Fire on church street

Calitz had done it again— he called in his big favour three days ago. Talk about bad timing. I should have predicted it after begging him to sing at Uncle Ray’s and Grandpa Arnold’s ceremony. Even though he claimed to be my friend and that it was a friendly favour, I still owed him for his time. After all, by singing at the memorial of my uncle and grandpa, he might be losing out on a more popular event. But it didn’t look like it. Especially when newspaper sales only picked up after I put in my favour. The headlines read – Calitz Price to sing at Aldermoor, his burnt home. So even though mom booked out the Living Proof, the church building on Church Street, for our family only, our family wouldn’t be the only attendants.

I was still at Jacqueline’s when he rang. Jacqueline, who was incapable of minding her own business. Maybe, instead of abiding by Jacqueline’s sting eye, I should have answered the phone someplace far off, away from her eyes and ears. Even after Calitz’s clarification, she still snatched my phone from my hands and snuck her way into the show. The FM 2000 studio podcast hadn’t prepared for more interviewees. Yet, Mark saw the dollar signs in Jacqueline and ‘us’, the others. So, in three weeks, we - Jacqueline, Calitz, Stellar, Jocelyne, and I- would advise FM 2000’s listeners through a series of questions on ‘how they can live their truest lives’. So now, Calitz didn’t only have me in the studio for the moral support he requested.

But he wasn’t alone in the struggle with his past. Maybe he would have been if he rang before I accidentally eavesdropped on Aunt Jakeline, Jacqueline’s mom, a week ago.

Ironically, it was more like stumbling onto him during a game of hide-and-seek. Back then, Jacqueline and I hid under the table, all ears and gasping. We only darted to our beds after Aunt Jakeline and Brian shut their bedroom doors and switched off the lights. Unlike Jacqueline, who slept as soon as her head touched the pillow, I struggled. The night was still young. What if Jacqueline’s parents, unaware, revealed more?

I had a brother. I should be dancing naked. After all, I always longed for my own sibling. And after countless headshakes from my parents, I gave up. Since knowing of this brother from accidentally eavesdropping instead of from my own parents, I couldn’t view them as pure, loving guardians again. Nor view them as torches through the darkest alleys. Only that they led me into it and left me there. From the Hopeful Hearts orphanage to not attending Aunt Jakeline’s baby shower, their reactions to my longing could not have muddied their character more.

My previous saint views of them might have remained if Jacqueline and her mom, Aunt Jakeline, hadn’t stayed the night, as my mom requested. Maybe I would have missed the truth if Jacqueline hadn’t forced Berth and me into a game of hide-and-seek for her YouTube channel and if I hadn’t found her hiding under the dining table exactly as Brian, her dad, and Aunt Jakeline came downstairs to quench their thirst. What if I stopped seeking after finding Berth under his blanket, pretend-sleeping and made him seek instead? Or maybe, if Aunt Jakeline and her husband, Brian, hadn’t thirsted after a glass of water so awfully…. If they had only kept to their rooms? Maybe, if my mom and dad didn’t always feel it necessary to leave me with a babysitter…Maybe, if they only called in Brian to babysit, such as when they took off for five days without at least warning me. Then I would have never overheard Aunt Jakeline utter the words: ’Shame, poor lad, an empty house, she’s been asking for one. And not that those words were untrue and didn’t echo my thoughts.

Longing for him was more comforting than knowing he existed. I would have flown through the background authoritarian check section of the FM 2000 studio form without any awareness of him. Only my name, surname and my parents would feature on the form.

He would have never crossed my mind again if not for the form needing to be filled. Before all this stuff with Calitz and Jacqueline, I had snubbed it as best as possible. I had stopped posting as often on Instagram and pitching up for Jacqueline’s YouTube channel section for how to live your life truthfully and differentiate the fake from the real. I had focused on my textbooks and tests - even aced my math exam, then toyed with becoming a doctor or a police officer as my parents requested. Rather career thoughts than to dwell in a black hole of questioning whether Aunt Jakeline lied. After all, she would scrutinise me whenever I wasn’t looking. I’ve caught her once during dinner after the church service for Uncle Ray and Grandpa Arnold.

When I wasn’t constantly pondering him, I handled family dinners better. I breathed better at night. It eliminated the heavy guessing of whether this brother was still breathing or already underground? If he was buried already, was it before his birth or after he progressed in age? Wouldn’t Mom have told me then if this was the case like those YouTube moms told their kids? Maybe she had, but I still had a few more years in nappies to remember. Was I then his replacement?

Imagining him dead was the better option. It would then turn out that my life wasn’t a lie. I had lived as I should have without a brother. Knowing about him changed nothing. It only meant an awareness of what could have been. However, if he lived, that altered the course of my life. I couldn’t turn a blind eye to him if he was alive. All the surprises we could get up to —from tripping him up, sabotaging his plans, threatening him with mom, the playful bullying, twiddling our thumbs over the controller as we played fighting games like I did with Berth, and bonding over tears while, also, walking away much more uplifted, just like Jacqueline and Berth. Especially when mom gave us the scolding of our life. The wealth of memories I could have experienced with him here. I wouldn’t want to wake up to this reality when a greater reality awaited. And from Aunt Jakeline’s tone that night, it seemed it should have been the former. Grandma Gareth making me promise to protect Jacqueline seemed less important than finding my brother. Finding out what happened to him.

I could brush off the promise Grandma Gareth made me keep without obtaining these life-changing implications; however, not with my brother. Already, we went to Mark’s studio, which would host the podcast, and even shook Mark’s, the manager’s, hand. To get there, we - the girls and I- took a five-hour bus ride, which was equivalent to two buses, from Raymound High, my public school and then a thirty-minute uphill walk. The journey there had me wishing for my bed before we even reached his studio. Upon our arrival, Mark only shook our hands and dished out confidentiality forms and permission slips before locking himself in his office, which was up a couple of stairs, right beside the studio. No tour of his studio, no small talk, and no idea of how the whole podcast worked. He only spent his time counting papers and on phone calls that lasted no more than three minutes. I was probably another item on his list – easily swapped. But I had already signed the forms…shook his hand… made a promise.

The more I glared at the dots lined up at the sides of my ceiling, the more my chest weighed. A scream was slowly building up in it. I almost wrinkled my form as I sat upright – the form for the podcast, how to Live Your Truest Life and Overcome Challenges. The title already hinted at the type of interviewee we were. It shed an extremely societal-favored light, leaving no room to hide. And it only took a phone call from Calitz when I was still at Jacqueline’s.

Why did he think I’d be the perfect moral support candidate – a girl he still had to meet in person? We came to know each other because of his teacher, Jessica - my international exchange student-teacher during fourth grade. She assigned him to me. Back then, we texted nonstop until my parents saw the text. They couldn’t shake off me calling some foster kid brother, so they handed me a new phone. Last year, behind their backs, we reconnected on Instagram and had yet to stop chatting. He’d even promised to come by, so the podcast and singing now gave him a good enough reason.

In a different circumstance, I would’ve jumped over the moon when he called. I might have done one of those YouTube shorts that did a countdown until I finally saw him. But the sight of a calendar reminded me of the podcast. Of what I knew. And what was on the line?

I would die from my thoughts if I lay longer. But cycling around my two-bedroom house also failed to eliminate the scream now stuck in the back of my throat. Not even the backyard, with all its months of unmowed grass, questioned the reality that I lived thus far.

I recorded no new content for YouTube or Instagram. It would only remark on the lie that moulded my lifestyle. Anyway, with my mind so cluttered, I would have captured nothing. I almost considered calling Brian, my uncle, to see if he would let me tag along in his criminal chase. His dry dad jokes might get me out of my head.

What could his name be? Dereck? Leo? Mom never discussed life pre-me. Letting go of my bike, I slumped into the sand and shut my eyes. The sand stayed as it was no matter how hard I wished. Death by quicksand would last five seconds. And, knowing what I know, I could then restart – maybe catch the red lights earlier and dig deeper into their reactions.

On the other hand, Calitz might have it worse. He might be wishing for more than death at this point – if I just walked in his shoes for a minute. The newspapers sold in his name. He was one of two boys whom the 2000 fire on church streets left orphaned. His journey to becoming a renowned opera turned all eyes on him. Bet those living in orphanages prayed to walk in his footsteps. Bloody hell – I did him a huge favour by having him sing at Aldermoor, his old village. Or else all the publicity could never have amounted to this. Jacqueline also observed growth in her crime YouTube channel. As my cousin, she was forced to attend Uncle Ray’s and Grandad Arnold’s annual memorial like me. Both of them, on the other hand, have punctured me in the gut.

The root cause of all this might be Freya instead, my old English teacher, the previous singer who backed out with no excuse. If she could still look me in the eye, I would have cycled to her office instead to vent my concerns. She had closed her doors to me a long time ago. It went to show pissing someone off, even those who were closest to you, led to their departure. Love never withstood much.

Even now, I was making Mom angry. The camera would have caught me leaving the house. After a random stranger tried to break into the house on Saturday, long before the media got a hold of Calitz, Mom upped the security. She installed the camera and alarms outside our home.

But I hadn’t drifted too far. Anyway, the security guards at the main gate were in the loop of what happened. They probably watched out for the man, who could potentially be just another one of the clients against whom Mom fought in some lawsuit.

The beach wasn’t the best company. The sun hardly glimmered across the water’s surface. No surfer would be able to ride the sort of waves that hit the shore. The wind was also forceful. Sand particles kept flying into my eyes. The beach had lost its warmth, as it was foreshadowed by last night’s weather forecast.

My phone vibrated. Once, twice, thrice. On the fourth ring, I scanned the caller ID – only to find that it was Jacqueline instead of my parents. My stomach did backflips upon hearing Jacqueline’s voice.

“Beatrice…” In the background, Berth laughed and slandered my name. His voice got faint at the click of a door. “I have been calling you for ages. Are you okay? Is this whole podcast thing too much?”

“Was that Berth?”

“Beatrice.”

I breathed in loudly. If it was anybody, I would lie. But it was Jacqueline. And she knew how much of an advocate I’ve been for ‘living your realist or don’t live at all’. “I’m still breathing.” That was more than I could say for my brother. Whoever he was.

“You know, no matter what, I’ll have to have the forms by Friday. They have one hell of a line up.”

“I will. Don’t worry about it.”

“Listen. Me and the other girls were talking, and we think that maybe you should sit this one out. You’re not losing anything.”

Only being dragged across her channel as fake. We both knew how capable she was of exposing me. She would play me the same way she played Rachael – pretended to care while searching for information and, once found, stabbed me whilst I was still blindfolded. “No. Don’t worry. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

She scoffed, but before she said more, Berth screamed, and, a few ruffles later, Berth’s voice flowed through the speakers. “Wanna fight me tonight? Killer instinct. Promise I’ll win this time around.”

“Why not Brian?”

“He doesn’t know how to play this and he’s working. Please.” He then lowered his voice to a whisper. “And Dad needs more convincing each time. I’ve run out of sweets and I’m too tired to maw the lawn every time.”

“I can’t tonight.” Before he could moan, I added. “I’ll make it up to you some other way. Promise. Anything you want…Berth?”

“Anything? Promise? I’ll hold you to it.”

When the phone cut with them in the middle of screaming at each other, I cycled back home, where I got to work on the form. Minutes later, the paper still had ample questions in need of answers. Questions I often asked. Unable to fix my eyes on any questions anymore, I made for my parents’ room.