you, you fantasize over who it could be.

It could be Fatima, you were best friends all through your primary school and you had made those matching bracelets that said Best Friends Forever. You don’t know quite how you fell apart exactly (aside from ending up in different secondary schools of course). But there are friendships that survive distance and you had always fancied yourself as one of those. Most days when you think of friendships, you think of her. Was there an honest magic between the two of you that you can pick up right where you left off years ago?

It could be Ken from internship. And you smile to yourself because it really could be Ken. Sure, the internship was three short months and with the mass of people he interacted with there is a slim chance he remembers you. But you know he does. You had that moment when you went for the office retreat. Nothing large happened apart from electricity sparking whenever you met his eyes. You didn’t imagine that. And now that you are more grown up, it would be nice to see where that chemistry leads.

But it could not be him!

Brown piercing eyes somehow highlighted by his specs, left cheek dimple so pronounced when he smiles like that, a scar across his forehead that gives him the aura of a superhero, broad shoulders and a height that allows him to stand a head taller that everyone else. It couldn’t be him.

And he is waving at you. Making his way towards you through the

crowd.

It couldn’t be him because he should be dead. He is dead. You know this so well. You delivered the news to his parents and sat through his three-hour long funeral, even gave the speech on behalf of his friends. You shed enough tears and no one could comfortably tell whether it was grief or guilt. Of course a number of people who had been with you on that trip suspected a little foul play but it didn’t matter because you have had two years free from him.

You dismiss the dark brown figure that’s walking towards you with all eagerness of a friendly reunion as a figment of your imagination. It’s not the first time your mind has conjured him up but you thought you were getting better at it. You hadn’t seen him or thought about him in three months and that’s saying something.

It’s not him. It couldn’t be. You convince yourself and find the strength to keep moving.

But you feel a hand on yours and look back only to see those eyes that were your beacon to sobriety during your early university years. Before you can say anything, he pulls you into a hug and with your head on his chest, you hear his beating heart. You hear the truth you don’t want to believe. Alan is very much alive.

You try to wrap your head around this fact, your mind racing at 90mph back to two years ago. Trying to understand how dead Alan is now alive and breathing. And most importantly, here before you. Lost in thought, you don’t even register when he asks you to coffee so that he can tell you his story. Nor do you claim control of your actions when your legs and heart follow after him.

Luckily he doesn’t lead you off further and you turn into the nearest cafe in the square. As a coffee connoisseur, you’d have taken the time to study everything about the cafe. But the events don’t allow you respite from your own feelings. Your legs that now feel like jelly can’t support you anymore and you sink into a chair before Alan…or anyone else for that matter can pull it out for you.

There are drops of sweat forming at your forehead. The room is getting smaller and stuffier. And even while seated, it feels like you are spinning. Like your world has been unceremoniously tilted off its axis.

You need air!

You need air not polluted by his presence. A waiter comes over to your table and you take that opportunity to go to the restroom and collect your thoughts.

Only two solid options present themselves as you splash water onto your face (you follow that with a hard pinch to ascertain that this is indeed reality and not a bad dream). You either run out of the cafe, arousing suspicion and confirming your guilt to Alan who doesn’t even look like he suspects you of anything. Or you sit through his story, giving the appropriate responses and not let off that his resurrection puts a number of holes in your plans. Forget the plans though! If any one finds out the part you played in his ‘death’ there might be jail-time in your near future.

Do they take you to jail when the person you should have killed is alive? Two years after the fact? You can’t risk it. Not when life is going great for you. You make up your mind. You’ll sit through this meeting and see what he remembers, claim your innocence whenever the opportunity presents itself and make sure by the time Alan leaves, you are on the same page as regards the damning facts of the past.

‘How have you been?’ he asks just like he did two years ago. What did you expect? That death would change all the core behaviours of the man, make him sound rougher, more self-absorbed? You don’t know how to answer but you are determined to keep up the innocent act.

‘Missing you,’ You say and smile. He smiles in response and just like that you are thrown back to Napak, Uganda, two years ago - the last time you had been a recipient of that smile. With all that heat and childish enthusiasm. You cling to your version of events because you are sure that he’ll try and make up his own truth.

Neither of you dares to break the silence as your individual truths settle within you. The waiter comes with your orders and you find that Alan ordered for you with the basics of your complicated drink down to an exact T.

Truth 1. You were friends once. 

You met in that tumultuous first year of university. Having come from a pretty shielded childhood, you were robbed your second day at campus, coming out of a bar. If you remember correctly, you know you were a mess. You had been too trusting and ended up with no money. On top of it you were mostly drunk. It was dark and you were not in the warmest of clothes. Your mind scorned your decision by torturing you with the facts of what usually happened to girls in such a state. But then Alan happened. And since then it just always seemed like he had always been there.

‘I’ve missed you too’ he replies with all the weight of a two-year absence, his eyes drinking you in like fine wine. You don’t read any ill motive or deceitfulness in that simple statement and hope maybe, just maybe, you can move past foolish actions of two years ago.

When you make no move to add to the conversation, he continues

‘Fancy finding you here at the campus, where it all began! Somebody could call it fate.’

‘I work here now. Associate lecturer.’ Not that you need to, but it is always nice to have a proper title by which to relate with the rest of the world.

‘No kidding! Look at you now. I guess I’ll meet you in one of my classes then.’

‘Oh…You are still…’

‘Studying,’ he laughs. You read more into that this time. It’s not fair that he has to pick up two years later and he must be harbouring ill feelings, ‘Yes I am. Lucky me though, the university policy allows for a larger time frame in which to finish my degree and they have all been very understanding about my "death experience’’.'

You don’t know what to respond to that so you say nothing.

Truth 2. You were the one who pushed for the trip. 

You needed a trip before you went in for your final year and Alan was always game for your wild escapades. This was no different. You made it to Napak and they said there were rumours of an ancient underground city. You jumped at the chance to check it out and as usual Alan followed you into the pit. It felt a little like Tomb Raider and you told him so. He laughed and the mood lifted. You had bonded over a game of Tomb Raider when you first went to visit him. His roommate was conveniently absent and that allowed you plenty of time to get to know each other and you used it wisely.

‘Still raiding tombs?’ He asks as he sips his coffee.

‘Barely. Life became a little more serious after that trip.’ You are not sure what to say. You’ve had two full years while his life has been on pause. Is it adding salt to a gaping wound when you tell him about the rhythm you life post-Alan took on?

‘I don’t remember much of the trip to be honest.’ You think you’ve heard him poorly and hold your breath, waiting for him to throw his accusations. ‘Did we get the gold?’

You don’t answer that because you think he is testing you. Does anyone ever forget the day they came into large chunks of real gold?

‘So what bits do you exactly remember?’ It’s important to know that before you give off information that will not be welcome.

‘It’s all bits and pieces,’ he says without looking you in the eyes, completely fixed on slicing his sausages and eggs into the right sizes. ‘I know we got to the hidden city or whatever it was. I remember us brainstorming what we would do with all the riches we got. If we got them. What I am not particularly sure of is whether we had that conversation before the pit or in it.’ He looks at you to fill in the blanks and then it is your turn to get taken up by the contents of your plate.

‘I can’t say for certain either, Al. It was two years ago.’ When he takes in a deep breath, you know you have said the wrong thing but stubbornly refuse to make amends.

‘I was in coma for…months.’ He sighs, ‘In my head it is mostly like a recent memory. I know for you it must be so distant. It’s just…it’s so hard to tell what is real and what is not. My truth seems to have been lessened with time.’

You don’t want to feel sorry for him but you do. At least a small piece of you does. It must be hard to return to a reality where the people you thought you’d grow with are miles ahead of you. A lot can change in a small amount of time. You know this better than anyone. Now two years?!!!

Truth 3. You were the one who left him behind. 

Literally. When your excavation was over, you turned your back on him. The hidden city or whatever it was, was absolutely stunning. There were strange markings on the wall and you were giddy over them, taking a thousand pictures of each as though any less would render your trip a mere dream. Al saw the gold items first and called to you. It was a lot of gold and it was just the two of you. You stood admiring it and then…like a terrible movie, the ground began to shake. The guide had stayed outside but you could hear them shouting for you to get out over the walkie-talkie.

You pulled everything you could into the big box you had carried and ran out laughing. Because ‘you laugh in the face of danger’ was your catchphrase for every adventure you embarked on. You made it but the caves collapsed and shut him in. You heard him say that he would find another way out. You heard him cry for you to not leave him behind, to do whatever it took to get him out. Dead or alive, he wanted his family to have that closure.

He doesn’t know that after you got hold of that gold, you were praying that something dreadful would happen to him. You didn’t join in the search when the tremors subsided but sat by and hoped he would somehow die and you would claim all the wealth that was sure to come your way. You had seen the greed in his eyes when he had looked at the gold but didn’t have a mirror to check yours.

Three days with no sign of him, you went home on a gamble, that you would declare him dead and he would die indeed.

‘How did you get out…’ how do you phrase the question, ‘from under all that debris?’

‘Can’t say for certain. In my head, one moment I was walking into the pit and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed ten months later.’ You slow your fork’s progress to your mouth when you hear that. Ten months later! So where had he been hiding for the extra one year and two months his family was forced to grieve him?

‘So where have you been?’

‘Rehab.’ He doesn’t miss a beat. And something about that answer gives you the impression that these answers are rehearsed. ‘Speech, eyesight, mobility, memory…everything was thoroughly crushed so it took a while.’ He shrugs.

You want to commend his healing because he looks too good to be true but he will be sure to read the suspicion in that.

‘I know what you are thinking, that I look great and all that. I’m also pretty surprised with the after-picture.’

This conversation is wearing you out because it seems it has no direction and you want to get done with it. Maybe if he had called ahead, you would have handled this better. A fleeting thought crosses your mind that maybe he wanted to see you wiggle and grapple with the reality of your actions. You pick up your bag but he is not ready to let things go.

‘So how much was it? All the gold and all that?’

Just like that, the room is spinning again and you can’t get enough air. You need to get away before he talks you out of your money. And he doesn’t have an inkling of the sacrifices you have made to grow it. This was all he wanted, it has to be. Surely in all that time he must have been able to make his own conclusions. And why didn’t he reach out earlier if all he wanted was to pick up the friendship where it left off? But this is not new, there is always someone angling for your money. Maybe wealth has filled you with paranoia.They say money changes a person. They don’t know how much.

‘Is that why you are here? To find out how much of my wealth you can claim?’ He winces at that but you don’t care. Money makes it possible for you to step on people’s toes and not care. Also, you are not willing to part with the life you have grown accustomed to. Sure, a huge chunk of it is his but you are not in the mood to share.

‘If that is what you were after, Al, I can wire you your money and be done with this.’

‘That’s not what I want. I ju…’ You don’t let him finish as you storm out of the cafe.

And you walk as far as you can from him, far from Napak, far from the secrets you are forced to keep, far from the evil bit of you that roars its ugly head when that gold and money are brought up.

Truth 4. You would do it all over again.