GuiTara

🎵~7

🎶Run away but we're running in circles ~ Post Malone

●Tara Afua Henrie●

In the famous words of Nigerian singer Benzzjay, 'adulthood na scam.'

Indeed, it was.

This was my twenty-second year on this planet as an adult, and I had been scammed into thinking that I could at least fix things in my life by changing my environment. Now I was stuck in unfamiliar territory, regretting every single decision I'd made before coming here.

After leaving the house, I walked for hours. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't care. My feet continued to carry me until they felt sore, and my stomach growled with hunger.

I stopped to buy a burrito from a food truck along the street. The woman selling the burritos must've recognized me from the newspapers or social media because I still felt her eyes on me as I left to find a place to sit. Walking into a bus station, I set myself down on an empty bench.

The restaurant staff called an hour later to express their opinions. Roberto wasn't happy with Pam's sudden decision to fire me. Areli and Zazu were more concerned with how I was doing.

Surprisingly, I feel better now than earlier, when I was consumed with rage. Taking a walk gave me a lot of time to think. Coming to Mexico was a mistake. I only came because Mama wanted me to, and it was also an excellent opportunity to avoid Sheeda and Cudjoe. But now... now I just wanted to hop into a plane, go back home and pretend I didn't just make my life worse.

My intentions were pretty straightforward, and I made plans in my head to get a plane ticket online, pack my stuff, and get my sorry ass out of here. 

Crushing the burrito wrapper with a sense of finality, I tossed it into the nearest bin and walked out of the bus station. Since my arrival, Pam and Nando have been too busy to take me out on a tour. Now that I was alone, I decided to spend my final days here exploring. You don't always get to visit Mexico City.

Wandering into a street art festival, I took pictures to post on the gram, then tried on some traditional Mexican jewellery and clothes that were too expensive to buy. I just put them on, took several pictures in the changing stall, and then handed everything back to the shop attendant. She threw me a nasty scowl, which I returned with a bright smile, then continued my tour.

I had my first glass of horchata, which was so good. I went window shopping again, bought a Mexico flag sticker for my guitar, and tried a Mexican shrimp wrap that had me ordering two more because it was just so delish. Then, I joined a crowd of people to watch a group of men dressed in green suits and big fancy hats sing songs and play instruments while some women and children in colourful clothes danced to the tune.

Later on, I pushed my earbuds in, allowing Lorde's soulful tunes to accompany me on the remainder of my tour. Soon, my stroll led us to an iron-fenced park with only a handful of people enjoying the calm scenery. I quickly spotted an empty bench under a bunch of trees that provided ample shade. The gentle sway of the tree branches promised eternal tranquillity and my feet readily took them up on their offer.

I skipped past a pretzel vendor, who was slowly dozing off, and an old lady feeding doves some lunch before reaching the bench. I settled down, with my guitar case taking up the rest of the space. The metal was cold, but my body heat would warm it up. I plucked out my earbuds, letting the natural soundtrack of rustling leaves and chirping birds fill my ears instead.

Pulling out my brown leather songbook, I flipped through the pages. Each song opened up old memories. Most of the songs I wrote were based on experiences I had in life. Some pleasant, others terrible, and I wish I hadn't written them. Like the song, I wrote for Cudjoe's twenty-first birthday. I didn't think twice about ripping the page out, crushing it, and tossing it behind me. Asshole.

Flipping to the last song in the book, chords were scribbled on the side next to the incomplete lyrics with no title. That was the last song I attempted to write before Sheeda and Cudjoe's betrayal. Maybe it was time to finish it.

Slanting myself a little bit to the side to balance the songbook on my lap, I picked up my purple acoustic guitar, my fingers automatically taking their place on the fingerboard as memories flooded my mind.

I've had this guitar for almost twelve years now, and every time I picked it up to play, it always felt like I had created an invisible bridge connecting me to Papa. Right now, it was as if he were sitting with me, showing me how to tune a guitar for the first time.

My subconscious, as always, would tell me, it's a memory. There's no invisible bridge. But I'd ignore her because there was no harm in believing in something that didn't physically exist. Plus, it prevented my tear ducts from leaking anytime I thought about Papa.

I strummed a little before adjusting my fingers to work the chords in my songbook. I cleared my throat, letting my agile vocals work with my guitar.

🎶I once believed that my faith was hidden.

Because I'm not where I belong,

I'm looking through the skies for a way

Anyway, to get me through the day.

But you help me stand up when I'm tumbling

You were my friend when I called

And right now I'm at the top of the world

Top of the whole wide world

As I neared the beginning of the chorus, I strummed faster, then... pa!

"Crap." Setting the guitar flat on my lap, I picked up the broken string, trying to repair the damage. That was when I heard the crunch of footsteps behind me.

My heart pounded faster. Tiny bumps formed on my skin and they weren't from the cool breeze the trees provided. I raised my head up, slightly turning to the right. From the blurry corner of my eye, a dark figure emerged from the trees, heading towards my bench.

My vision flew everywhere in search of help. The park was one vast land of greenery with an oval duck pond in the middle, and since it was a weekday, it was virtually empty. The closest bench, which an old lady had occupied earlier, was now vacant. The pretzel vendor had also left with his cart, and no park security was around either. Apart from a hobo who sat a meter away and several kids playing far off at a distance, no one was close to me.

Fear crept up my spine. Realizing that I would have to defend myself alone, my fingers slowly wrapped themselves around the helm of my guitar. It was the most valuable gift my father had ever given me, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't mind me using it to swat the brains out of a senseless thug.

My muscles tensed at the growing sound of crunching leaves.

It's now or never...

*****