Lizzy arrived in our small village when we were both in Grade 11.  Her family had moved to a house a few streets away from where I lived.  It was ironic, my cousin Linda would say, that a beautiful girl like Lizzy had come into our small village while the rest of us, who were suffocating in that tiny place, were trying to get away.

I remember the day Dad dropped me off to live with Aunt Sisanda after my mother upped and left. Mom told my dad she needed to be free of us. She wanted to travel to ‘live’, as if she couldn’t do that with us.

I was only eight. When she left I told myself that at least I had my dad. I had always been close to him. But then he met a woman and he too wanted to be free of us.

Aunt Sisanda said I was lucky to have a father who kept on supporting his child, even after he’d moved on. By supporting me she meant paying the bills, paying school fees, buying my school uniform – doing what needed to be done. But I wanted more. I’ve always wanted more than just a phone call on my birthday. I wanted to talk to him about life, and how I found it hard to breathe sometimes. How sometimes I felt like I was under water trying to reach the surface.

“What are you thinking about?” Lizzy asks. “I wish things had happened differently, you know …” Her voice trails off as she looks up at the sky.

“Me too.”

I’ve tried for the past two years not think about what happened that day. Or even talk about it, ever. It took a lot of sleepless nights and sleeping pills to not feel their hands throttling my throat every time I tried to fall asleep. For months I stayed up all night replaying the whole ordeal in my head. Trying to find a way any of that could have ended differently.

Lizzy and I had been dating for months – for the whole of Grade 11 really. We got to the beginning of Grade 12 without anyone knowing our secret, not even my close cousin Linda who used to tease me about becoming a nun since I wasn’t interested in dating.

Everyone knew Lizzy and I were best friends. We were. And much more than that. Lizzy was popular; she was captain of the netball team and the only person who cared enough to spend that much time with me.

And then the text came.

We knw.

That was all it said. The number was unknown. Every time we tried to call back the line went dead. At first Lizzy and I thought it was a prank. Surely no one had seen us?  We had been careful for a year, stealing kisses behind bathrooms when we thought no one was watching. Falling in love. But of course someone must have been watching, or listening. I didn’t realise how small our village really was. I learned this the hard way, when our secret spots were no longer secret.

Gv us wat we wnt or everyone wil know.

The texts kept getting worse and harder to avoid. Then the demands started. They weren’t so bad at first – sneaking a couple of cigarettes to the school bully, Mzwanele, and his friends. They knew. And we knew they knew so we decided to cool things down a bit. Not so much as a glance across the corridor. The walls had ears and eyes too, and they were watching, always.

It was holiday and Lizzy and I hadn’t spoken in a month. I missed her, terribly. She was easy to talk to; she made everything and anything seem bearable, and I loved her smile, her wide eyes, and unruly black hair. I loved the way her thick eyebrows furrowed whenever she was confused or in deep thought. I thought of her all the time.

And then another text came.

Meet me @ usual spot. Changed my number. Liz.

My heart leapt when the words I’d been waiting weeks to hear finally came.

***

“We should have known it was a trap …” Lizzy interrupts my thoughts as though we are both wrapped up in the same memory.

“I should’ve protected you … Done something … Said something.”

“There was nothing you could do, Niz.” She wraps her shaking fingers in mine and we are both crying. We’ve kept it together for so long, and now we are shattering into tiny little pieces. We’ve tried to keep strong by not dreaming, not feeling, not speaking.

“I just watched.” My voice sounds foreign to me.  I don’t cry. Ever. I’ve never allowed myself to.  I am dizzy from the punch. I lean against the wall for support and then slide down to sit on the cold concrete, my arms wrapped around my legs. Lizzy slides down next to me and hugs me. It is usually me hugging her. I’ve always taken care of her.

I bury my face in my hands.

***

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