Can we try again?

Nineteen

I woke up with a pounding headache the next morning. All the crying I'd done last night before I slept was now taking it's toll on me. I sat up on the bed and rubbed my eyes. They felt sore and I could bet they were red and swollen too. I heard the sound of the radio playing downstairs and I glanced at my wall clock. 8:13 a.m. It was a Saturday morning, so I knew there were chores to do. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and then clambered down the stairs.

Aisha was dusting the chairs and dancing to the music at the same time. As soon as she saw me, she stopped.

"Good morning," she greeted. "Did you sleep well?"

I replied with a nod. "Where is mummy?"

"She's in the back garden." She responded.

"And daddy?"

"He's out." She studied me carefully and before I turned to leave, she asked, "Are you okay?" There was a look of concern on her face.

"Yeah. Yes I am" I said with a smile of reassurance. I didn't think it worked, but she nodded anyway.

My mum was bent down, plucking out the weeds in the garden. At age 54, I think she should be resting, not doing this. Not that I'd want to do it anyway. She has always loved getting busy, getting her hands messy - in a good way - finding out chores to do and when she couldn't, she would create one for herself.

I definitely do not take after her.

"Mum good morning," I greeted cautiously. I was unsure of her reaction, so I kept my distance.  She had her back to me and she mumbled a response.

She was mad at me. I couldn't live in this house with her acting like that. I couldn't bear the silent treatment.  So I asked what I never would ask on a normal occasion. "Should I help you with that?" My turned and gave me a look that made me shuffle backwards in fright. There was not only sadness and pain in her eyes, but fury. I could tell she'd been crying too, because her eyes were red too. And it was all because of me.

I opened my mouth to say something, but thought it was best I didn't. She was holding a shovel.

The muscles of my chin trembled as I walked back inside. Tears gathered at the back of my eyes, and threatened to fall down. I ran straight back upstairs, into my room and fell on my bed, face first. I wept, hot tears soaked into my bed sheet, leaving a damp wet patch as evidence. Later, I heard my door open and I knew there was only one person it could be. Aisha.

"Samira," her voice was soft and gentle. "Are you okay?"

I lifted my head up and shook my head. "No, I'm not."  

"Do you want to talk?"

I responded with a nod.

She sat on the bed and I sat up so we were beside each other. 

For a moment neither of us spoke. I guess we both were waiting for the other one to speak first. 

"It happened at a party,"  I finally broke the silence. "I got drunk and carried away. I didn't mean for any of this to happen." I wasn't about to go into full details how it all happened.

Aisha nodded and suddenly, she seemed to remember something. "Wait, you just said you got carried away? At a party? You do know this person, right?" I knew we would come to this. But I trusted my sister. If there was anyone great at keeping secrets, it was her.

"No."  A tear slid down my cheeks. "I don't know him."

She seemed utterly shocked by that revelation. "But you told mum and dad last night . . ." Confirmed. She definitely was eavesdropping last night.