What dies never stays dead

Sadeeq saw his dead Mother’s face the moment he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. Such apparitions had become habitual recently, a poignant reminder of her ever-present absence. Like last week, he was seated on the beach, vibing to the rhythm of some old Fuji tunes, when Lionel Richie suddenly came on. For one, he did not possess any Lionel records, and this song was merely a part of an intrusive Spotify ad. Yet it conjured memories of her lilting voice belting the bridge of “Hello” on a sensuous Saturday in September—a cherished fragment of his idyllic childhood. 

He termed these and many more past occurrences “feel-good” memories. They surfaced at the slightest provocation, triggered by the faintest echoes of his Mother’s essence— a hint of cinnamon in a friend’s coffee, reminiscent of her signature brew, or the presence of the tattered remnants of the last prayer mat she had lovingly crocheted for him. Even now, as Sadeeq languished in the embrace of his driver’s seat, nervously chewing at the remnants of his cuticles, he acknowledged that seeing her face again, even for a second, cast a warm glow upon his soul.

He was just a few weeks past seventeen when the men in white took her away. Though he comprehended the concept of paramedics at that age, it was often easier to envision them as celestial beings, Seraphs transporting her to some distant paradise for eternal rest, because he never saw her again even while she was being planted in the loams of another man’s land. If only she could see him now, ensconced in the parking lot, wrestling with the prospect of forsaking the warmth of his car for the chill of St. Martin’s class of ’98 reunion. He could almost hear her voice, gentle and wise, uttering her favorite Dan Millman quote in the Yoruba language. 

“O ko ni lati şakoso awọn ero rẹ; O kan ni lati dawọ jẹ ki wọn şakoso rẹ”1 which translates to “you don’t have to control your thoughts, you just have to stop letting them control you.” She had been a devout Muslim, but her favorite speakers were bred from the opposing side. And this single Christian quote was her perennial counsel whenever he was haunted by his inner djinn. Although he knew she was right, conquering these malevolent forces was no facile feat. He yearned to uncover an alternative method of asserting dominion over his tangled emotions and to ascribe meaning to the cacophony within.

So he decided to say a prayer to infuse hope into the evening, an act she would have recommended. However, as he attempted to grasp the paste beads of his tasbih, they eluded his trembling fingers. And that was when he realized that maybe God wasn’t as forgiving as they say. Perhaps today, as it had been for the past twenty-five years, he was left to face the demons of his past all by himself. 

The atmosphere in the sedan took on an ethereal quality as his mind traveled through it. His heartbeat reverberated like the echoes of afternoon yam pounding in a mortar about to burst forth from his delicate ribcage. No way was he getting out of the car now, as he could hardly move. With a firm grip on the wheel and the vestiges of his rapidly dwindling composure, he shoved a cassette into the mouth of his car’s audio player.

“Are you ready, kids?” a man’s voice emanated from the machine, coaxing participation. “Count with me now… one, two, three, four….”

“… five, six, seven,” he whispered, exhaling the numbers like steam escaping his smoldering throat. That was the second thing his Mother would prescribe; to count with the man on the stereo. Even though he had owned that cassette before he knew how to count, he still chose to see the Narrator as his Mother had done, believing him to be Artiya’il,2 a benevolent spirit that chases away the djinn with preschool incantations.

As the numbers in his mind resonated in harmony with the Narrator’s voice, Sadeeq felt the world gradually yield to serenity, silencing the discord of his thoughts and manifesting the impatient horns of other drivers behind him.

“That’s enough,” he screamed at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “I heard you the first time.” The blaring horns ceased abruptly, and his world fell silent again. Turning the ignition key, he parked near a solitary rose shrub.

“Twenty-one, twenty-two,” he continued, each number escaping his lips like a fervent prayer with every faltering step. He wanted this night to be quiet, utterly silent, devoid of the relentless clamor within his mind, but even he knew that was too much to ask of the angel in his car. 

---

Sadeeq’s return to his former high school stirred up the worst butterflies in his stomach. It’s been nothing short of twenty-five years since he last trod these sacred halls, yet every nuance, every detail, and every face felt strange and still ever so familiar. Like walking feet first into the belly of an abandoned cemetery, aware of the spectral gazes fixated upon him. He poured himself some fizzy punch and settled onto the cold, unforgiving bleachers, unchanged since his youth. Back then, during recess, when he would sit there alone, he always had a warm kerchief, especially one heated in his back pocket all day, for that particular purpose. Now, all he had were the pair of chinos on his legs and a cup of something citrusy for warmth.

“Is that Alpaca?” he thought he heard someone say close to him.

“What?” Sadeeq turned to see a younger man seated nearby, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His hair was trimmed in a crew cut to accentuate his smooth pink-blotted face, looking like a cartoon character coming to life.

“That’s quite a fahn sweater vest you got there,” he reiterated with a yellow smile. “What is it, Alpaca?”

Sadeeq coughed with every syllable. “Oh, this? It’s plain old sheep wool, I think. Got it on sale at Target.” 

“Well, there ain’t no Target round here, so ah reckon you ain’t from these parts.” The man observed.

“No, drove in from the Big Apple, New York, for some work. Figured, ‘Why not revisit?’” His voice had a touch of scorn he feared the man would hear. 

“Ah, see,” the man nodded. “So, where’s the pie?”

 “Pie?” Sadeeq chuckled at the odd question.

“Ya know, since ya came from an apple, ah thought there’d be…” the man explained in a light-hearted tone. “Never mahnd.” 

The two men laughed, and it didn’t take long for the man from the countryside to offer Sadeeq his cigarette in friendship.

“No thanks, I don’t do that anymore,” he declined, graceful enough to hide his disgust.

“Anymore? What made ya quit?” The man snuffed the last light from the butt in his mouth and lit another.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sadeeq murmured, massaging his chest.

“Oh well, now ah ave to smoke one more on ya behalf.” He said, and to Sadeeq’s surprise, he wasn’t bluffing. “It’s the gentleman thing to do, right?”

“You are something else, Jimini,” he laughed aloud, slowly getting used to the tobacco fog. “Just something else.”

“But wait,” the white man suddenly took on a severe expression. “How did ya know mah name?” the music slowed down, and the world seemed to halt as Sadeeq stared at every corner for an answer to the question directed at him.

“What do you mean by it’s right there,” He replied, unsure of the words spewing from his mouth. “On your nametag.” The man looked one minute at Sadeeq, then the next on his chest, and took a deep breath.

“Wow, for a second there, ah, almost forgot about that.” He chortled, “Like am telling ya, ah would lose mah precious head if it weren’t so stuck to mah body.”   

“Were we really in the same class at high school?” Sadeeq asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Yeah, but ah wasn’t as talkative as ah am now.” He listened to the man, enjoying the timbre in his voice like the soothing sounds of Western music. “Did a teensy weensy bit of woodwork at the shop, though, and that was it.”

“Yeah,” A familiar tingling flowed through his pores as if looking through a mirror, “I was in the carpentry club all through the senior year, too, and it helped because now I work in construction.”

“As wot, the kitchen cabinet maker.” This time, Sadeeq was genuinely tickled by his humor.

”Try Engineer,” he paused. “I’m Sadeeq, by the way. Sadeeq Adewale”

“And since ya know my name already, it’s pronounced JI-MI-NEE. Jiminy Barrett. You know, like the cricket in Pinocchio.”

“Hmm, Jiminy. Something about you feels so familiar.” Sadeeq was propelled to say, “Like we’ve met before.”

“Well, the world is only but a village, so ya never know.”

The air in the gym hall soon got drenched in beer and sweat as the party lasted through the night. Clothes started coming off the bodies of their owners, and soon, everyone forgot they were only a few years away from middle age. After several glasses of his drink, even Sadeeq got himself in the party mood and began to let his guard down a little. It was only a matter of time before he made his angst step aside to watch him break some moves on the floor. Tonight was going well, and he couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else until… 

Bang!
Sadeeq’s response was primal. He yelped like a wounded animal, diving for cover beneath the bleacher seats. His mind raced to dark places as he tightly shut his eyes, fearing the worst. But the chaos subsided as quickly as it erupted, leaving an eerie silence behind. There was no noise, screams, or shots, so he looked.

Slowly, he peeked out from his hiding place, only to be met with the raucous laughter of the partygoers, who found his reaction absurd. The explosion had been nothing more than the pop of a champagne cork. He immediately ran to the bathroom, washed in embarrassment as they all returned to carousing. Then he turned to Jiminy, who had followed him in, and said, “Can I have that smoke now?’” 

“Say no more, my friend,” Jiminy shoved the cigarette stick between Sadeeq’s lips and lit it in seconds. “You know ah git it, how you feel. Ah mean ave not also been mahself ever since that fateful day.”

“Doomsday?” Sadeeq threw a puzzled look his way.

“Yea, ah… guess that’s what they call it now.” Jiminy coughed for the first time after his fifth stick. “Such a trivial name for a momentous morning. Ah, I mean for people like us who lost someone that day. It’s not something you easily recover from.”

“Jiminy,” Sadeeq blinked twice at his reflection as the white of his eyes stained a veiny crimson. “How did you know about my mom?” Jiminy watched him with dark eyes as he hit the floor.

“Silly boy,” He chided, “You were not the only kid who lost someone that day.” Sadeeq immediately flung the cigarette in his hands, but everything had already gone wrong.

“Help me, Jiminy, I can’t feel anything.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted,” Jiminy said without his accent. “I’m giving you the ultimate gift, Sadeeq, but it’s such a shame that you still don’t know what to do with it.” And with that, Sadeeq was out like a candle, but his mind was not. 

When the body goes out, it searches for any form of consciousness, anything to keep you alive. And once it finds one, it all comes rushing back from the deepest caves of your mind, and the scars you thought had been healed haunt your dreams with a fresh wound. Sadeeq was about to experience such a fate, but the problem remained; the years of being away weren’t enough to prepare him for all that was to come.

---

The moment Sadeeq walked into the dimly lit office, a peculiar breeze, both familiar and forgotten, washed over him. Everything was as exact as his clouded mind could recall, paying attention to even the slightest details. From the dust-laden mahogany desk to the condescending smile on his principal’s face as he closed the door behind him. Even the muffled screams of children echoing directly from the halls all merged seamlessly into the present as if the past never unraveled. 

“Sadeeq, Sadeeq?” the woman sitting from across him called his attention, “Please tell your mother why she is here.” Sadeeq, fiddling with a workshop screwdriver as if it were a stress ball, instantly felt the vulnerability of his seventeen-year-old self resurface within the confines of his subconscious.

His Mother looked stunning from where she sat, in her blue Ankara print dress, red coral beads, and soft makeup concealing the fury that lurked behind her eyes. He knew he couldn’t hold her gaze for too long because he understood the unspoken power of eye contact, a trait ingrained by his Nigerian upbringing.

“The thing is…” he began to speak when-

“Madam Principal, my son is a good boy,” his Mother interjected, fighting traces of a stubborn Yoruba accent that erased any evidence of her naturalization. “I know exactly what he can and cannot do.” 

“But Mom, it was…”

“… and he is capable of so many things. But this?” The Mother paused, fixated on the cigarette stick unknown to Sadeeq, which had been on the desk the entire time. “This is not one of them.”

“Mrs. Adewale, I am well aware of your son’s abilities,” the principal beamed with pride, “he is a Grade-A student who helps a lot around the school, like here…” She points to a safe made of oak wood and glass in her office, “he made this himself for my office. Isn’t it just the prettiest thing?”

“What’s your point?” his Mother interrupted her.  

“My point is we should hear what he has to say first? After all, this is an intervention and not an indictment.” 

There was a moment of thick silence as Sadeeq grappled with constructing a defense. 

“Mom, the cigarettes weren’t mine…” He started, but his Mother, triumphant in her assumption, cut him off again, “Ehen! I said it,” 

“…But I was smoking them.” This information took her aback, wiping the smile clean off her face. He could feel her broken heart asking ‘Why,’ but his silence was the safest answer he could give. 

What else could he have said? That a gang of Jocks on the football team had shoved it in his mouth one day after burning him with it to see if his skin could get any darker. But then, a tiny voice in his head would echo five haunting words to him. 

“But you liked the aftertaste.” 

And who was he to blame then?

Could he blame the weight of his Mother’s naivety? She held on to his father’s last name like a slippery gemstone, holding on to a love that chose not to hold her and their unborn son. She would scold him in her Mother’s tongue whenever he got anything less than a B minus. “Nigbati o ba ṣiṣẹ takuntakun ti o di ẹnikan ni ọjọ iwaju, baba rẹ ni yoo wa ọ”, were her exact words.  But deep down, he knew that no amount of success would bring the original Mr Adewale back into their lives. On the one hand, he hated to see her suffer like that every day, like sitting at the crotch of a fig tree and watching it wither while she starved to death. On the other hand, his youth was all he had to offer, which had never been enough for him.

“What is that noise all about,” the principal exclaimed as the sound outside the office turned into a riot. “Excuse me for a minute.” She walked out to inspect the hallway, happy to exit the tension she had created. His Mother stood from across the window, staring at the street below. He knew she was crying but didn’t know how to approach her.

Suddenly, during the tense silence, the lights went out. Something was wrong, but none of them knew what it was. Then, shots filled the air like fireworks on the fourth of July. 

“Sadeeq, kini yen?”3 his Mother asked, but he didn’t have an answer, giving them reason to fear. Instincts quickly set in, and Sadeeq decided to rush for the door, but it was too late, and a man kicked it away from his hands and off the hinges. He was tall and dressed in black, and the scar on his right eye gave them both chills. He effortlessly pulled a gun from his trousers, like it didn’t weigh so much, and for the first time in his life, Sadeeq was afraid.

“Kini o n ṣe? Kini itumo eleyi?”4His Mother asked the man with a lump in her throat. She stepped before her son, trying to protect him from the demon before them, but her skinny demeanor was too frail a barricade. “Trust me, awọn ọna miiran wa lati yanju eyi. You don’t want to do this.”5 She spoke again to the man, but he wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring at the oak box in the corner. Then he pulled Sadeeq by the elbow with the gun pointed directly to his temple. His Mother fell like a worshipper to the ground, praying to the man in black like he was Allah. 

Sadeeq’s life flashed before his eyes in a marathon; for a second, he thought it had ended. Who would have thought he’d go out this way, snuffed from existence by the hands of a school shooter?

Then he felt a sharp prick, like the scythe of the Grim Reaper, only to realize it was a screwdriver. The same screwdriver he had been toying with all through the intervention. So, he reached for the tool from his pocket without considering the consequences and jabbed it deep into the stranger’s marked eye. The man fell with a thud as his weapon slid far enough to lay at Sadeeq’s feet. He had touched guns before, toy guns he used while playing cowboy with his friends on the street. But this was real life, and there he was, holding a real weapon in all its cold and weighty majesty.

Time moves quickly when one is about to pull the trigger on another. You watch the horror of death mold on their faces as adrenaline rushes from your teenage spine to the top of your head. And sometimes you forget to look, left with only the sound of fired shots and tragic squeals for memory. A sound so strong that it jolts you back to consciousness after a neurotic breakdown and leaves you with more questions than you can afford.

Memory, a clever deity, gives us the ultimate gift to write our own stories. Choosing what we want to remember and what we’d rather forget. 

---

 “You’re awake.” Jiminy stood over him, watching with an unreadable expression as he helplessly struggled with the fabric that bound his hands and feet. No one else was in the room, and he could feel the silence prick through his skin.

“Where is everybody?” Sadeeq’s voice cut through the quiet, echoing his confusion. 

“I should be asking you the same question. Where did everyone go?” Jiminy’s switch from a not-so-funny cowboy to a calm and calculated psychopath scared Sadeeq even more. Jiminy now had a fresh scar on his right eye, and his laughter remained tinged with a hidden sorrow.

“You’re crazy,” Sadeeq stuttered, “You know that, right? You, sir, are a crazy person.”

“And who are you to judge?” Jiminy moved away, his words hanging in the air. “We are the same person Sadeeq. As your Mother used to say, ‘One is only a thief once they get caught.’ And you have lived your life for so long without getting caught, but hopefully, it ends today.” Jiminy paused for a while, looking out the window just as Sadeeq’s Mother did in his dream. It was then Sadeeq realized they were both in the principal’s office. 

“Can you please not bring my mom into this?” Sadeeq feigned courage in his resolve.

“Shhhh! I’m about to tell a story... and I don’t want you to miss the best part.” Jiminy obstructed without looking his way.

”I wasn’t always this crazy, you know.” He continued, “I was once an innocent lad who lived in the shadows, doing his master’s every bidding. Then, one day, his master went to school and never returned the same.” He paused again, watching Sadeeq through the reflective window glass as he struggled with restraint. “You do remember my master, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? You’ve got the wrong guy.” Sadeeq said, almost losing his cool. Jiminy laughed and walked back up to him with an emotionless gaze. With only a few feet between them, he pulls out a gun from the waist of his jeans.

“Now, do you remember him?” Sadeeq started trembling in his seat like a leaf caressed by the wind. This time, he answered with a choked-up whimper and a nod from side to side.

 But Jiminy wasn’t buying any of it. He cocked the gun and brought it closer, speaking even louder, ready to shoot through the holes in his ears. “How about now? Surely, this should ring a bell.”

“I don’t know your master, I swear.” Sadeeq’s cries echoed through the whole school. “You have to believe me.”

“But didn’t you say you saw him in the principal’s office that day?” Jiminy reminded him, shoving the gun back to where it came from. 

“No, I didn’t.” he whimpered.

“Yes, you did, at the hearing all those years ago. You said that ‘the man walked in on you and your mom, and he tried to shoot you first.’ Is that right?”

“Enough Jiminy! That was eons ago. How can I remember any of that stuff now?”

“Oh, but you remembered it just fine back then.” Jiminy ignored his plea, leaving Sadeeq confused about whether he meant his dream or the court hearing. “You remembered how she stepped in front of you, taking the bullet to her heart instead.”

“Please stop it. I…ca…I can’t.” he was crying at this point.

“And then he knocked you out with his Gun before he made an escape.” He paused, pleased with the torment he was inflicting. “How convenient, don’t you think, or isn’t that what happened, Sadeeq?”

“I wasn’t the only one who survived that day,” Sadeeq replied, confident that Jiminy would come back two steps ahead.

“But you were the only one who saw his face and lived to tell the story.”

“Please, I’m begging you. You have to stop this. That’s enough.” Jiminy gave a brief pause to Sadeeq’s plea as if about to consider it when…

“You know what’s funny?” he didn’t wait for an answer. “That is exactly what one of those High school football players said right before all three of them were blasted into the bathroom wall. The New York Times called them innocent. Children that had their futures ripped away from them by tragedy.” 

“None of those kids were innocent.” Sadeeq hissed in retaliation, “They all got what they deserved.”

“Really, and what about the others?” He asked, but Sadeeq remained silent again. “And your Mother?” 

“For the last time, I’m warning you. Don’t bring my Mother into this.” Sadeeq was visibly pissed, a part of him wondering how Jiminy knew so much. They both heard a commotion outside as police sirens chased the silent night away.

“But she has always been a part of this, remember? Even today, she came in with you before you got here.” Jiminy said, maintaining a calm demeanor out of spite. “Just tell the truth, Sadeeq. It’s what she would want.”

“I said that is enough,” Sadeeq yelled, finally free from his bondage. With lightning speed, he rushed to where Jiminy was, violently pinning him to the window. Then, suddenly, a pair of officers kicked the door open, spreading dust through the air.

“Hands where I can see them!” they yelled at the top of their lungs, their weapons pointing directly at Sadeeq. 

“What took you so long, Officers?” Sadeeq turned to meet their eyes. “I thought I would have to hold him off forever.”

“Hold who?” one of the officers asked. 

“Him…” Sadeeq turned to the window, but there was no one there. “I don’t understand. There was a party, and Jiminy, where is everybody?” 

“There is nobody here except us, sir,” the policeman said nicely, and he was right. The hall was dark and empty, and no air balloon was hanging on the wall. 

“Jesus Christ.” The other officer noticed something else. “Do you need something for that?”

“For what?” 

“Your right eye. It’s throbbing.” Sadeeq instantly surveyed his reflection through the glass window. At first, he saw nothing. Then, diving his hands into his pocket, he put his reading glasses on. Suddenly, there was a scar on his right eye, as fresh as it had been when he first got it.

“Please just get me out of here.” He exhaled, bringing his wrists forward to be cuffed.

And so they drove him to the station in their Beemer, with the radio turned to the highest volume.

“Are you ready, kids? Count with me now, one, two, three, four,”

“Five, six, seven, and eight...” he counted along with the voice as they drove past his high school. 

It was nice to be in a car again, he thought.

 

Glossary

1. “You don’t have to control your thoughts; You just have to stop letting them control you.”
2. An angel in Islam that is believed to remove the grief of humans.
3. “Sadeeq, what is that?”
4. “What are you doing? What does this mean?”
5. “Trust me; there are other ways to solve this. You don’t want to do this.”