Lives Between Walls

I’ve never really had time for boys. I guess it might have been my anxiety that kept me away from them. Or I guess I just hadn’t seen the need for them at this stage. Or maybe it was the idea of ‘belonging’ to someone made me feel claustrophobic. Either way, I didn’t have good examples of love – my mom’s love life being the dog show that it was. And yet she had the nerve to tell me that I needed to pursue a love interest. “Jamie,” she had once said over dinner, “I feel you need to start seeing someone.”

“Someone?”

“Yes. You know, like you’ve never introduced anyone to me. And you’re at the age where you should be exploring.”

“Exploring what exactly?”

“Oh Jamie. You want me to spell it out for you already? When are you going to start dating? You are a beautiful woman, and that beauty won’t last forever.”

“Argh mom. We’ve been through this before. I feel boys are a waste of time. Plus I want to focus on my studies, and dating will be too much of a distraction for me at this stage.”

I twirled my fork around my spaghetti dinner. Catching my mom’s wry grin at the corner of my eye. I couldn’t believe that my mom was the one advising me on dating. If I was being honest, it wasn’t my studies that kept me from dating. They were part time anyway, and I was doing them through correspondence. If I was being completely honest, it’s because I was afraid – afraid of getting my hopes too high, that someone could genuinely love me.

What was the origin of this fear? My psychologist and good friend, Ms. Khuli seemed to think that it had something to do with my absentee father. In other words, I also got ‘daddy issues’ – another diagnosis to add to my growing list of defects. I started seeing the psychologist from age 13, and here I am today, still with her today unearthing new ones. I’m beginning to think that my problems are infinite.

“What is the last memory you have of your dad Jamie?” Asked Ms. Khuli as she reclined on that blue Ottoman couch, attempting to cross her thick legs. Child bearing had definitely not been kind to her.

“My dad is a topic I really struggle to talk about. It’s like every time I think about him, my mind shuts down.”

“Well, that is understandable. This is usually what the brain does to shield us from hurt. It’s a defense mechanism but its a self defeating one because the pain is still there, buried under layers and layers of denial.”

“Which then makes your job much harder.”

“Well yes I guess.”

I took a deep breath and leaned forward on the couch. This was always really difficult for me. I never really knew my dad, so I don’t have a memory of a specific person. I’ve just seen men come and go into my mom’s life, who occupied that title of ‘dad,’ for a limited time and then left. Sort of like a president who comes into office for a specific term, until he is voted out. And each of those president’s come in with different agendas and visions for the country. And those visions are often vastly different from the preceding president, and hence the country ends up with no consistency, no direction. That was what came to mind when Ms. Khuli asked me about my dad. ‘Dad’ to me was just a position, and not a person.

“So my dad was a cool person, you know….” I spoke.

The people that filled that position, they came in all shapes and sizes – all colours and ethnicities – my mother didn’t discriminate. Some where nice, some were strict, some were loving, some had too much love for just one person and it overflowed to others, some were abusive, some were controlling and so forth. But the one thing that was common among them all is that they all ended up leaving. I think that is the source of my trauma. I don’t want to go through that again, to develop a relationship with someone only to have them leave me. Nothing is worse than that pain. I would rather stay in an abusive relationship than have someone leave me after saying that they loved me. It hurt. I saw what it did to my mom, every time I ‘lost a dad,’ I would have to comfort her, when she was crying on the kitchen floor. It was like going through multiple funerals.

“I guess I just wished he would have spent more time with me… you know?”

“Why wasn’t he spending time with you?”

“He worked… he worked alot. Which I understand, he had to provide for us, but at the same time – “

“You desired his presence and not the presents?”

“Exactly.”

You don’t expect me to tell Ms. Khuli the whole truth, do you? This is one part of my life that I haven’t really revealed to anyone, because I’m so ashamed of it. So the reason I don’t talk about my biological father is because its not a great story to tell. It’s one that you would need to send the kids upstairs for before you can tell it – and double check that they are really sleeping. Even my mother doesn’t know that I know this. She tried to hide it from me, by telling me some bullshit story about him passing away while I was still an infant, but the truth always has a way of coming out. You see, I am the child borne out of a scandal, which if it became known, alot of relationships could be broken, and really powerful people could come to disrepute.

“Well,” Ms. Khuli smiled, “its okay to want time with your father, Jamie. You shouldn’t let anyone make you feel guilty for that. It’s every child’s wish to have their father’s attention. You know, my dad had this thing that he used to say – “

I stared at Ms. Khuli, as she babbled away her shrink talk. I thought to myself, this woman has no idea of how deep the rot goes in my life. She has no idea what I’ve had to go through to end up as this messed up person I am today. But I wonder how she would see me if she did? Would she judge me? Worse, would she tell people about the scandal, and that there was a possibility I could be that man’s child? Our community was quite small, and everyone knew everyone. If this got out into the open, I think it would ruin my mother’s life, let alone mine. Everyone would probably take his side, as the town loves him more seeing as he has done so much for the community. And what would I say to my best friend Lungi if she found out that –

“Jamie? Earth to Jamie? Are you still with me?” Ms. Khuli cocked her head eyeing me with genuine concern. I shook my head, “Oh sorry Ms. Khuli, I guess I’m just not feeling myself today.” She smiled as she scribbled in her notepad, “It’s okay my dear. I know this topic is not easy for you. Lets continue some other time, you should go jog to clear your mind.” That was probably the best advice she gave me since I started attending her sessions.

Jogging was my real therapy. I only went to these psychology sessions just to appease my mom’s gnawing guilt about not having been a good mother to me. It tortured her, and me going to therapy was actually for her. As I jogged it felt as though everything made sense, my breathing stabilized, my heart rate went to normal and the anxiety left my body as the little droplets of perspiration at the back of my neck. Five minutes of that gentle afternoon breeze did more for me than ten sessions with Ms. Khuli I’ll tell you that. I jogged along the park, and a few youths were playing basketball in the court, most of them with their tops of. As my attention was on them, I didn’t notice another young man come jogging alongside me, until he greeted me. I was startled. “Hey there, didn’t mean to startle you.” I could tell he had also been jogging, he was wearing his black sports attire and white sneakers. I smiled back, he seemed sincere enough, “It’s okay.” He grinned, “It seems we are going the same way. Mind if I jog alongside you?”

Why?! I hated jogging with people because now I would have to stress about making conversation instead of being in my own head. That is why I went jogging, to think, not to talk! I sighed. I think he saw my face drop because he responded, “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I will choose another route.” I brandished my hands quickly, dismissing his suggestion, not wanting to seem like a bad person, “Oh no, you’re welcome to join. Just as long as you don’t expect me to say anything.” He laughed, “It’s chilled. I also usually jog to think and – “

“Not to talk.” I said before I realised I had finished the sentence for him. I quickly put my hand on my mouth, and we both burst out laughing. “I see the route is not the only thing we have in common,” he laughed. We carried on jogging in silence for the next 45 minutes around the block, until we bid each other farewell.

In the evening I told Lungi about it over the phone. “Ooh girl, what was his name?” shrieked Lungi. “Umm, well I didn’t ask.”

“What do you mean you didn’t ask? Which block is he from?”

“I… I don’t know?”

“Wow. So for all you know you could have been jogging with a serial killer? That is so unlike you.”

“Look we agreed to jog without talking okay? Sorry to burst your bubble Tinder Princess.”

“Well is he cute at least?”

I could feel the heat going to my face. She loved doing this, making me blush. There was really nothing to today’s jog. And Lungi knew how afraid I was of relationships and all that commitment garbage. “Argh Lungi! I’m really not in the mood for your lovey dovey insinuations right now!”

And that usually meant end of conversation.