1 Where it ends and where it begins

HILAL I’ve always thought of life as a book, with everyone having his or her own story, and that we were all characters in each other’s books. Sometimes people come into our lives to make up our stories, some people make up chapters, others just pages and paragraphs, either ways they all form part of your story. I’m about to tell you a story, I’m not starting from the beginning nor is it the end, just where my plot completely changed. Two shots of bullets came breaking through the glass window, shattering it to a million pieces. Eyes brave enough turned in direction of the sudden intrusion while mine shut instantly and trembled, like my entire body. “Get down!” one of dad’s bodyguards yelled, and within seconds Dad and I were beneath the table with his bodyguards somehow magically surrounding us. With my heart beating way too fast and warm tears freely rolling down my eyes, I held my breath and tried to pray to God, I mumbled some words which I was sure were not English, but I knew God would understand the language of fear. It was way beyond what I was used to. I had gotten letters full of threats, but usually they just messed with each other in their own ways. But gunshots, that was just too far. My father was part of the lawyers in the prosecuting team of a case of treason, and he had been threatened with several warnings to withdraw from the case like the rest of his colleagues had, but unfortunately my father had always been a stubborn man, who never would quit on anything he had started. I loved my father and admired his personality, but all it had ever led to was trouble for him and us, and I could no longer keep track of the number of times I had wished he was a little bit different, a little bit less. Of course these wishes were always followed by guilt. We waited until it felt safe enough, but even then, my heart wouldn’t stop thumping. “Calm down sweetie. Are you okay?” my father asked after about five minutes of hiding under the table, silently, that is if the sound of my beating heart and father’s heavy breathing were excluded. His dark eyes had become darker, and the wrinkled lines on his fore head, folded in worry. I had always acted strong in front of my father; I always thought he needed someone as strong as he was by his side. “No, but I will be,” I let out a sigh and started crawling out of the table when I heard the glass shatter again, making me crawl back immediately. This time it wasn’t a gunshot but a brown parcel.                               A short, chubby body guard whose name I couldn’t remember clearly, despite his size, swiftly moved to the parcel, picked it up and brought it closer to his ears. He was about to open it when a tall bearded bodyguard, whose name I didn’t know stopped him with his hand.      “Careful” he eyed the parcel before turning to look at us. “Sir, miss, please stay down,” Dad nodded and I buried my head in between my knees shielding it with my hands. Honestly, at that moment I was ready to be blown up, yet strangely I couldn’t help but think of how interesting the whole episode would have been if it was in a movie. The tall body guard collected the parcel from the short one and gently placed it on the floor before he quickly opened it and then they both ran to take cover. I waited for it to explode but it didn’t. I think we all knew that it wouldn’t. When it was clear that it wasn’t going to explode, the tall body guard picked up the parcel which contained a small yellow note. “What’s on it?” Dad asked firmly and unshaken. The short bodyguard collected the note and read out in a shaky voice, “Stop now or you would be responsible for whatever happens to your family.” By family they meant me, I was the only family my Father had in America- only remaining family. My mother had died a year ago during my graduation in a car accident, and I was an only child. My parents were Nigerians by birth but I was born in America, so I considered myself a complete American since I had never even smelt the shores of Nigeria. Once upon a time we were a happy and complete African American family, while my father was an environmental lawyer and my mother, a paediatrician. We were happy, I liked to believe, until my father decided environmental law wasn’t what he was born for and started pursuing more daring things. That night on the dining table, when he told my mother and I, I was so proud of him, but I guess if I knew it was going to be the beginning of our doom, I may have stopped him. He wouldn’t have listened, and we would have had a huge fight which would have lasted days, until I gave in. We didn’t sleep at our house that night because it wasn’t safe for some reasons triggered by my dad’s defiance as regards a pending court case. So we packed some stuffs and left to stay at a hotel. All I wanted to do was find a bed, lay my head and sleep away my entire problems, but I doubted I would be able to do that. I had learnt from my short time alive, that sleep was like alcohol, it makes you forget for a while, until you’re sober again. In the end you can’t sleep forever or drink forever. You could, but it’s called death in the end.    “Are you okay dear?” Dad asked as we settled down in the hotel room. He looked like he had aged ten more years in just a few hours. I took in a deep breath as I sank on the king sized bed, rested my head on the pillow, and stared at the golden chandelier hanging from the beige coloured ceiling. “I’m fine,” I lied. He frowned and moved to sit next to me. I tore my gaze away from the chandelier, and turned to look at him as his big palms covered mine, one slightly resting on my palm, and the other drawing invisible circles below. “I am so sorry Hilal, I’ll fix everything. You don’t have to worry; I’ll do everything to make sure you’re okay,” he paused and inhaled deeply as if it pained him to breath, “ I’ll never let anything happen to you.” His eyes bore into mine and I knew that he meant every word. I felt safe. I squeezed his hands slightly and said “You have to be okay too dad, you’re all I have and I need you” “I need you too” he kissed my hands, before his phone rang, “goodnight cupcake,” he whispered as he picked up the call and left the room in long strides. “Goodnight soldier,” I whispered back. I didn’t know what to expect but I hoped everything would be okay by the time I opened my eyes the next day. So I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to take over. It took a while, but I finally fell into a dreamless sleep.