Timere

before • roots

It takes a while for me to catch my breath, and when I finally do, it takes one look at Lana's frustrated glare to send me back to hysterical cackles.

"C-Come on," I manage between laughs," Try again. P-P-Practice makes-" I'm tearing up at this point "- makes perfect!"

"Easy for you to say, you've been doing it your whole life," Lana sulks, sporting a faint blush.

This sobers me, because she's getting embarrassed and I honestly don't mean to make her feel bad.

"Hey... I'm sorry," I reach out, and she accepts the - small - hand without a thought, not protesting as I scoot closer to her on the couch. "Hissing isn't a thing I was taught, exactly. It's a thing we pick up, usually from our mothers. So I guess I don't exactly know how to teach you. I didn't even perfect mine until I graduated University."

Lana snorts. "You say exactly a lot when you're feeling down. Relax, Tesoro."

A giggle escapes me. "Yeah, I guess."

How we'd gotten here is pretty funny, now that I think about it. After waking up to the smell of Lana's cooking, I'd decided to follow my nose to the kitchen... and stubbed my toe.

The long, angry hiss seemed to have summoned her, and she stood a safe distance away as I glowered at the door frame, muttering under my breath.

"What was that?" Lana asked, indulgently massaging my foot when I was finally done cursing at the door's ancestors.

"I stubbed my toe?" Was my confused response.

"Mm, I know. What was that sound?" She pressed.

"Ohhh, It's a hiss. It's a pretty African thing. Mostly Ghanaians and Nigerians do it though, I'm not sure about other countries."

Having a Ghanaian father and a Nigerian mother meant there was no way you didn't hear the sound at least twice a day.

Lana's curious stare meant she wanted me to continue, so I did.

"It's generally a negative sound. So, I'd do it if I were angry, like just now. Sometimes it's involuntary. It can also be mocking. Like when my sisters and I used to come up with ridiculous stories for why we needed new stuff. Our mum would just hiss and send us to our room."

The memory is bittersweet, considering I'd basically cut off all ties with my family before we eloped to Belize. I didn't regret it. I couldn't. But...

Lana seemed to have picked up on my mood, and decided to do something about it.

She attempted a hiss.

The sight of her, lips puckered and brows furrowed in concentration, had me laughing helplessly.

And that, leads up to now.

I nudge her shoulder, as she seems to be thinking hard about something. "You don't have to learn it. I know you want to remind me of home. I may have been distracted, but I can smell jollof rice coming from the kitchen."

Lana freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights. "Shit, the rice!" And she just sort of, leaps off the chair and thunders to the kitchen.

A helpless laugh bubbles out of my throat. "Don't worry too much!" I call after her. "It's not jollof if it isn't a little burned!"

"That doesn't mean it won't trigger the fire alarm!" She yells back.

Ah, well. Now I'm running to the kitchen. Not exactly sure what I can do though.

Something catches my eye though, and I pause. There's a considerable dent where Lana had taken hold of the sofa and I tell myself to think nothing of it. She is the strongest person I know, after all. Must be normal, yeah?

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