Niko’s Eye

Chapter 52.

Isis.

It was 07:14, and Isis sat at the kitchen counter, trying to finish her breakfast before it was time to go to school.

She had decided to go back, as it was clear that she was now fully functional and back in mental shape.

Zainab had already left earlier with Sergio because her school was a little bit further away from town. That was the reason why Isis and Zainab never got to see each other much before. Each one was always couped up in their own corner of the earth.

She had to wake up at half past 5 in the morning, every day.

Poor girl.

She stared down at the big rock on her finger, and smiled. She thought about a show she once watched on tv where they were talking about marriage.

All I can do is refer to shows since I have no mother figure to prepare me and s**t.

She wondered when Alejandro had gone to shop for the ring. And with who.

A marriage is a deep and loving friendship, one in which the love is so strong that each would sacrifice for the other, one that s*x gets added to. So the only way to a lasting and happy marriage is via friendship. So take it slow, get to know the other person fully, be best friends, and save the s*x for marriage, because when you do that you’ll find that humans mate for life and it is a sure way to a joyful way of living. The alternative is exposing yourself to the risks of sexually transmitted disease as potential partners "try you out" in non-committal ways. This is because you didn’t take the time to be best friends first. That you got addicted to s****l contact, which is awesome in a marriage between best friends and terrible when trust and surety is absent. So abstaining until you meet "the one" is by far the sexiest thing you can do, better for the health of your body and brain.

Alejandro had asked her to marry him and she had said yes, without any hesitation.

Funny how life can turn out. Not even 22 yet, and you’re already engaged ? Interesting.

Fanning off her inner thoughts, she sucked in a sharp breath as she heard Alejandro’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Ah, and here is my lovely bride to be," said Alejandro, in an exaggerated voice.

Laughingly, Isis replied, "Please don’t."

Kissing her forehead, and settling in the chair next to her, he stole a piece of bacon off of her plate and shoved it into his mouth.

"Pig."

Alejandro smiled. His dimples appearing. "I don’t think pigs eat themselves."

Isis snorted, trying to stop herself from the laughter that was building up in her throat.

"You are so very loved. I see your child soul. I see how you use your talents to bring light, laughter and health to others. I see your commitment to your path. That is so very easy to love. When I met you I’d already lost my entire world. How can you hang on to something so incomprehensible? How can you keep pouring love into an abyss? But then there you were. There was something in those brown eyes that was so beautiful, so safe and warm. In just one look I was "home." I reached out and made the connection, and like God Himself had arranged it, you fell for me just as hard. That first day we talked, just the two of us, I still recall the conversation, the feeling you gave. You didn’t know it, but that day you saved me. We became inseparable, and though not married yet, we were one from that day on."

"Everybody deserves a chance, and you are my destiny. I love you."

Alejandro.

He held his breath as he listened to her finally say it.

She said it. She finally said that she loved me. Wait, is this really the first time or, or maybe it is the first time ever since she got out of the coma?

There is beauty here for eyes born as free and loving souls, for the heart that hears the soft song of the wind as soothing as the sweetest of lullabies. For there are daisies that grow tall and pure upon our earth, reaching upwards in sunshine, blessed by rain, free for all to enjoy. There are the clouds who sail above, creating new art by the moment, naturally evolving from one masterpiece to the next, a perfect picture of time without hands or measure, always onward, more honest than any clock. This beauty is an ever-present season, yet it feels as a summer, one that remains regardless of all else. It is a beauty asking softly if we are going to "Scarborough Fair," and what will we do when we get there? Will we rediscover simple love and find it dwells within us too, that love is the most magical of mirrors, making not a reflection but a real seed that matters, one capable of growing. This simple beauty of nature is enough to rescue us all, it’s time to believe in the most humble of beautiful miracles.

I loved her curves of softness. With the muscle of a footballer and the blessed fat of a baby, she was the most astonishing girl I ever met... easy to talk to and fun to be around. There’s beauty in being a good listener, someone who seeks to make connections and joy and see things from new perspectives. She had safe eyes, perhaps that’s the best way to say it. She had a beauty that made those billboard-princesses look as paper thin as they are, she was something robust and real. That was my girl, it was her before she was mine and it was her all of her days. Age can’t touch that kind of beauty, it’s just there.

"You look like you’re inside your head right now." Isis laughed. "And yes, I did say it."

She kissed him and got up to put her unfinished food into a container, and popped it into the fridge, alongside many other containers, filled with only Isis’ unfinished meals.

He smiled as he watched her.

She never ceases to amaze me this one. Just look at her.

"Cringe. You look like a high school nerd who’s afraid to tell the popular girl that he’s in love with her, and just stares at her all day with that in love emoji face you’ve got on right now."

"So what? It’s probably true. In another lifetime."

They both laughed.

Isis ran to the bottom of the stairs, "We’re out Mami, love you!"

"Let’s go." She mouthed to Alejandro.

He stood there stunned. "I mean, why shout and then whisper to me?"

She whizzed passed him, into the garage. "I’m driving!" She screamed.

What a piece of work.

Aisha.

Sadness sat an inch below Aisha’s face, eyes remaining dry, expression impassive. She knows that if she even lets a fraction out that the rest will follow, a never ending torrent of grief. All she does from sun up to sun down is sit with her forehead against the wall right above her canvass sneakers, and the other neatly folded pair of orange overalls. They took her reputation, they took her house and her church, then they took her freedom - all to warn the others not to fight back. The prison would be the last thing she ever saw; the guards that beat her would give Aisha her final feelings and the flickering bulb would be the last light she ever felt. Meadow City prison just wasn’t the kind of place they let folks walk out of, every arrest was a death sentence, no exceptions.

She sat in her prison cell, awaiting a call, a letter, or something.

She nervously chewed on the skin around her fingers.

There’s nothing in this tiny room but my own heart beat and rancid breath. At times I have hit the iron bars with the ring on my finger, just to hear something different, to make a tune. Then the futility of it all hits me. I can imagine music all I want, recollect sunny days and picture wide open spaces, but these walls aren’t crumbling any century soon. The only time I get to leave is to the interrogation room and even then I never see a face. The guards wear black hoods and the questions are delivered by a disembodied and distorted voice. I used to think that if I ended up in one of these places I’d be stoic, that my beard would drape the floor before I uttered a syllable. Apparently, I’m not that brave. I can either talk, converse, use my mind - or loose my mind. Some nights one part of my brain gets talking to another, whispering if I’m lucky, yelling if I’m not.

What if he doesn’t take the bait? I have to have another plan. But how? When I’m couped up in this prison where I don’t know anybody at all. I can’t pull any strings from inside this prison. f**k. I can’t give up though. God didn’t pour me like that. He poured determination, perseverance and strength into me. Let me just think this thing through. Maybe I should let the Alejandro thing go? I don’t have any evidence any way. But, Sergio. I have tons of evidence there. It’s just that, if I use Sergio as a scapegoat, it won’t hurt Isis or Belvia. They don’t care about Sergio, especially because he’s the man that Isis had caught me having an affair with.

"But it’s my best bet to get out of here, atleast earlier. I have to detain Sergio. He’s not that much of a Saint. There are some things he did that I’m sure wasn’t in their agreement in trying to "catch me". He connived to get me in here in the first place. If I go down, he’s coming with me."

Sergio.

You can write into the air; you can speak upon a page. A painting can be a novel and a story can paint the perfect picture. Dance can express such emotion and emotions can stir deep movements within even a chance observer. We dream in deep metaphors and visual puns, then weave them into stories that speak to every level of our consciousness. We artists speak with words and without; we artists are nature’s soul-restoration crew.

Sergio had been uneasy ever since he heard that Aisha had been arrested. He had been edgy and very jumpy ever since. It was almost as if he knew that she was coming for him.

In this life you make me stable, then you pull every little thing from beneath my feet and are indifferent to the fact that I can no longer stand - until you fear being alone. Only too late do you ever realize the power of your words. You strike out like a tank at a child’s building blocks, never realizing the imbalance that exists; then you are shocked at the outcome, the devastation. The first time you did that I was shaken to the core, now I just know to tense up when it comes, mitigate and deflect before I discover the cause and effect a solution. To have great love brings great responsibility, one I have willingly taken on for you. In a way it is your shock that saves you, that saves us, for at least that tells me you were blind to your own emotions let alone having the capacity to understand mine.

Imagine going to jail after finding your daughter. But for what though? Everything I did, I did so I could trap Aisha.

Sergio had forgotten about the transactions Aisha had made him do when he believed that he was in love with her. He only focused on what he had done under the instructions of the authorities and the man he was working with.

Speaking of the man he was working with, he frowned as he remembered that he hadn’t recieved any calls from him. He couldn’t even call him to find out why because he could only recieved the call, and not the other way around.

He shifted his focus to his daughter. But he felt like his wife and step children were beginning to feel neglected. So while Zainab was at school, he decided that he’d book a romantic getaway at a spa, with his wife. And then he’d take it from there with the rest of them, until a family outing could be arranged so that they could get to know each other.

There are family photographs of my children that bring such pure joy, the memories of those old times, birthday candles and friends galore. In others are wisps of sadness, the hints of the hard times that were to come, the storms I have no navigated and won. Perhaps in a history book they would belong in some sequential order, yet this is my history and I choose them. I select the best of them and discard the others, because as I age they will be the memories I keep and be an important part of my health. Good memories are medicine, the very best kind.

He watched Chloe as she busied herself with frying plantains and bacon. She hadn’t said much ever since Zainab had appeared in Sergio’s life.

"You know love, you haven’t really said anything concrete since Zainab showed up."

"What do you want me to say?"

He was stunned. He knew she wasn’t happy but he hoped that she’d have a better reason than jealousy or something along those lines.

"Wasn’t it you who offered your support when I was looking for her? So what seems to be the problem?"

She went dead quite.

Thought so.

Ge sucked his teeth and walked away from her.

I got bigger fish to fry lady.

Isis.

She sat in class thinking about her conversation with Alejandro, as they were driving to school.

Isis wanted to be homeschooled, and Alejandro didn’t know what to think of it.

Homeschool could be challenging for many people for many reasons, and so we started the government "mom and pop" schools. They were run by a pair of teachers (one male, one female where possible) out of local cafes and restaurants. The teachers were good role models and emotional anchors in the storm that was rocking the world. The renting of the space was a much needed boost to local business and the kids were fed a full days worth of good food in a relaxed learning environment. We did it in the homeschool way with siblings together, with time to relax and socialise built in. The teachers took on a loving parent approach combined with teaching tailored to each child’s ability and interests. Homeschool has better results than private school, so the educational outcomes were optimal. Kids who feel loved develop healthier brains and bodies, and so the social and health outcomes were great too. It was a big reorganisation, for sure, but these bubbles were needed in the pandemic and once we tried it, why go back? It was far better for everyone.

She scrolled through the articles online as she tried to take a final decision on it. She just didn’t see the point of having to be on campus.

She just wanted to take her classes at home like all the other rich kids, and also be able to take care of her grandmother, especially now that Aisha was on the loose.

She thought about Aisha.

These many years, most of them beautiful, some brutal, I have earned your trust. I have never strayed, betrayed, abandoned... but been stalwart, true, loving. I have shown over and over that I would do anything in this world to keep you safe, yet still you mistrust. I thought you knew my heart. Now that you’ve shown your hand all I feel is numb. You misread me and then feel bitter, angry, though all the while I was simply doing my best to take care of you. My heart still beats, but against a chest that feels hollow. My eyes still see, yet the world that is so close around me seems far away. My mind begins to shut down, unwilling to think anymore. Perhaps this is shock, I’m really not sure. All I know is that I keep on pouring in love, hoping for the day I have earned redemption for "crimes" based on nothing but false perception.

Isis got through her chemistry class by daydreaming and doing research on home schooling.

She looked out the window.

Never before had Isis noticed how time is so much like water; that it can pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink. The clock says it is measured and constant, tick tock, part of an orderly world; the clock lies. The past few weeks had passed like thousands of camera frames per second shown one at a time. In this slow time-bubble the birdsong was louder, coldness was colder and colours were brighter. All the while her insides felt as if there was nothing there, nothing to need feeding, nothing to have need of anything at all.

She looked down at her ring and smiled.

The ring was ornately blackened by age the way antique silver does, it was as pretty as a copper patina, especially when viewed as a whole with the blue stone.

"I love you Alex."

Zainab.

My new school friend smells like peaches. I get this urge to sit closer to her just to take in the aroma but it’s not polite. Her hair is almost black, only showing hints of deepest brown when she passes by the window. Her eyes are pale, blue, but so watery you’d almost expect to see them on someone albino. Her laugh is so infectious the teacher punishes her for even a giggle rather than have the whole class snickering into their algebra. Her voice is deeper than girls usually have, not boyish, but a semi-octave lower than is usual. I think I love her a little too much, but so much as to call it a crush. It’s just that when she’s near I feel her gravitational pull and I can’t help but spin into orbit.

Zainab had always been afraid to open up to anyone else ever since she had doubts about her identity and the people around her. But ever since she found her father, she was the happiest girl on earth.

She was able to even make a new friend. Or rather a crush.

Nobody could ever take Isis’ place but it wouldn’t hurt to interact with the other kids.

Zainab struggled with her sexuality, but she knew that she liked girls more than she liked boys.

She didn’t know if she was a lesbian or if she was bisexual.

Love has no frontiers, and so gender becomes mute to its calling.