1 At the Cemetery

.Warm tears reigned down his light-brown-skinned cheeks, incessantly. His lips quivered, jittering in sorrow as he sobbed. His wide-opened eyes remained bulging and his vision, blurry. He could hardly visualize a thing. His heart sank low, as low as the headstone, lying adjacent to the stone chair, on which he sat.

His yellow-striped-brown V-necked polo shirt had nearly been completely soaked, in his perspiration and tears: emanating from beneath, his black curly afro, mouth, neck, behind his neck, back, chest and belly. Beads of sweat formed somewhat like an ever-flowing, little river of liquid, which fell further down.

The results. A coalition of wetness, with the terminal points being his collar, and shirt. His hands consciously extracted mucus from his nose, into the brown handkerchief where he concealed it away. He gripped it firmly, as grief gripped him. He sniffed repeatedly, and swiftly as fresh tears commenced their journey, down his damp cheeks.

The pair of brown pants he had on, tasted of the perspiration from his thighs. He sniffs repeatedly, as more tears narrow down his bulging red eyes.

"Mum, I am here today. It’s been a while, for that I apologize. A fortnight is quite a long time to keep away from seeing you." He gasped. His thorax moved back and forth.

"I had one of those migraines again, but uncle Travis the strong, nursed me back to health." He paused, then threw his hands in the air. "Yes", he affirmed, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Uncle Travis the strong, is what we call him now. There is an epidemic, in town, called the boom. It began at a bar where uncle Travis had been drinking.

Every other person at the bar that night contracted it except uncle Travis. When tested, not a trace, of the virus, was found in his body. The doctors say he has an exceptionally strong immune system" he sniffed once more. His bulging eyes were beginning to be rid of the tears. He directed his focal attention to the skies.

"Cape of Hope is in good shape. The government of Nigeria and Cameroon have been supportive, and the ranch is in good shape. The ranch still thrives. Uncle Travis sees to its every success," he sniffed again as he inspected his environment.

He stomped his feet to ward off an erring caterpillar, from leaving the grass to the top of his navy-blue all-star pair of converses.

"I miss you, mum. I miss dad as well." He observed a moment of silence.

"How is heaven?". He paused as though awaiting a reply. " I have reason to think that I might be able, to find dad.

I remember one red plank you detached from the door of the shed, while you were refurbishing it”, he shuddered the remnant of the cold which got stuck in his body, while he was shedding tears.

"It had his office address, on it. I think it might be of immense help in my search."

The eerie silence whistled loudly in his ears. The sun emerged, more boldly. The heat did some good, pouring warmth into a cold, melancholic lad. He shut his eyes for a minute, letting his back take a rest, against the concrete chair.

He could hear the mild rustling of the brown, withered leaves at the foot of the trees from which they fell.

The trees were scattered heterogeneously about the graveyard. Each seemed strategically positioned around a seat.

A handful of thumb-sized birds, clad in several neon hues tweeted and chirped what was meant to sound happy tunes, except they encouraged him, to plunge into more depths of downheartedness. In a way, he enjoyed their company though.

He yawned. His stomach expanded and contrasted. His palms were folded in a fist, placing his knuckles on the tough, yet smooth surface of the concrete seat. As he inhaled even further, his weight rested upon his fists. He could feel the strain. He welcomed it, maintaining a still position, as one meditating or practising yoga would.

His position, he retained. A deep conviction within him, conveyed the belief, that he could hear his mum communicate with him, through the wind. This meditation practice had been a routine, since few months following his sixth birthday, when she passed away. The dark clouds he viewed that day, steals across the skies each time he envisages it.

He could recall, how uncle Travis had greeted him, with the news. He had been striving to fight back tears, which had captured the countenance of his face. He had been taking the air on the front porch and had sighted him from a distance. He could sense that all had not been well.

He had recently returned from school, the place he had no urge to go to, on that day. After persuasion from his uncle, Minka, and the teacher, whom uncle Travis had called, he decided to go. Apart from being persuaded, he had to write a test, which he, and Minka had so seriously prepared for, with Sheila's help.

He looked up at the clouds as he rose to his feet, to meet his uncle, nearly halfway. "How is she?" he demanded, raising his gaze, longingly, to his uncle for a reply. He had dropped his manners by the porch. The greeting was not relevant now. At least, not until he had been assured of his mother's welfare.

No response. Only a blank stare, and watery eyes, which Uncle Travis, could not successfully hide.

"Tell me, Uncle Travis. How is my mum?" he inquired, defiantly.

The butterflies he felt in his tummy on that day, seem to always resurrect, whenever he stays his heart, on the event.

There, he could feel them once more as fresh tears dropped from his eyes. He wiped them away, swiftly, letting his mind drift away, once more.

From the look on Uncle Travis's face, he envisaged that Uncle Travis did not expect to see him there, at the moment. He could read the shock, on his face, as soon as he sighted him.

"Son" began he, "Calm down, we will get to that part, alright? You must be fagged-out, from schoolwork and all.

'She is gone isn't she!?' he inquired of Uncle Travis.

No response.

'Okay, ... Let me go and see for myself.' he decided as he stormed out of his uncle's presence.

'wait!' Uncle Travis called out as he ran after him, brushing his shoulder persuasively. Ogar turned in his uncle's direction.

'Tell me... Is she....’? Ogar began but paused as he watched tears flow down his uncle's face like a river.

In no time, uncle Travis had his hands wrapped around Ogar.

'We are the only family we have got, now' he shuddered violently as he wept.

Ogar had never seen his uncle in such a state, before or after that event. Well, men were expected to hide their tears, which didn't seem logical to Ogar. He wondered if Uncle Travis felt the same way. There was a sudden calm again which seemed to have brought Ogar back to the present.

And then he smiled 'thank you mum' he croaked, 'thank you for everything' he heaved as he tried to solve the riddles that plagued his mind, like why he had not been as lucky as other children who had their mothers on this side with them and knew the whereabouts of their fathers?. Like why.

'I thought I might find you here' a

the squeaky-sweet voice said. He shuddered as he felt a sweaty succulent palm relax its touch on his neck. As usual, but sent a shudder down his nerves. He heaved a sigh as he opened his eyes. His gaze turned in the direction of a usual, but teenager, her ant-hill complexion made the hairs at the back of his headstand.

'She had that dress on again' he observed

'What did you say?' she inquired with a smile that exposed a set of white dentitions.

'Uhm...Uhm.. nothing.' he stuttered

The Sunday school teacher might not be pleased to know he felt this way.

Uncle Travis made him understand that it was natural and due to the phase, he is experiencing. He called it a crush. Ogar knew better. He felt it might be way more than that.

She adjusted her hat which now concealed a part of her black, lustrous coyly afro hair. Her earrings were nearly invisible. The silver 'pin-points' was what residents of Cape of Good hope called it.

Thank you for taking out time to read this piece. I hope you enjoyed it? I will love to know your thoughts. Please don't forget to vote.

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