Coconut Oil


I take a breath. Four breaths. Milcah. Noah. Scott. Sterling. Each breath for each time I believed and fell short, so when he asks “again?” I am somewhere between a storm and a nuclear war. He shakes his head and storms out, but he knocks his knee on the stool beside the door, curses the world and proceeds on his anger trail. Between you and I, I think actors should be punched in the face or locked in a dark room for; one, making us think that a kiss could make your knees go weak and two, for making us believe that when people storm out on us there is this whoosh of air that comes with the door banging. 

Photo credit: Daniel McCullough/ Unsplash

It’s the fourth time that he’s banged that door and that “whoosh!” has never announced its presence, let alone make its presence known.

So, I switch the channels from CNN to BBC to NatGeo because Trump’s drama and folly soothes me before I settle down to watching a documentary on animal life.


I chose that name.

I was going to apply coconut oil on her skin. Watch her yawn. Hold her hand in mine and tell her “you are mine.” 

The calls keep coming but I do not answer any of them because my world has been set ablaze and nothing they say could put out this fire. So, the ones who know where I live will come, some to confirm that I live and others to have a story to tell people who know nothing about me that they “also have a friend who…”

So, I sit here on this floor and wonder how one word, five letters could wound me this much, how a word that seems to be of no value to any sentence could maim my soul…I need to breathe, but how?

I walk to the bathroom to wash my face, because I am my mother’s grief and my father’s secrets, a masterpiece. 

I reach out for the soap and right there…on my left is a bottle of coconut oil. When I reach out for it, I see there are three other bottles, neatly lined up behind it, labeled ‘Scott,’ ‘Noah,’ ‘Milcah’ in his lazy scribble. He too lined up my favorite oil for them and suddenly my feet yearn for the freedom that only my aching heart could give and I remember asking him once “what will we tell our parents?” And he stood there and shook his head once and half smiled to say “I love coconut oil and sometimes when I am alone at work, I walk into the washroom, stuff tissue paper in my mouth and scream and wish that I never had that fragrance in my heart.”

This goes out to my friend, for all the Lillies in the world.

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