𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆.
So I had a dream the other day...
I'm sitting in the tub, and I hear the sound of a child singing. It's soft; the tone shaking through the water but serene, almost like a siren song.
At first, I just think I'm hearing things. I mean I ain't gone hold you, I've had some drinks. Champagne glass after champagne glass, a regretful pull of a spliff. I don't really have a reason to celebrate, but I chose to anyway.
This year, I told myself that I'm going to pick the pieces back up. New York didn't work out, but that doesn't mean nothing else will. And for the first time in a while, I felt like I could. Its these real... happy thoughts that I'm feeling, like a weird optimism swelling in my thoughts. Its invasive. A second voice in my head. And the more I listen to the child singing, the louder it gets. Before I know it, my questions are slipping outloud.
"Hello? Who's there?" I lean in closer to the drain, ear out like I'm gonna get an answer. The faucet sudden turns on, though the water isn't coming out. An elongated, water form of Malik slides out instead. "Hi Mama. The Water Lady wanna see you." I don't know who he is talking about, but I humor him anyway. I still struggle with seeing him each time he pops up, seeing those bullet wounds even in his phantom form. I already know I've lost my mind, but no one knows the extent of it. Nobody knows that I find comfort in insanity.
That I will always choose my son.
"Okay, baby. Show me this Water Lady." As soon as I say it, I start to morph too. I no longer have skin and am only made of water. The drain pulls, sucking me down into a whirlpool before I disappear into darkness. The waters are cool, its easy to breathe despite being submerged. But on the other end, there's a bright light to follow. And once I did, to my surprise, I found myself standing on a Caribbean beach.
"Where are we, Malik?"
He's standing in front of me, shirtless and gazing out to the water. "Haiti." His back to me as he points out to the horizon. I follow along, seeing another form pulling from the surface. Its a woman, her curves shaping with each step she takes.
She's beautiful; statuesque, yet graceful as she walks on water. I'm stuck in awe as she comes closer, watching the water roll off her frame and turn into layers of sheer. Clear skin turning a deep mahogany underneath, her head adorned with a headress covered in cowries and pearls. She's familar in every sense of the word, a face I've seen in my dreams all through the week.
She doesn't respond, she just looks at me with a smile. She gives a subtle nod, gesturing to the island with her head. In the distance is a building, right on the shore. Its covered in vibrant colors, the clay walls painted a vivid blue with golden panels along the windows. French styled, like most buildings in Haiti, but different in a way I couldn't put my finger on. Different in a way where it felt like home.
"Theres a whole world outside of yours, Chimamanda. Your ventures will spread far once you step away from past pains."
As she's speaking, the light get brighter. Like a hot white, blinding almost. The last thing I remember is seeing her face, with Malik standing nearby.
"Bwa pi wo di li wè lwen, men grenn pwomennen di li wè pi lwen pase l."
My son waves bye to me.
And then, I wake up.