Clint

As I polish my school shoes on a sheet of newspaper on the kitchen floor I hear a beep on my phone.

“Clinton van de Merwe, sit dai ding af! You know you’re not allowed to have phone calls during the week!” my mother shouts tumultuously from the ‘chicken curry’ factory- our kitchen.

“Argh Ma, it’s just a message!” I shout in reply.

With ivory hands I pick up my phone casually under the impression that it’s John wanting to confirm the details about the smoking session behind Miss Kara’s classroom tomorrow, but to my surprise it’s a message from Zaylee.

19:10

Zay: Can u chat?

A taste of lead floods my mouth as my heart sinks to the sole of my feet like a rollercoaster ride at Gold Reef City. My hand has a private epileptic fit trying to type a reply.

19:12

Clint: Wats up?

19:16

Zay: I know that we haven’t spoken in a while but there is something u need 2 know. I tried 2 have an abortion 2 months ago. I just couldn’t. It was terrible. Anyway, the baby is coming soon.

The burning sensation continues, travelling through my veins, numbing my tongue, fingers and thoughts. Once again, I am unable to reply. Fuck.

*****

Zaylee

“Open up, Sisi!” the nurse demands to check my stitches.

The pain is fiercely excruciating. I open up my eyes expeditiously and shut them. I can’t believe it happened at school, I remember seeing shock and disappointment seep from Mrs Mtimkulu’s face as she quickly called the ambulance. For a few minutes I wonder how I could go back to school now that everyone knows I was pregnant.

One of the only girls in grade 9 who had dreams, who knew where her path was leading is lying on a barbed wire mattress in a hospital. I quickly try to dismiss thoughts of the ridicule I will be subjected to if I return. Perhaps the easiest thing to do is only go to ballet class in the afternoon and clean the house during the day, Uncle Desmond would appreciate that.

Oh yes, there’s Uncle Desmond. I mentally sprint from the thought of his reaction to this and think about the nurse who kept saying “Mara, the young girls of today know just how to mess up their lives!” If only she knew I was different and that it is a mistake I regret.

After what feels like an eternity of existing in and out of consciousness, hearing babies scream; plead for life, and mothers calling their baby daddies I uncomfortably search for my phone to message Clint.

Zay: It’s here (11:10)

Zay: Rahima Moosa Mother & Child Hospital ok! (12: 07)

*****

Clint

My ability to zone out has never been this beneficial before. I knew what was coming when I ran to call Ma in the bathroom to tell her. I expected a dragon breathing vicious words of fire, wounding me; that’s what I got.

She didn’t rush from work like I thought she would, she made me wait. I took the bus home from school and tried to play PlayStation to conquer my anxiety. I contemplated taking a taxi, but hey, who am I kidding? There are no taxi ranks in Houghton.

*****

Zaylee

I look up at the ceiling and inhale the sterility of the ward. The ceiling has probably absorbed and ingested the secret, devastating thoughts of all the teenagers who have had babies here, each narrating a different story. I breathe in slowly realising that mine is not a fairy tale.

I look at my watch and realise it has been over 9 hours. The nurses have taken the baby and I strangely miss it already. I miss her. I think about Uncle Desmond and quickly realise that I need to get out of here. I sit up slowly and fall back down onto the bed of barbed wire. A bubbling nausea navigates from my stomach up into my oesophagus.

What are you doing Zaylee? I begin a mental pep talk. It is interrupted by the darkness I see swiftly concealing the peach sky and I realise I need to do something fast before he realises I’m not home. I close my eyes; achingly and desperately wish to be anywhere but here, to disappear.

*****

Clint

Trust Ma to want to make a pot of chicken curry in my emergency. She resembles the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland, pale; disappointed and helpless.

“What will Pa say, Clinton? How could you have been so stupid? What will the church mense say? Ek weet nie Clinton, who are you?” She yammers. Instinctively I want to whip out my ear phones and deafen her self-pity.

“You’ll end up being just like your father anyway!” she shrieks. I zone out as I distract myself, watching the Ponte and Telkom towers dissolve into the sunset and I wish that all of this could disappear.

Eventually the White Queen succumbed to silence but wept uncontrollably. The mascara stained her face, like black veins that would tell a tale. It tells my tale of sorrow. As we pass UJ, I see the students casually and problem free parading over the bridge and come to a sad realisation that that will never be me. I toss that bitter thought as I hear Ma speaking to Aunty Marie on the phone, asking her to get stuff for the baby.

I open the car’s window and gulp up relief.

*****

Zaylee

I grab my school bag and walk past the cold glass barrier. I look at it, at her. I can’t believe she came out of me. I know that if I look at her too long I might not leave. I need to leave. Ms Mtimkulu said she would come see me after she promised not to not tell Uncle Desmond until I do. Perhaps she can take care of it. I hope she does. Everything will be okay, it needs to be. I take a few more steps and see Ms Mtimkulu power walking out of the elevator, worry adorning her face. My feet gain momentum and I run down the stairs to leave the hospital. Ouma Shirley always said I was a runner.

*****

Clint

I tear the rubber of my Converse takkies as I run up to the information desk, Ma carrying her heels consequently tearing her pantyhose running behind me.

“Evening, I’m looking for Jacobs, uh Zaylee Jacobs,” I stutter out of breath.

The nurse reluctantly tells me that they have called SAPS because Zaylee has left the baby behind but that a certain Ms Mtimkulu is with the baby now. They are worried that she may have post natal trauma but deep down I know that she has a case of a dreamer.

I look around, at the ceiling that would know what she was thinking, at the floor which would have absorbed the vibrations of her running and heartbeat. I look at the nurse’s pity and then at Ma who entered another crying fest. I gently say the ten words that will change my life forever and that will awaken my dreams – “I am the father, she is mine. I’ll take her.”

The nurse looks at me confused and hands me the bird cage earring that was left behind, with no plastic bird in it.

***

Tell us what you think: Where do you think Zaylee has runaway to? Do you think she will ever regret her decision or would she live it with? What would you have done?