“My sun sets to rise again.”- Robert Browning
Ah, what an ominous title, Dad might be scared to read this one because he thinks I am going to vent about or write a sonnet about my heartbreaks. It’s OK Papa, sibiwamba khwise tawe.. 🙂
I am writing this with permission from a friend of whom this tale is being written about. She will probably (yes, it’s a she) read about this months later. Months from now when her heart sees butterflies and not moths trying to burn themselves at the light. Long post ahead.
I have waited a few days so as to write this because I wanted to think through on how to word everything and not cry on every paragraph. We have all experienced heartbreak, every form of it comes with it own version of pain. The minor heartbreaks that are actually heartaches that last a few hours and the major heartbreaks which have the power to change your life for good or bad depending on how you react to them.
My friend Delia (obviously not real names) is an awesome girl, a little older than me by three years but we bonded during a job interview back when I was a wet behind the ear ex-MUBS student with big dreams and expectations. Delia on the other hand had been in the employment world for awhile and when she saw me, she gave me some tips which led to a conversation about where we live and somehow we became friends. Over the years we haven’t seen each other much but even after months or a year when we get together, it’s like we last met yesterday.
It’s 1am, I have been having horrible cramps and decided to swallow some strong painkillers when my phone (that I had presumed to be off) makes me jump while ringing so loudly. I pick up without reading the caller ID and hear a tiny voice on the other side; “Evie, please come over right now?” Wait, what? I look at the time, its almost 1:30 am then I look at the caller ID, its Dede (If you think it’s a weird nickname, I have a bestie that I call Fufu). I suddenly jump into mummy/ big sister mode; “Babes, are you OK? Is something wrong? Where are you? What is wrong?” Silence then a loud whimper; “Please come over now, please… I need you..” She hangs up, I order for a taxify and set out to suburb near my place, with a first stop at a liquor store because I had a feeling we will need it so Bondo had to be carried.
Before I proceed, please note that I am not a good friend. Usually these things of calling me beyond 11pm are unheard of so if Dede calls me at 1am, I know it has to be serious.
A few minutes later, I am at her house. Her apartments are more fancy than mine so the security has to first call her house before I get in then the taxify has to be paid; it seemed like hours before I got into the house and it had already started drizzling outside.
I get into the house and find Dede on the couch, tissue scattered everywhere. First thought is her sick sister had died but then, I didn’t want to speak out such a thought so I just rushed and gathered her into my arms. We sat in that position as she cried, sobbed and rocked for almost an hour then she finally sat up and picked up her phone. I take it from her and scroll without noticing anything then I recognise the name in a Facebook post, it’s her beloved boyfriend of years, soon to be husband (in our heads).
It seems a girl had posted about her engagement to said Dede boyfriend and was grateful that after years of being together he had visited her parents to honor his promise to her. Beautiful pictures by a professional photographer followed with said mans happy and hugging the lady while kneeling in front of their families.
My heart broke, I felt an old but familiar sharp pain in my heart and then turned to look at this woman lying on the couch writhing like she was in physical pain. Suddenly waves of nausea hit her, I rush to the bathroom to get a basin but she is running in tow right behind me so we fall besides the toilet bowl and she heaves. With every wave, came fresh tears then she lay in a fatal position on the bathroom floor and let out a very painful cry. It’s a cry that every girl has heard before, you recognise the hurt that comes out with it. Its the sound of heartbreak, the sound of hopes and dreams lost, of love turning into cold sharp needles pricking at your soul. She cried so hard her body started trembling.
I walked to the couch and picked up my bond7 and on my way to the bathroom got a mug then sat next to her, poured out the contents. I usually have something to say but this time, I didn’t. You see Dede and that son of a bush had been together for years, almost a decade. Both their families knew each other and had become close because of this. So even us friends knew they were going to get married soon, he had actually started drawing up kwanjula plans. I had joked about singing for free at their wedding because Dede thought I needed to sing more often.
After what seemed like hours of drinking dry bond7 on the floor, I could hear the rain outside as Dede slowly drifted off into sleeping. I slowly dragged her to bed then sat down and started praying for her healing; I prayed that what had happened couldn’t hold her hostage then cried slowly after because that pain felt too real. I had been heartbroken before but not this kind of way, it was painful to see this force of a woman being reduced to pieces.
I have difficulty sleeping at other people’s homes so I went straight for her closet and gathered all the things that looked like they belonged to that son of a bush. I removed the shirts, kicked the shoes, threw the belts and if I had it my way would have broken those nice watches, but I remembered how much money they would fetch if she resold them. After getting all evidence of him from her closet, I fetched a trash bag and put it all in there. Thought about throwing them in the trash bin, but it wasn’t my place. I felt good about myself and the hard work then fell besides Dede and slept off.
The next morning, Dede was a little composed so we talked and she seemed to be a little OK. I showed her the trash bag and she almost cried again but then her phone started ringing; seems other people had gotten wind of the trash bag acting like trash and wanted to comfort her.
I didn’t stay long because I had an interview but my heart felt like it was the one torn in two the rest of the day.
Dede is fine now, she burnt his clothes (man had good taste so just know designer after designer). She is healing day after day, that heartbreak isn’t anything I would wish on my enemy.
If you ever feel like you are with the “wrong person,” be honest and not lead them on only to have them heartbroken in the end.