Page 3 of Invisible Bars
A spasm gripped me, tugging me sideways, and the sentence shattered out of me in a burst I couldn’t cage. “Who left the confetti in my chest?!”
In my trembling hands was the letter I had dreamed of for months—a formal interview invitation from one of the most prestigious modeling agencies in the country. After endless rejections and nights wondering if I’d ever be seen beyond my tics, someonefinallysaw potential in me.
The day after that long, tear-filled conversation with Nana Li about chasing my dreams, I had taken a leap of faith. I sent out emails to every agency I could find—small, mid-tier, and the giants. Most ignored me, a few politely declined, but that one…that one responded.
“Nana Li!” I shouted, joy bursting from my chest as I jumped to my feet. “They—they said yes!”
I ran toward her room on instinct, heart racing, still gripping the letter in my hand like a lifeline. But the second I reached her door, my body stopped moving. The silence on the other side hit like a wall.
My breath caught in my throat… and reality crashed in behind it.
Nana Li wasn’t there, and she hadn’t been for two weeks.
My grandmother was gone. There was no funeral or ceremony—just her wish to be cremated and a handful of distant relatives who stopped by to give me condolences and had already faded back into their own lives.That day, the joy of opportunity clashed with the deepest sorrow I had ever known.
That room—the one that used to hum with gospel music, the smell of lavender oil, and her voice telling me I could be anything—was empty now. And it felt colder than it ever had. Seeing her bed empty brought back vivid memories of the day she left me.
My body tensed, my chest tightened, and then came the inevitable, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I screamed out, my voice harsh and ragged, a burst of frustration that felt as though it was coming from somewhere deep within.
“God damnit!” I hissed, my legs jerking beneath me, the outburst tearing through the quiet space as if the grief itself was manifesting through my tics.
In the days following my grandmother’s passing, I struggled. My tics became more frequent, more intense—episodes of jerking, twitching, and vocal outbursts that would leave me exhausted and confused. It baffled me at first.
During moments like those, she would always be there. But now, in her absence, with no one to anchor me, I felt lost and disoriented.
Without Nana Li’s voice, without her hands holding mine or whispering, “you’re okay, baby,” I was adrift in the noise of my own body.
Grieving her was hard enough, but learning how to exist without her? That was something else entirely. Still, I made her a promise. I told her I would becomesomebody, and no matter how hard it got, that was a promise I intended to keep.
My interview was scheduled for the following week. I was excited, nervous, and grateful. The only downside? It was in Manhattan, New York—a world away from my quiet hometown in Mississippi. Luckily, I had about twenty thousand dollars left from her life insurance policy. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to get me to New York, pay for a hotel for a few days, and cover any emergency expenses.
There was a silver lining, too—if I got the job, the contract stated that I’d be housed in a modeling house almost immediately. That possibility thrilled me… but it also came with a tough decision.
What would I do about our home?
The house I had grown up in. The one filled with the laughter of holidays, porch stories at sunset, and love tucked in every corner. I could already hear Nana Li and Grandpa in my head, as clear as day, telling me,“Don’t rent it out and don’t you dare sell it!”So I made a decision: I’d leave it untouched.
One day—if I made it big—I’d come back and restore it, brick by brick, into everything it used to be.
When the day finally arrived for me to leave, I stood outside that familiar brick house, my heart caught in a tug-of-war between nostalgia and anticipation.
The once-bright red exterior had faded to a soft, rusted hue. The porch still held our old rocking chairs, their wood worn smooth from years of use. The fence creaked when the wind blew, its splintered pickets whispering stories of time, weather and patience.
I stood there in silence, letting the memories wash over me.
Nana Li left me a recording inside a teddy bear—something she'd arranged to be given to me through her lawyer after she passed. Her lawyer reassured me there was no bad news on it, but that my grandmother instructed me to listen to it whenever I felt overwhelmed, confused, or just needed to hear her voice.
Today was one of those days.
I reached into my bag and pulled it out, the soft brown fur already worn from the times I’d clutched it without pressing play.
But this time was different… this time, I needed her voice.
I took a seat in the car and held the bear in my lap for a moment, staring at the small heart stitched into its chest with my thumb hovered over the button.
I sighed deeply, then pressed the button. A soft static played for a second, then her voice—warm, familiar, strong—filled the car.
Naji,
