Living Water

7. Never again

"Yes, he is your father." She nodded as tears dribbled down her cheeks.

Timothy sat on the bed his hands supporting his head, as he pondered on the new information. He had  mixed feelings mostly confusion.

"Then why?..why did you you tell me he was dead? Why couldn't he come back?"  He asked his voice a shaky whisper as he tried to battle with the lump stuck in his throat.

"Timothy, your father  had to disappear." His brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"What do you mean by he had to disappear?"

Ayla sighed deeply, she has to be careful to how she relayed this information. It was quite a sensitive topic. "Your father got involved with some shady people. His life was on the line."

Timothy hissed loudly, annoyed by how obscure she put it. He already read from the letter. He knows his father wasn't a good person, he read enough to know that his father was a power hungry, betrayer.
"Is he still alive? Or he disappeared from existence?" He asked nonchalantly, seemingly unfazed by the not so new Intel his mother could offer.

"I-I don't know at all." She stumbled on her words, her eyes no longer glistened with tears. She felt somewhat hurt how easy her son had taken the news, and she was clueless to the whereabouts of his father. "It's been 15 years now since I last saw him, I never heard of him since then. Wether his alive or not is beyond me."

He clicked his tongues noisily, and lay on his bed, resting his head on the pillow.

"I'd like to get some rest. As far as I know, I don't have a father.....never needed one." He finalized, as he pulled the blanket over him leaving his head exposed.

"Don't say that. Your father could still be out there, maybe he's currently trying to get back to us. Don't disregard his existence just like that."

He turned to face his mother. Annoyance seething through him.
"For the past 15 years we've been doing fine on our own. So mum please, drop the subject. I need to sleep."  He said trying to level his voice, not to sound disrespectful. It would just make things more complicated.

"Good night." She muttered and turned off the lights before leaving the room.

"Good night mum." He said back, hoping she heard him. His eyelids became heavy and he slept off peacefully.

As for Ayla, she twisted and turned on her mattress. She did not feel focused enough to do some trading. Suddenly she felt a dull pound on her temple. She sat up on her bed. Deciding to head out, some fresh early morning air could do wonders to her health. She assured herself.

She bent down to pick a stray weed that grew in the cracked tiles of her front porche. The early morning breeze blew gently, blowing the loose ends of her red scarf on her face. She tugged the silky material from her face, and stretched her arms as if embracing the solemn 4am breeze that passed by her.

It was still dark. The sound of crickets and the occasional passing of cars was all that could be heard in the sub-urban area she resided in. The huge weight she felt in her heart, still laid dormant. If only the wind could blow and take my worries with it. She thought as she looked forlornly at the dark outline of the mango tree that graced her neighbors compound with it's ever dominating prescence.

She slumped to a sitting position on the concrete pavement that lined her front porch, a sigh escaped her lips. Ayla searched the pockets of her large gown and brought out a fragile envelope, creases and yellow stain sprinkled around the thin cover. She gently unfolded the lid of the envelope and brought a crumbly piece of paper, age and unfavorable conditions had worn the clarity strength, making the ink appear faint.

A nostalgic smile formed on her face, memories flooded her like a milestone plunging her deep into moments of the past she thought she left behind. With a deep sigh to mentally prepare herself she read the poem. An art written by a lovesick adolescent, who still built her hopes on happily ever afters, and had clouded faith in the intentions on those who was supposed to point her to reality. A poem of the naive artiste...

Before I met you, my life was a blank canvas, white, vast and untainted.
I had no vision; I lacked purpose, I felt void of humanity.
You came into my life like a burst of nature's gift, after a snowy winter.
You melted the little ice in my chest I called a heart.
You whipped the veil of childish novice I was hurtfully blinded with by the people who claimed to love me.
You showed me how to be a woman, how to satisfy as a woman, how to feel like a woman.
The first color you painted me was red; hot, attractive, wild.... deadly.
Like the blood that flows through my veins, you could never depart from me, except I die.
I know you.
I can easily recall each callouses on your muscular hands, those hands that kept me warm in cold nights, hands that expertly exchanged my sorrow for pleasure, hands that guided me through the rough blank canvas of my life, hands that sheltered my ice of a heart and showed me warmth in the kinkiest of ways....

A blush crept unto Ayla's cold cheeks as she read that line. Memories of her ungodly sexual escapades with her past lover, seeped into her thoughts, making her to absent mindedly crumble the dead weed in her hands and throw it on the concrete ground of her porch. She cleared her thoughts, and summoned courage to read the rest of her written past without cringing.

Like the sunshine you are, you lighted up my dark world. You never stuck with cliche romance always adding a streak of exhilaration to your eccentric personality.
My greatest joy will be rebirthing you having your seed swim through my womb and take root to grow.
Saying I love you feels too generic, You live in me and I in you, seems sublime and just perfect.

Ayla knew that her past is slowly merging with her present. She felt those tentacles of insecurity and uncertainty rap tight around her neck choking her of the peaceful life she lived for the past 15 years.

"God please don't let him come back into my life." She prayed out loud.
An unsettled energy enveloped her the moment those words left her lips. Looking up to the clouds she whispered in surrender.
"Lord may your will be done then."