On Decisions and Repercussions: The Darkest Night is just before Dawn

Photo Credit: Pxfuel

 

It was a rainy night. The kind that made men drink hot gin till their tongues loosened. But this man, with whom I will spend the next few hours, did not need gin. He only needed a listening ear. How can I turn down a man kind enough to let me wait out the storm at his home? So listen, I did.

He looked at me as he spoke. Into me. As if determined to bore a hole for his words to sink in. Thankfully, it was dark. But my relief was short-lived. The old wick lantern made it worse. It brought the darkness into life. Shadows were happy to be more than just shadows. They leapt with the flames to celebrate their triumph. This man had a lot of shadows. 

“At the peak of youth,” he started, "we burn with an exuberance that only a youth can muster. There is nothing in the world we cannot achieve. The universe obliges us. It hangs visions of our dreams on our lampstand till it keeps us awake at night. Till it becomes an obsession. But when we reach out to take it, we see it for what it is. A mirage. An illusion. A floating image in the water. 

"Believe me, friend," he said, "it is better to stare. Reaching out will only create ripples."

Photo Credit: Mike Erskine 

It was difficult to look at his eyes. A set of hollow things that sucked in all the darkness around it till there was no difference between man and shadow. So I looked at the flames and watched it flicker and dance to the wind's tune. His shadows danced with it. If only they didn't make a good musical duo. I sighed, it was going to be a long night.

He spoke slowly now. Each word, like a dagger carried gently, lest it hurts. It was like the dying confessions I saw in films. Except that instead of comforting relatives, he had me. I soon realized that it took more than breathing to be living and more than dying to die.  I shrank into the shadows, taking comfort in them. 

"I was a brilliant student," he started, "young and passionate. I had dreams only the ambitious could muster. But they would take more than just ambition. I worked hard." 

My mother would cling to me each time I brought home my results screaming, "Happiness has killed me. My son has killed me with happiness." 

They were the only sheets of paper not used to package akara balls in the house. Most times, the only white sheets in the house. Then she will dance, cursing my cursers and blessing my blessers. 

"The future of the family," she will say. "Our hope." 

If blessings were rain, I would have been drenched.” 

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For a single mother whose major livelihood laid in the success of her little akara kiosk. She was determined. Her son will make her proud. He was the fruit of a prophecy. She needed only to save right. Eat less. Until the time her prophecy will be fulfilled. 

"She didn't wait for long," he continued.

"I had just gotten admission to study Medicine. The beginning of the fulfillment. God's acknowledgement of our dreams. She had always known I would go places." 

She would say, "my son would be a doctor. And I, mama dokinta. Together, we will tour the world."

To her, her son was perfect. Asides a little temper, he is a good child, with a kind heart. He will be fine. He will handle himself out there. She believed so much in me, he told me. But it will take more than just faith to bear good fruits. 

So when him, this son, came across two men fighting, he decided to fulfill his mosaic duty of separating them. He was disgusted by the onlookers. How they could watch another man pummel into the other. He spat in disgust. I spat with him. 

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The opponent must have an eye problem. Or a natural inclination to pummel into anything he sees. Our friend's peacemaking ventures were not appreciated. He was blocking off a good punch, to the irritation of the attackers. Especially one, who quickly became his opponent. 

"It would take a saint not to react," he told me. His shadows agreed with him because his face darkened as he said, "I am not one." 

Well, neither was his opponent. In fact, dug from the deepest part of hell, he had no intention of going back there alone. 

Then, we would realize that we are all mad. You need only find the right trigger for each person. The right buttons. When this opponent found our friend's. All hell broke loose. 

Our friend charged. Adrenaline pumped. Broken bottles. Blood. Screams. More blood. More screams. 

We saw hell. There was no sinner or a saint. Just two men, one trying frantically to control the bleeding. The other trying to remove the bottleshards. 

"It was a bloody mess," he said. 

"I couldn't see. I wasn't even sure if I was doing it right. My hands shook. By the time I started screaming for help, I was trembling."

The darkness drew me in. It was getting more difficult to hide my curiosity. "Did he die?" I asked.

Photo Credit: Piron Guillaume 

As if my question was all he needed. Our friend broke into tears. Each outburst shook his shoulder as he wept. I feared he would come apart. The shadows came to comfort him. The darkness kept him together. At that moment, I saw him for what he was: a broken man. 

Saints fall. He wasn't the first. But shouldn't make him less of a saint. When I touched my cheeks, it was wet. 

Our friend took his opponent to the hospital. An aggravated scenario could wound him up with a murder charge. His temper had stilled. There were more worrisome troubles. Like the deposit he had just put in. Another they were asking. More deposits. It never ended. 

Unfortunately, his pockets weren't just as large. The night was like this one. Stormy. His mother had lent her tear duct to the rain. And they wept together. The akara savings were not much. It was barely enough to finish his admission fees. But it had taken them years to save. Another 'years' to replace. She gave them to him nonetheless. His opponent had to live. She may have had a bad-tempered son but not a murderer. 

"I saw the grief in her eyes," he said. 

"What emptiness looked like, outside a bank account. A bone chilling sorrow. It came with the realization. She may die of many things. But not of happiness. My happiness."

"In my frenzy, I had not thought of the deadline for the admission fees. It would take me a while to realize that I had spent all my university fees on keeping that man alive. Another to realize that I would never go to medical school. It was then that I saw emptiness in my own eyes. The day never broke. The night lived on changing and varying its light."

Photo Credit: David Tomaseti

I regretted lurking in the shadows, taking comfort in them. Now, they strangle me. I leaned towards the old wick lantern, struggling to get a gasp of air. The shadows leapt through the contours of our face, trying to hide all we are. But some things can never be hidden. Like the shards of a broken heart. 

As I laid to sleep, I took in the shack I would spend the night, how it could have easily been a little more comfortable if life did not change in a twinkle of an eye. If only he had found his way back to the university. If only he was more than a candle seller. If only decisions do not cost just as much.

He barely sees his mother now.

"She wears her emptiness like a cloak," he said. "She reminds me of all I could have been but failed to be. I will live with this guilt for the rest of my life." So much for being a child of prophecy.

Friends, there is this concept we call the permissive will of God. The freedom he gives us, as his children, to make our choices. Like the name, it is the discretion to make decisions even if they do not align with his perfect will. But we must make it align or bear the consequences.

 

If you doubt me, go ask Eve. Ask Cain what happened after he killed his brother. We see the ultimate plan of God change in the snap of a finger. With Eve, it cost us more, a fall from Grace. 

This is not a post to make you quiver in doubt. Or question your actions. It is a gentle reminder that destinies can be lost in a twinkle of an eye and you have a crucial role to play to prevent it. Remember to look before you leap! 

Photo Credit: Dameli Zhantas

Addendum

The darkest night has always been before dawn. However dark the night had been, the day must break. Then, it would be a matter of choice - if you choose to see it. 

The day did break. The light filled up the shack in the most beautiful way I have ever seen. But it didn't dampen my happiness when I thanked my benefactor for taking me in. I was eager to leave all that gloom behind. But for you, this is a story I will never tell again. 

To every Rose that grew from Concrete; Blossom