TUNANI - by Big Dee

Last week at work, I watched the girls in the office stare at me. I could hear the envy in their chatter, calling me lucky, complimenting my clothes, assuming I’ve always lived this polished life. Little do they know I killed my aunt five years ago. I wonder how they’d look at me if they actually knew. Five years ago, the heart monitor had this steady, rhythmic beat. Honestly, it was the only thing in the entire room that sounded alive. I pulled the heavy plastic chair closer to the bed, metal legs scraping hard against the linoleum floor. Sitting there, my aunt looked tiny under those harsh white lights, no gold jewelry, none of that sharp authority that used to govern our entire house. Just plastic tubing, pale skin, and a thin hospital sheet. She shifted a little, her hand reaching weakly for the plastic call button hanging near her pillow. Before her fingers could even graze it, I picked up the remote and set it on the nightstand, far out of reach. "Don't bother," I told her. She went completely still. I sat back, rested my hands in my lap, and watched clear fluid move down the IV tube. "I was fifteen when you showed up in the village," I said. "Aunty Nana, you remember? You were wearing this bright blue lace, smelling like expensive perfume and city money. You sat on my mother's wooden stool, held my chin, and told her I had the height for modelling. Promised you'd put me in school, take me to the city, and make something out of me." She swallowed hard, staring at me like I was a stranger. "My mother cried," I went on. "She packed my two best dresses into a nylon bag, held my face, and told me to make everyone proud. That bag is still under her bed, you know. She's still waiting for me to come home successful." I reached over for the glass pitcher on the tray, poured a little water into a paper cup, and took a small sip. When I set the cup down, my finger pressed into the paper edge hard enough to leave a sharp, crescent indent. "I thought modelling meant cameras and fashion shows," I said, setting the cup down quietly. "I didn't realize it meant a maid's uniform. I didn't know about the velvet rooms and silk blindfolds, or the men with wedding rings paying to watch us and treat us like things they owned for the night." Her chest rose and fell heavily under the blanket, but she didn't say a word. "You know what I thought, Aunty Nana?" I said. Her eyes shifted towards me. "I thought you were watching my mother's back." I looked down at my hands. "I thought that's what you were doing. Every time you came home with money, every time you told her not to worry, I thought you were protecting her." I looked back at her. "You were the one taking advantage of her." Her lips parted slightly. "The first month, I cried until my eyes were swollen shut," I told her. "By six months, I couldn't cry anymore. By sixteen, the feeling was completely gone. You learn to stand in the dark and breathe so quietly you forget you're even there." I leaned forward, smoothed out a crease in her blanket, and tucked the edge under her side. She flinched, what little colour she had left draining right out of her face. "When I turned eighteen, I met the others," I said, pulling back. "Different faces, different villages, but the exact same look in their eyes. We didn't talk much, but you don't need words when you share the same shadow. We paid attention, Aunty. You kept track of your bank account, but we kept records in our heads." I paused, watching her. "You changed chefs every few months, thinking it kept you safe," I said softly. "You never realized the last one was already working with me." A sharp, choked gasp caught in her throat. "I found the wall safe, Aunty Nana." She just stared at me. "And those men on your list? They know who kept the receipts." Tears pooled in her eyes, spilling over into her hair. The steady rhythm quickened. "You worked so hard to keep your own daughter safe," I said. "Sent her abroad, paid her tuition with money built on our backs, built this massive wall so the dirt wouldn't touch her clothes. You wanted a lady, while you destroyed the rest of us." Her fingers clutched at the bedsheet, desperately. "She went to the house yesterday," I said quietly. "The one with the velvet curtains. I gave her headphones and played the tapes from those rooms. There's no mistaking your voice. Setting the price on a fifteen-year-old girl who called you family." Her dry lips moved, but no sound came out. "She left her bags on your living room floor and headed straight to the airport," I said, watching her tear-stained face. "Now you have the money, the house, and this quiet room. But you don't have a daughter." The monitor's rhythm broke into an erratic, frantic pulse. "Your heart rate is jumping," I said, standing up slowly. I grabbed a tissue, wiped a stray drop of water off my thumb, and tossed it in the bin. I adjusted my bag over my shoulder and looked down at her one last time. "I'm leaving now, Aunty Nana. My mother is waiting, and I'm going home to tell her where I've been." I walked over to the door, turned the cold handle, and opened it. Behind me, in the silence of the room, her weak voice finally pushed out one last word. "Wait..." I stepped out and closed the door.

Other insights from Big Dee

Referral Earning

Points-to-Coupons