Having had the last laugh, he saw the humour in his ultimate death.
In living, others, he would never find out, just got to laugh a lot longer.
My Eulogy
Take me to a vast and open field and with my last elegy being read, release my ashes as you set me free, free in death, to run with the wind. No, tears you will not cry – at least not tears of death; but cry for me tears of birth. Like a new born emancipated from the womb taking its first breath, I will be liberated to take breaths elsewhere.
Tell him. Tell him that I loved. Tell him that I loved, if not only him. Tell him I tried to find the words, I tried. But I soon found there wasn’t enough songs to sing, nor enough words to write and then, never enough time. Tell him, I became impatient for more time, and then impatient with the time I had.
I want to be buried under a moonlit sky, with only the whistle of the trees’ silence, with no words spoken as I spoke them all before. Write no words too, as those letters will never tell the stories that we’ve already told. Cry, you will not, at least not from my words; and least not from our words.
In her ear whisper. In her ear whisper that no matter what, I will stand at her side. Tell her, my mother dear, the whisper she hears will be mine. Tell her the whistling of the trees in the silence, with no words said, will be me. Tell her to take me to a vast open field, so my last elegy can be read, and to spread my ashes with the wind. Tell her there, to set me free.
Squeezed
I took your hand and squeezed it so hard, I thought I’d die.
In not letting go, I didn’t realise that I klled you instead.
The Barrister
She is a lawyer.
No, to be precise, she is a barrister. A distinction she is always quick to point-out, ‘We wear the wigs, darling,’ she scolds with her deep, husky voice. That bit – wearing wigs – always makes me laugh. A white wig, on-top of her weaved, black Caribbean hair. Yes, she is a barrister. I didn’t see how it was possible, but then again, I barely finished high school, and know nothing about the law, except what I’ve watched on Judge Judy. She was a stunner, my friend, not Judge Judy (sorry JJ), and when she initially spoke, she sounded the part (of a barrister that is, not a stunner). But once you scratched her surface, (or her veneer), you realised that she really was a bit, well… dim. But I liked her company. And she had a decent heart.
Not too soon after meeting her, I would find out that she had a bit of a reputation for her courtroom antics. What she lacked in legal finesse, she made up with such theatrical flair that judges and opposition alike, loved sparring with her. Rumour has it, that during a trial involving a cosmetic company, she purposely shouted out, Mascara! rather than Objection! banging her hand on table so hard, she almost broke it. The judge, use to her theatrics, did not miss a beat, and quickly retorted, Lipgloss – duly satisfied that she did not pull a fast one over him. The whole courtroom laughed. Levity. She brought… levity. She lost the case. She loses a lot more than she wins, but as she says, ‘you grow accustomed to losing. It helps you appreciate winning a lot more. Never get to use to winning.’
She found out about a year ago. A routine examination caught it. Caught early enough, but it was terminal all the same. She swore me to secrecy and refused to tell me how long she had, ‘That’s not important to know, I even wish they hadn’t told me.’ She carried-on living the life she had, until it, the cancer, took its toll. Month by month, she slowed down until she came to a near standstill, the secret impossible to be kept secret. ‘This is the bit I hate’, she told me, ‘everyone showing me their pity, reminding me that I’m dying. Show me the pity when I’m dead. Show me the pity at the funeral, I’ll appreciate it a lot more then.’
In her last two weeks, it was just she and I. She had no family – none that I knew about. Alone together for the last two hours. Alone for her last words. She opened her eyes and said, ‘rosebud.’ She laughed, theatrical the very end. ‘You get used to losing. It helps you appreciate winning a lot more. Never get to use to winning.’
1 hour and 37 minutes later, she was gone.
Toxic Waste
I had a dream that my lungs filled with toxic waste called air.
Each inhale becoming at last, an exhale.
An inhale, becoming my last
exhale.
Legacy
When I am gone, people will read these letters I put together. Read all these letters that I put together to write words. Words put together to make sentences. The sentences put together to tell a story. Letters telling my story.
I will cheat death in the end.
My Conversation With Death
For the past two years, he has steadfastly remained at my side. I hope I did not offend when I told him he had come too late.
“I died many years ago,” I said playing with the handkerchief I held in my hand.
He looked at me, and put a smirk on his face,
“Yes, I know. I hear your silence. I cannot kill, what is already dead.”
“So why do you stay?”
“To keep you company.”
Our silence, once again, returned.