The Forgettable

Silence they say is not for the weak-minded. It tends to bring up memories long forgotten or suppressed. I can’t help think that they never came back because I was not worth the distinction of remembrance. I am currently lying on a stope of the back door of a fast-food restaurant waiting for a fresh batch of food remains that will be the first meal I have had since three days ago. Though of late the garbage clearance routine has changed. This is of course due to the current pandemic that has led to the people avoiding the central business district. It is not all bad though. I have been able to roam to sections of this big city, where under normal circumstances I would not safely get close to.

 I feel sleep creeping in as I wait for the waiter to take out the trash. It is my body's defense mechanism against my dry throat and growling stomach. At times it also helps to distract myself by thinking of the vastness of the universe as a way of belittling all my problems. If I was back home right now, I would be cuddled up on the sofa with my brother probably watching a Netflix series as was our Friday night tradition. Sometimes I still hear my best friend’s laughter like a distant echo. There was a time when the memory would cause a crippling pain like shards of glass had been embedded around my heart. As time goes, I feel less and less. In its place comes a growing numbness and utter despair.

It is hard to believe that there was once a time when I was the center of my family’s attention. They would delight over every small action from me. Always running around to cater to my every whim despite the fact that I was adopted. I never spoke yet they seemed to easily understand my needs and for this, I was always grateful. Sometimes I think they overcompensated to ensure that I never feel like an outsider. My brother and best friend was the only child of theirs, Kamau. He was talented at playing soccer and from an early age, the parents put him under a professional coach to harness his full potential. I often played one-on-one games with him in the backyard of the house after he got home from school but in most cases, he would let me win. The next exciting phase of the family came when Kamau got a full soccer scholarship abroad at a prestigious college. The whole family was elated. I felt like my heartbeat had developed a beat to the tune of the joy I felt. The hugs kept coming, had I known of what was to come, I would have sneaked in more.

Soon, the packing began. Boxes after boxes were filled and stacked in one corner of the house. One thing however to be noted is that none of my items were yet to be packed. “Ah! Maybe they will be packed last,” I comforted myself. “After all, I have the least items in the family. It will take a few minutes.” After two days of everyone moving around making sure that all their essentials were ready to go, my earlier anxieties got justified. The loading van drove to a stop at the front of the house and young men jumped out and began the loading process. My things were still lying around and no empty box insight. I was gripped with panic as a paralyzing thought came to mind.

 Before I could calm myself and convince myself against it, Kamau knelt to the ground facing me with tears in his ebony eyes. “No! No! this cannot be happening!” I broke from his contact. My mind overrun with thoughts, I paced across the living room. “They cannot be leaving me behind.” A lump rose to my throat and a moan escaped from my mouth. I could not breathe for the air around me felt acidic. I saw them all pile into their car and ran in without a second thought. They carried me out and placed me on the curb but I persistently jumped back in. This loop happened for a while and I added whimpering so that they could understand how I could not see my life without them. I was desperate. This seemed to only agitate them further. The last feeble attempt had me thrown against the wall and in the process twisted my ankle. The salt to the wound was watching drive off so fast as if my state was no concern to them.

To say I was in pain would do no justice to what I felt yet, it was a necessary reminder that I was just the family dog and nothing more. How foolish it was for me to think of myself as part of the family. I lay there for what seemed to be an eternity with the hopes that they would come back. When the hunger became too unbearable, I dragged myself off to find sustenance. Over time I found my way to the central business district and it became my new hope. The first months were hell, to say the least. I was chased everywhere I went, got stone hurled at me, almost got hit by a car on several occasions, and got attacked by packs of dogs whose territory I had unknowingly crossed. It took me several months, but I finally found a way to navigate around.

The squealing of the rusty door hinged brings me back to the stope. The waiter comes out back and disposes a small black trash bag into one of the old rusty bins. From the smell and the size of the bag, I can tell that the meal will be very little. For now, it will do. It is going to be a while before things go back to normal and restaurants feel up again. I sprint towards the bin as soon as I hear the hinge lock from the inside. In desperation I rip open that bag and devour as fast I can before other dogs join in. I sometimes wish that I would consume something poisonous or get hit by a car so that I can get the sweet relief of death. After all, no life is worth living when you are forgettable.