Jackee Budesta Batanda, "Holding on to the Memories"
(page 3 of 6)

III

Naboro rapped impatiently on the wooden door. She needed to talk to Sammy about the latest events at home. She crossed her hands and bit her lip, desperate for him to appear. Sammy lived in one of those houses in the new commercially-operated neighborhoods, the ones equipped with full amenities. The inhabitants didn't have to go into town to purchase anything; everything was within arm's reach.

A groggy-eyed Sammy, wearing only shorts, finally opened the door. Naboro squeezed past him, sauntering into the living room and throwing a sullen hullo over her shoulder. He shut the door behind her. Romeo, his Maltese, bounded over. She stroked his head briskly and pushed him away before collapsing on the green leather settee.

"You took so long coming," she said.

"I was sleeping, you know."

"I should have called before coming," she said. "It all happened so fast. I lost my mind."

"Want something to drink?"

"Yeah, I need your strongest drink, actually undiluted Waragi."

"I think you need juice."

"I need the Waragi, and don't lecture me about my religious beliefs and how that man is strictly religious."

"You mean your father?" Sammy asked.

"Whatever. Can I have that drink? And stop the questions, please?"

The Maltese came back. She kicked him away, making him yelp.

"Take Romeo away. I'm in no mood for doggy games."

Sammy called Romeo and led him to the kitchen, locking the door. The dog started scratching the door and whining. Sammy walked to the cabinet, retrieved glasses and a bottle of Waragi, which he set before Naboro on the tinted coffee table. He went to the kitchen and returned with two cans of Coke and a glass of ice cubes.

"I guess you might as well dilute the Waragi since you insist on drinking it," he said, adding Coke and two ice cubes.

She took her glass, gulping down the contents. "That was something. Thanks."

"Naboro, what did your father do this time?"

"Oh," she moaned. "Do we have to talk about it?"

"Yes. You just guzzled a glass of Waragi. I think we have to talk."

"Okay, fine. He asked me to be his friend. Can you imagine his nerve?"

"Being friends is a good start. What's wrong with that?"

"Everything, Sammy, everything."

"Maybe you should accept his offer of friendship. It might be a step in building a relationship with him."

"I can't."

"Isn't this what you've always wanted?" Sammy asked. "You always imagined him coming home and somehow making up for lost time. This is perfect."

"Yeah, but . . ."

"But what? Your dreams are coming true."

"Yeah, that was before I read the papers. That changed everything, you know?"

"Naboro, that's in the past. It happened over 20 years ago. Time heals the wounds."

"I'm afraid," she whispered.

Sammy moved closer. "It's alright to be afraid. It's not a bad thing. It happens to all of us. What you're experiencing is natural."

"These feelings are unnatural. Do you know what it's like looking him in the eyes and remembering the pictures in the papers? I'm terrified of having the same bad streak in me." She paused. "You know, it was easier dreaming about him. My mother kept the secret well."

"It was bound to come out some time, and maybe this is the right time."

"It was okay singing the song about him when I didn't know it was him. Now it creates a knot around my heart; I feel my breath being cut off." She sighed, picking up the remote and switching on the television. Sammy took that as a cue that their conversation was over.

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