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By Root 969 0

it. It was the genuine tone in Esther’s voice that made the phrase finally begin to sink into my mind and heart. That didn’t make me immune from the guilt that I felt for what I had done. Nonetheless, it lightened my burdensome memories and gave me strength to think about things. The more I spoke about my experiences to Esther, the more I began to cringe at the gruesome details, even though I didn’t let her know that. I didn’t completely trust Esther. I only liked talking to her because I felt that she didn’t judge me for what I had been a part of; she looked at me with the same inviting eyes and welcoming smile that said I was a child.

One evening Esther took me to her house and made me dinner. After dinner we went for a walk in the city. We went to the wharf at the end of Rawdon Street. The moon was out that night and we sat at the jetty and watched it. I told Esther about the shapes I used to see in the moon when I was much younger. She was fascinated. We looked at the moon and described the shapes we saw to each other. I saw the woman cradling the baby in her arms, just as I used to. On our way back to her house, I didn’t look at the city lights any longer. I looked into the sky and felt as if the moon was following us.

When I was a child, my grandmother told me that the sky speaks to those who look and listen to it. She said, “In the sky there are always answers and explanations for everything: every pain, every suffering, joy, and confusion.” That night I wanted the sky to talk to me.

18

ONE DAY DURING MY FIFTH MONTH at Benin Home, I was sitting on a rock behind the classrooms when Esther came by. She sat next to me without uttering a word. She had my lyrics notebook in her hand. “I feel as if there is nothing left for me to be alive for,” I said slowly. “I have no family, it is just me. No one will be able to tell stories about my childhood.” I sniffled a bit.

Esther put her arms around me and pulled me closer to her. She shook me to get my full attention before she started. “Think of me as your family, your sister.”

“But I didn’t have a sister,” I replied.

“Well, now you do. You see, this is the beauty of starting a new family. You can have different kinds of family members.” She looked at me directly, waiting for me to say something.

“Okay, you can be my sister—temporarily.” I emphasized the last word.

“That is fine with me. So will you come to see your temporary sister tomorrow, please.” She covered her face as if she would be sad if I said no.

“Okay, okay, no need to be sad,” I said, and we both laughed a bit.

Esther’s laugh always reminded me of Abigail, a girl I had seen during my first two semesters of secondary school in Bo Town. Sometimes I wished Esther was Abigail, so that we could talk about past times before the war. I wanted us to laugh with all our beings, longer and without any worries, as I had done with Abigail but couldn’t anymore. At the end of each laugh there was always some feeling of sadness that I couldn’t escape.

At times I stared at Esther while she was busy doing paperwork. Whenever she sensed my eyes examining her face, she would throw a folded paper at me without looking in my direction. I would smile and put the folded paper in my pocket, pretending that the blank paper was a special note she had written to me.

That afternoon, as Esther walked away from where I sat on the rock, she continually turned around to wave at me, until she disappeared behind one of the halls. I smiled back and forgot about my loneliness for the time being.

The following day Esther told me that there were visitors coming to the center. The staff had asked the boys to hold a talent show. Basically, we were all supposed to do anything that we were good at.

“You can sing your reggae songs,” Esther suggested.

“How about a Shakespeare monologue?” I asked.

“Okay, but I still think you should do some music.” She put her arms around me. I had become very fond of Esther, but refused to show it. Whenever she hugged me or put her arms around me, I would quickly break loose. Whenever she left, though,