I’m not a female, but I dreamt of fish that night. How could a simple dream of fish falling from the sky affect the world that was about to collapse me spiritually and emotionally? The moment was one of such seriousness that it took minutes to tell me the news. I don’t know why I felt the need to brace myself, as if a pilot was about to land the plane of drought. My mother was sitting on her bed in her room; I was doing my homework when I heard my mother on the phone. At the time I did not care what and/or whom she was speaking to, up until I heard my cousins name called.
“OK Indigo, well, I . . .”
That was all I heard from my room before my mother shut her door. As I continued to do my homework, I thought of a couple times that Indigo and me had together. When we were kids playing “Def. jam fight for new york”, dressing up for Halloween and many more. Yet, I thought of what could be wrong to the point of my mother closing the door to block out the current conversation; I pondered this while finishing the last of my math questions. Then suddenly, I heard my mothers door creak open, not fully but wide enough to hear her mumble the words,
“Kaboni, Come here.”
I walked the 13 steps to my mother’s room, anxiously waiting for dreary news. As I stepped into her room, I noticed the smell of a recently lit Parliament cigarette, and the illusion of unhappiness. As I walked in the room, my mother sat on the lower left corner of her queen-sized bed, Indian position, and phone still in her ear. My mother had her face in one hand and her phone held on her ear by the other. As she looked up, I noticed an eerie look on her figure. The look on her face was of pure distraught and disappointment. She began to say,
“Promise not to,”
That is when an alarm went off in my head and I began to get scared for myself as well. She continued
“You know Indigo is almost 18 right? So, her choices are her choices, do you know that She has to live with what happened right?”
“Yea,” I started “but what’s going on?”
You could tell by the popping of smaller veins in her forehead that she was attempting to tell me the unbearable. At this moment, I recalled from my mind that Indigo was the child that had been through so much and still wound up on top. The child, who was abused and attacked on a daily basis, at home and on the streets, was the one who survived and became top of her class, the one who rose above the rest, the one who survived. My mother collected herself and began to finish what she tried to speak about seconds ago. She repeated,
“KaBoni. Lord. Ok are you ready,” she said with teary eyes. “Indigo had a miscarriage,”
I was speechless. There were no words that could form in my never-ending mind of wows and wonders. As stood in awe, the scenery around me seemed to enclose on my mentally lifeless body as I grasp the seriousness of the situation.
“The baby just decided to come out and they left her at the hospital, she had to push the baby herself.”
“But she was only Four months!” I extorted.
“I know but the baby came early and they do not know why. It was just very bad timing.”
I searched my brain for any clue or figure of a miscarriage: TV, movies or anything to help clear the picture that was missing the artist. There was none. The room was a depiction of darkness that reflected on the evil spirits upon my family. It was when my mother told me next that I realized how real the world was. She stated,
“ She got to hold the baby for an hour and a half before she died . . .”
In that moment, I realized that my child hood was none. I realized that my cousin lost her child because of staff that didn’t want to do their job. I realized that the world is actually an evil place. But in that moment, I decided to myself not to be swallowed whole by the spirits of Satan or the lust of Lucifer. I wanted to be better than the people that killed my cousin-to-be. At that moment, I decided to be what I was meant to be: a leader.