Mrs Jaxa

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

To say I wailed like a widow during the phone call with my mother would be an understatement. I didn't realise how loud and guttural my crying was until Michelle barged into my room saying that she had heard me from hers, which is on the other side of the house. I gave zero fucks if the rest of my housemates heard me or not. I was a girl in pain; and ridden by fear. My mother, bless her soul, comforted me, assuring me that this was not the end of the world and she and my father would be here on the day of my surgery. I knew they wouldn't allow me to go through this alone. My parents are the most supportive parents I know, and not just physically but emotionally too. Unlike most African parents, they have mastered the art of being strict yet open-minded. What I wasn't expecting from them though was for them to rope in my sister. They asked, no, demanded that she take leave from work for the next three days and fly down to Bloem to be with me until they arrive. My sister, being the understanding and loving soul that she is, agreed and is currently with me. Today is Tuesday and my parents are on their flight from Johannesburg to Bloem.

"How far is the airport from here?" Viwe asks me while pressing her phone furiously.

Her body may be here, but her mind is at work. She's been on her phone since she got here.

"It's about a twenty-minute drive," I respond with a hint of doubt.

I can never be too sure about proximity since I don't have a car and depending on the cab driver, time varies on how fast or soon you get to the airport.

"We should get going then. I don't want to keep the rents waiting," she says, raising her eyes to take a glance at me.

"We can pass by Chicken Licken," she says, shoving that god-forsaken phone inside her purse.

"Yey! You're buying, right?" I ask, springing out of the bed.

She arrived yesterday, and although she's booked herself at a hotel, she spends all her time with me. She shakes her head, getting up from her chair and makes her way towards my door.

"Don't you ever get tired of spending my money?" She fake-complains.

I giggle and change out of the worn out ANC t-shirt that I'm wearing and into a more presentable one; EFF. I chuckle while shaking my head at how stupid I can be sometimes. Changing political party t-shirts like I'm campaigning. Thuma mina, I mumble softly, giggling.

"Are you okay?" Viwe asks, looking at me quizzically with a raised brow.

"Yes," I respond shyly, quickly slipping on my sneakers.

She stares at me dubiously but doesn't say anything further. See, I have moments whereby I 'talk alone' or 'think out loud' thinking it's all in my head kanti... I'm not crazy or anything like that, it's just that I find myself having these monologues or outbursts and I have no way of controlling them. Surely, I can't be the only one, right? Or ndiya phambana? (I'm going crazy)

"Stop looking at me like that. Let's go," I say, shoving her out of my room sewing that she's now frozen on the spot.

"You scare me sometimes," she says, humorously, making her way to her car.

I laugh because she always says this when I have my 'moments'. She opens the car and slides in.

"You should be used to me by now," I say, joining her in the front, as I slide in, buckling myself.

"I don't think I ever will. Do you do this in front of other people as well?" She sounds worried.

I burst out laughing because she really sounds concerned about me.