Amandla

Chapter 3

Guess who's back? Back again! 

***

I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring into my ear and with squinted eyes, I managed to make out the time. Four AM glared at me, searing my sleep-ridden eyes. I switched it off with a sigh before pressing my palm against my forehead. Another day of living. Another day of fighting.

When I finally put my feet on the cold wooden floor, I stretched my body with a loud yawn that could have sucked in half of America. My muscles and bones popped and cracked into the right places and my body immediately felt better. I looked out my window and it was very much still dark with the moon illuminating the sky alongside the winking stars.

I changed out of my pajamas into my favourite grey sweatpants and a tank top which I covered with a hoodie. After putting on my running shoes I trotted down the stairs into the bathroom where I washed my face and brushed my teeth.

After I snuck into my siblings' bedroom to check on them. I made sure to fix their blankets because they seemed to twist and turn in their sleep. Maya ended up with her foot hanging off the bed while the bedsheets crumpled and gathered around her waist. Daniel lay as still as possible, the sheets still wrapped around him with his head burrowed in between them.

Just as I was about to head outside for my daily jog I felt around my neck and immediately remembered something was missing. I hurried up the stairs and there it was the Golden glove necklace. It was laying on my bedside table. They were two tiny gold gloves strung on a thin chain. The necklace is earned by the best boxers. I hadn't earned it; it was passed down to me by my father.

My father, William, woke up in the middle of the night and left. It was a cold winter's night right around Christmas when he disappeared. Talk about the worst Christmas gift. Surprise! Your dad left you.

The way it happened left a bad taste in my mouth because I woke up to my mother inconsolably crying by the kitchen table with a piece of paper crunched in her hand. The letter was no more than ten words, just a simple:

I love you, that's why I need to leave.

Dad.

He tucked me in my bed the night before and sang me my favourite lullaby, he laid with me regaling me with stupid South African mythological stories until I fell asleep. And I felt him leave a lingering kiss on my forehead. I remember feeling tears dripping down my cheeks, his tears to be more specific. I guess he had come to say goodbye. He left his golden glove necklace on my bedside table. The necklace was special to him, just as it has become to me. He earned it from his boxing days, he told me he had to give up the ring when my mother fell pregnant with me so he could work a stable job and take care of his family.

When I asked my mother why she was so upset she threw the note in my face and told me my bastard of a father had run away like a bitch with its tail between its legs.

Even though I spent nearly every night crying myself to sleep I thought he would eventually going to come back. Thirteen years later he still hasn't come back. I was angry with him, and a great part of me still is. I went through the stages of grief as if he had truly passed.

Denial

I spent my afternoons waiting for him by the door of the old apartment we used to live. Sometimes I would hang around the window until my mother would scream at me to get my stupid face away from the window or else the neighbours would think there was something wrong with me.

Anger

I became an angry child. I hated everything. The world. The stupid clouds who thought it was okay to rain whenever they wanted. My stupid English teacher who would never shut up. And my mom, I hated her the most. For most of my grieving, I blamed her for his disappearance. My mother wasn't honey sweet, she was strong, fierce, and outspoken which sometimes got her into fights. It was truly the perfect combination because I was exactly like her, I was strong, fierce, and outspoken and for some fucked up reason she blamed me for my father's vanishing act. So, we always got into it. The neighbours were constantly complaining about our screaming matches and the landlady threatened to throw us out on multiple occasions until my mother lost her job for arriving at work high. We moved into a shitty apartment until of course my mother met Daniel's father and like some white winged angel he bought us a house and in return my mother was to never bother him for anything.