hey Siri

“Hey Siri,”

Hesitation. Longer than usual. He bit his lips. “Play Westside by Ekoh.” he smiled as it started. He shouldn’t have. But he was feeling the mood for some nostalgia. It had been a really long time since he had heard this song. And almost immediately, the feelings came rushing in. Later, he would reflect, they hadn’t been drowning. Maybe he was healing. Well, he was glad for that. The worst thing about a situation like that, and he’d known, she hadn’t, was when you call it off, you justify it to yourself and come to terms with it sooner. He had told her to. She had needed to make the decision. He wasn’t selfless. But when it came to those he loved, he would take bullets for them. And this situation had put a lot of bullets through his chest. Stifling. Suffocating.

He turned the car, he saw them only for a glimpse. And then he continued looking in the rearview for the next couple of seconds. The boy, younger than eight. Bit into it with ferocity. Who knew when he would get his next meal. Next to him was his mother, in full, black abaya, under what he could only imagine - he didn’t know, his car was fully air conditioned - the sweltering sun. He knew though. He knew that when he got out of his car to walk the few steps inside, he would have sweat stains before the guards opened the doors. So it was hot. Terribly so. And she was sitting on a concrete road. In a full abaya. The heat being contained within. More generated by her body. Very little being let out. She fed him, then she took a nibble. Then she fed him.

He was past her. He felt guilty. He felt guiltier still for considering writing about her. The song, he tried to drown himself in the song. The lyrics, how their life had been, and how they had planned for the future. He smiled. On the main road, under the bridge, he made a turn. The song ended. He picked up his phone, the light ahead was red, he looked in the rearview, no one behind, he slowed down. He stopped, still on his phone. “Play it again”. The song started again. He pulled up his game. Put it down, the light was turning green. In front of him, a woman was hobbling along. Her back was bent over so much that it was almost parallel to the ground. She had to lift her head in an awkward position to be able to see in front of her. No pain on her face. No sorrow. This was life. Acceptance. She hobbled onwards, a small pack on her back. Coming from god knows where, going to god knows where. It didn’t seem like anyone cared for her. She moved past his car. He drove on. The guilt gnawed at him. Here he was mourning about some girl who probably hadn’t - okay, maybe she had - spared him a second thought. And outside, there were all these people living lives far worse than his. He reached his destination, and forgot, consumed as he was by his work.