Page 25 of Royal Pain
Chapter 9
Zan
The thirteen-hour flight from New York to Johannesburg has gone quicker than usual. And I’ve been awake the entire time. Usually I spend at least six hours behind my sleep mask, earbuds blocking background noise. Not today.
Visions of Belinda saying goodbye occupy my mind, like a screensaver that pops up every time you turn on the computer. I see her beautiful eyes, filled to overflowing with tears. For me. Her bottom lip was quivering almost imperceptibly. But I saw it.
Now with just an hour left till we land, I put my signature to paper.
“What’s that?” Kwai says, eyeing my letter.
“I’m writing Belinda.”
The humph precedes his laugh. “Oh man, you’ve got it bad, brother. You just left her! And writing a letter? What century is this?”
It’s a good thing we’re the only occupants of first-class. The family and security take up every seat. We can speak freely.
I shoot Kwai a look he’s very familiar with. It sends the ‘quit being an asshole’ message.
“There’s a difference between old fashioned and classic. You’ve yet to discover that, Kwai. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but women appreciate effort.”
“Effort? That’s rich coming from you! She’s the first woman you’ve shown any effort with at all. Now all of a sudden you’re the expert? Fuck. Do your preaching elsewhere.”
He follows his point with a chuckle, and I can’t help but break a smile. He has a point and likes I’m acknowledging the fact. His eyes move across the aisle one row up. I follow their path. The king and queen are huddled together in a two-person bed. Only their feet are visible but there’s something poignant about the image. Shit. Everything has taken on new meaning.
Kwai sees it too and leans in. “He looked so sick this morning. More than yesterday.”
I let out a deep sigh, as if making room for the awful truth, and put down my pen.
“I saw it. It must be a hundred times worse for Mother. She’s strong, but this isn’t something she’ll ever get over.”
“When you think of how young she was when she became queen.”
“Yeah. We’re going to have to really be aware of her needs and if we see anything…”
His palm raises, blocking any further discussion of the matter.
“Stop right there! I’m well aware of how to be a good son! I don’t need you to tell me how…”
Right in the middle of Kwai’s protest Tarik sends a strong kick to the backs of our cabins. That’s it. No words needed. I do hear a grunt, which says everything,
I look at Kwai and we come to a silent truce. Just like we always have. Tarik’s right. This isn’t the place to have a heated discussion about the imminent death of my father and the hard road our mother will be traveling.
We exchange nods, ending the conversation. I go back to my letter and reread its messages. It took me hours to get it right. I edited at least four copies and deleted half the sentences. It was too much. Too much of a man under the spell of a woman. Too sappy. Glad I reworded those versions. Let’s see if this sounds right.
Dear Belinda,
It’s been half a day. Already I sense this separation sucks. It’s funny how easily we’ve become used to being around each other. I think that’s how great connections happen. Unpredictably. But unmistakably too. Pretty sure it’s happening to us.
I’m happy to know I’ll be seeing my home again, but now I’ve a need to show it to you. I guess I want to show off. Let you see the beauty I live with, and among. Have you experienced the sound of lions in the night, or the caw of Hadeda birds in the morning?
Have you ever seen a Baobab Tree? The shape reaches into the sky like dancer’s arms lifted in expression. I know you’d love it. And the Imzimbuvo River that traverses Mozia. We could ride it and hear the monkeys in the trees announcing our visit.
Does any of this sound appealing? If not, we could just stay in bed and explore the most exotic land of all, your body. In fact now that I think of it, that second plan is far superior. Come to Africa and I’ll wear a pith helmet for our adventures.
If it wouldn’t be too presumptive, I’d like to send you an airplane ticket. You pick the dates.
Yours for the taking,
