Into the Starry Night

Seventeen

“Tell me your deepest, darkest fear, Amara.”

I paused in the middle of the text I was typing to Taylor and looked up.

Timini was already staring with a certain brazenness that I had come to associate with him. Thankfully we were in a bit of a traffic jam and in no immediate danger of crashing because he wasn't looking at the road.

“Since when did you become my shrink?”

“I'm not offering any sort of psychological relief, don't get me wrong. It's just, I'm intrigued by fear. People keep going on about love and hate and don't get me started on how many songs there are about desire, but no one talks about fear. About how knowingly or unknowingly we're all driven by our fears. Everyone has it but it's rare for us to talk about it, at least in my opinion. So talk to me about yours.”

“That is way too deep for ten-thirty on a Saturday morning. You could've at least bought me breakfast first.”

He laughed. “I'm serious, Amara. I want to know.”

I sighed and locked my phone, Taylor momentarily forgotten.

“I guess it would be obscurity,” I said after a little thought. “Going back to that unknown, unappreciated little girl that spooked at every little thing. I know that makes me sound like a snobbish airhead but that's the truth. I like the fame.”

“Mine is the world running out of plantains but yours is better.”

I laughed.

“But seriously though,” Timini reached over and took my hand. “That's a valid fear. You don't have to feel bad about it.”

“Yeah,” I traced the outline of the silver ring shaped like a heart on his fourth finger. “That's the thing though. I never said I felt bad about it.”

He shot me a sly grin and intertwined our fingers.

“So what's your deepest, darkest fear? I don't buy that plantain one for a second.”

“Busted,” he shook his head and chuckled.

“I'm serious, Timi. I told you mine so you have to tell me yours.”

“Ok, ok. My deepest, darkest fear would have to be dying alone. And before you say anything, I know we all die alone eventually and that's not what I mean.”

“So what do you mean?”

“I mean that before I eventually die alone I'd like to get married, have kids, you know, the whole nine yards. And my deepest fear is dying before I can experience love.”

“It's not all it's cracked up to be, trust me.”

I focused my attention on the early morning scene outside the window. A red convertible with its roof down came to a stop beside us at the red light. I was too focused on the young owner bobbing his head to a hip-hop song that was loud enough to filter through our rolled-up window that I almost did not hear Timini's question.

“You were in love once?”

“Yep. But it ended in heartbreak and trauma. I do not recommend it.”

“Well, at least you got to experience it, no matter how fleeting it was. That's what counts, right?”

I was about to answer his rhetorical question when he maneuvered the car down a paved street and stopped in front of a solid black gate.

Behind the gate rose an impressive white two-storey building.

“Welcome to our first stop,” Timini announced with a proud smile.