Dali

t w o

The funeral is big. That's how loved he was. As a choir conductor , a piano instructor, a tutor, a lawyer. People from all corners of our town gather to send him off the only way they could. The songs are endless and the speeches plenty, there isn't a person here who would try to badmouth him.

I'm given a slot to speak. I have no letter for him. He wouldn't mind, but I do. How is it that I have failed to put in words how I much I adored him.

Anelisa and Chikondi walk me to the podium, I don't trust myself not to physically crumble.

"Dali, I don't know what to say. 

And I know that you wouldn't be happy with that. Its true. I've been left feeling so empty, so numb that the words of comfort we used to share fail to leave my lips. I tried my hardest to write one final letter for you, but I couldn't. I'm sorry. " 

I don't mean to eulogise him so personally, but I do it either way.

"I'm sorry that we couldn't reach you in time. Perhaps you'd still be here. Now I'm left to wander this world alone. 

Dali, I'm grateful for the seventeen years that I've lived with you. Thank you for the music, even though I didn't pick the piano. Thank you for your patience, for all the times you've sat through my stubbornness. I can't imagine how different life will be now that you're gone. 

Everything feels empty. Vast. Hallow. My heart has grown to the size of a canyon. A labyrinth that can only be filled by you.  You lived up to your name. Blessings , I love you. You have known how to keep my sane, how to turn my bad days into bliss. I would be lying if I said you weren't the best brother on the planet. 

Dali, thank you for letting me call you that even when you hated it. I've lost my compass. I don't know how to move forward, I don't know where I'll go from here, but I know that I'd give an arm and a leg to be with you."

I don't finish speaking, too consumed by the tears. I'm led back to my seat. The rest of the service is a blur, fleeting memories of that hideous coffin being lowered into the ground, of sand through my fingers and the ride back home. I catch a glimpse of my friends, but I'm ushered into the house away from the chaos of our guests in the winding lines.

I spend most of the day tucked away in my room, trying to compose the best letter.  The only thing written on the page is his name. This is harder to write than I expected. 

Loud music blares outside, possibly from a car and I find myself boiling. I don't need an explanation , it has to be Chikondi. I put on the closest pair of shoes and storm outside.

"How dare you!" I'm seething, mad. 

Of all the things Chikondi has done, this is downright the most disrespectful. 

"What's your problem?" He slurs, a bottle of Savannah in his hand.

A couple of his friends laugh.

"Our brother is not even cold in his grave and you're celebrating?" 

"Poor Dali, even in death he's revered. How are you the smart one again? After tears!"  

A crowd has formed, probably trying to see how far we will take this. We're notorious for arguing in public. Dali would tell me how unladylike it is of me. 

"You shouldn't be doing this. You know we don't do this."

"Chikondi! Pull yourself together and leave." My father appears like a ghost, a stern look on his face.

"You're disrespecting your brother's spirit." He continues.

For a moment father and son have a stare off, both waiting to see who'll take the first swing. Chikondi turns around, ordering his friends to pack the alcohol they'd placed on the ground. Stereos fall silent as they leave and for once, I'm glad that my father stood up to him.