Mama's Death and Shisha Pipes

My brother rang last night. I was sleeping. He told me that Mama died two days ago. It hurt more that no one told me sooner. 

When I woke up it took longer to realise where I was. I’m still not used to this room, the yellow stained walls remind me of Osman’s. I checked my phone. Yes, Mama died. But it was still morning. I could hear Jawad upstairs shaving. He never leaves the house but he shaves every day.

I got up and walked to work. I was early but I didn’t notice until I reached the cafe. It was shut and my boss wasn’t there yet. We have this special deal on at the moment so the cafe is busy. Two shishas for ten pounds. It’s a good deal. Probably the best in Croydon.

I waited in the park. The sun broke through the clouds. It beamed upon my puffer jacket. I’ve hated this jacket since it was given to me, I look like a typical asylum seeker, the ones you see in the newspapers lined up by a fence in Bulgaria or somewhere. But it’s a good jacket. It keeps me warm. And it was free.

I lit a cigarette and thought about Mama. It still doesn’t hurt that she’s gone and I’m worried that it never will. In the park I realise I haven’t seen her for seven years. I have forgotten the smell of her and the shape of her eyes. I think they were brown but lighter than mine. For the first time I felt guilty for leaving. I felt Mama had already died in my mind.

I stamped on my cigarette and stood up. Time moves fast when you try to remember people. My boss was standing outside the cafe also smoking. It felt like evening already but the sun was still shining.

‘Morning of the goodness brother.’ Morning of the goodness, mourning the goodness. Arabic sounds stupid when it’s translated. 

‘Morning of the light. My mother died two days ago.’ My boss was surprised, as much as I was. But I wanted to realise it, hear it again out loud, see if it hurt. 

‘May God be with her’, he said.  

‘A thousand thanks to you.’ Thank you. Thank you for your minor care Mr Boss.

I set up the coal burners and then started polishing the silver pipes, it was standard routine.

My boss was on the phone, to his wife I think. He’s always shouting. Maybe to make up for his small height and tiny feet. I smirked then carried on polishing.

Zofia hasn’t text me back in three days and she is the most beautiful girl. She’s kind and always up for coming back to the house, even if the others are in. I always think about her at work and I did today, even after Mama’s death. I imagined her naked body, dancing around the cafe, white and glowing. I always imagine her, especially on the day shifts when it’s quiet. It makes me crazy. Sometimes I even see memories of her drift through the coffee steam. Like that night when she was annoyed at me, and she cried after I offered to pay her for her time. Today I wanted more than anything for her to walk through the doors, smile, ask me how I am. I know she feels sad for me.

I decided to call her. No reply as usual so I turned my phone off. Besides, I knew in any minute my brother would ring, apologising for not letting me know sooner about Mama. I think I shouted at him last night, I think told him to go to hell. Anyway, I didn’t care and I didn’t want to speak to him.

Afternoon came and the door went. I thought it was Zofia but it was three other white women. I think it was one of their birthdays. They were dressed in short dresses and one had a pink balloon.

‘Serve them then!’. I have worked in the cafe now for three years but my boss still talks to me like I am fresh off the boat.

‘Sure’. I took over the menus. ‘Hi Ladies…’ I could see down one of the woman’s top. Hers were bigger than Zofia’s. Lemon and strawberry. I guessed what they wanted before they asked.

‘Leeemon and straaawberry’.

The women talked to me like I was a child. Like every white woman talks to a brown man. Except Zofia. The woman’s red painted lips curled like weird sea creatures. I nodded and stared at them. Then I took the menus away and prepared the shishas.

And that’s it, everything else happened too quickly, like someone else was doing it, some Jinn or devil or something.

But I know it was me, it was definitely me. My boss was shouting louder than ever, ‘you fucking idiot!’, and the woman’s friend was screaming at me. I saw her plastic nail was pointing in my face, they were red too. And I remember the chairs falling back, and the balloon spinning around, and the woman trying to get the coal out of her top…

Yeah whatever happened it was definitely me. But it’s strange, because I think really, I knew all along it was me and I think maybe I even wanted to do it. Because after it happened, I ran! I ran so fast out of the cafe and I left my puffer jacket behind, and my phone! And it’s weird, because really everything felt so good! It felt good to be running, good to know that it was all me, it actually scared me, how good it felt… I felt like life was moving again.