We walk fast past the taxi rank, keep our faces turned away. We pass it as I planned. With relief we lean against a shack one road beyond the throng of people piling in and out of minibuses. We sit with our backs against the zinc, both of us trying to look calm, in charge. Anele holds her hand out for some money, says, “Let me find the taxi.”

I shake my head.

“In case your father’s watching for you and Lindi.”

“Uh uh, no.” I shake my head. I must protect my loyal friend. “He was blind drunk but you never know. He might remember what you look like.”

I leave Lindi with Anele, slip between the shacks. I keep a frightened eye out for my father; fix my eyes just above the heads of the taxi passengers. My father is taller than most men by a head. I jostle among some women, keep my eyes up, the hair on the back of my neck prickling with vigilance.

“Strand?” I ask a taxi driver. He points at a blue taxi at the corner. It says, ‘Macassar, Strand.’

I cross the street quickly, sweating in the fading sun. I spring into the empty taxi, keep my head bent. The taxi driver starts with surprise. He stares at me as I huddle behind the front seats. “Too early, he says. Thirty minutes.”

I try to straighten up, act natural. “I want to buy places, book two seats. One for me and my sister, one for my suitcase.”

He nods but looks suspicious. If my father comes asking, I can tell this man will feed me to him.

Trust. I have to trust in something. Even if it is just pure luck.

The taxi driver watches me dodge between the street life. I feel his eyes on me as I cross the street. I slow down deliberately, stroll past the woman roasting ribs on the fire. I choose the chops carefully, pay her like I have all the time in the world. Still the taxi man watches me. I can feel it. I take the roasted ribs and smile at the woman behind me, a free, false smile to show the taxi guy that I am just having a snack, happy, then I am leaving the township in the best of circumstances.

When I am past the screen of parked taxis I can’t help breaking into a panic stricken trot. I throw my back against the shack where Anele is sitting with Lindi.

I shut my eyes for a second, say a thanks to lady luck, my ancestors, I really don’t care which.

“Are you ready?” Anele asks.

I nod. Give her a roasted rib in brown paper. Lindi reaches up, tries to steal it, “Ukutya!”

I quickly stick a whole rib in her hand. She shuts up and sinks her teeth into it. I slump down next to Anele.

After a minute of happy chewing, Anele smiles. “Strange date.”

My teeth are stuck in a strip of crispy meat. ‘My first date’, I want to say.

The first time I have felt the pull to share my true self, to open the door wide, to let a beautiful stranger into my strength, into my shame.

I smile. “Very strange,” I say.

Lindi’s face is smeared with grease. Anele pulls a perfumed wet-wipe from her pocket. She cleans and polishes my little sister’s skin.

“You sure you don’t have a little sister?”

She shakes her head, “Cousins. Lots of them.” She looks up at me meaningfully. “Some of them live near your Granny.”

“Really?” A tingling promise hangs off this geographical fact.

“You visit there?” I ask.

She smiles. “Often.”

We throw our bones to an old, polite dog. We sit side by side in silence, sensing our future unfolding before us.

“Will you visit me?” My voice sounds rich, not pleading. I sound like a grown man with a mission.

“As your counsellor?” she asks, her eyes glinting with mischief.

I shake my head. “Uh uh, no.” I sling an arm across her shoulders. “Next time, Anele we’ll keep it light. We’ll laugh. We’ll dance…”

She laughs, lays her head on my shoulder. “I think both of us could do with a childhood.” She undoes my shirt cuff, pulls a half a pen from her pocket. It’s the same one Lindi broke, but it’s missing its kitten. She strokes an old bruise on my wrist. She writes her cellphone number large, up my arm.

I pull my sleeve down, carefully do up the button. Besides the photos of my mother, those ink marks are my most precious possession.

Anele checks her phone, freezes. “Eish! It’s ten to six.”

It is easy for me to rise to my feet. It is easy for me to grab the handle of my mother’s suitcase, lift my little sister against my chest. It’s easy for me to say with dry, courageous wit, “Let’s go to the beach.”

Anele tries to take Lindi from me. “Let me carry her.”

I hold tightly to my sister. “Anele. Thank you. You go home and be safe.” I lean forward, my arms full, try not to totter. I plant a soft, adoring kiss on Anele’s forehead. I whisper, “You are the best.” My voice cracks on the last word, but a bit of intensity, I have heard, can be romantic.

I walk towards the blue taxi on the corner. All the way, without stopping, with a smooth, strong pace. I am glad to find the taxi engine idling, even more relieved to see our two reserved seats. I climb in without ducking or glancing behind me. I settle our mother’s suitcase in its special seat. I settle my tired little sister on my knees.

As the taxi pulls away, I refuse to scan the street, refuse to dread that he might stumble into view, come chasing after us. No. I keep my eyes fixed on the silken girl with the sunshine eyes even though it is dusk, the one with the white blouse dirtied by my sister’s grubby fingers. And in a long, long, lingering look I send her more love and thanks than I knew my guarded heart could ever carry.

The taxi driver, by some crazy coincidence, slaps on a loud love song. Anele hears it above the thrumming and shouts of the taxi rank. She hears it; I know it because she bursts out laughing, just like me. As the taxi pulls away from our neighbourhood I can’t seem to feel the pain that leaving home should bring. Instead my heart is light, my rain tank empty. There is air at last to laugh. There is space to fall in love.

***

Tell us what you think: How will Aviwe’s and Lindi’s lives change now?