The Last Man In Hampton Street

Friday

The milk’s gone cold, and there’s no slight sight of her. You couldn’t do it anywhere else, and this- you believe, could be your last time seeing each other, of course given what you’re about to tell her.

You stir, pause, stir again- and look up the door whenever you hear movement from outside. It’s not her. You stir again. You have not tasted your coffee yet. You do not feel like it. And you ordered for two. You knew she would be here in time. She always has.

What happens from here is way beyond your control, and images of you two running up and down Hampton Street do little to aid your helplessness. Toddlers without a care in the world. How fast things change you tell yourself. In the span of six months, Damaris has wrecked up a solid 21 years of upbringing, and a family too.

She comes.

‘’I know. So I won’t even say it,’’ she says settling down in haste.

‘’Do you believe those judges? I mean I love Katrina and everything but last night had to go to Joseph. Dude sang the heavens down. My goodness!’’

‘’Katrina won?’’ you ask, surprised.

‘’What, you kidding me? You didn’t watch Idols last night?’’

‘’I was going to but I had two papers due this morning so, you know how that goes. Hard luck on Joseph, huh?’’

‘’He was robbed. Wouldn’t call hard luck on that,’’ Damaris, clearly unimpressed by whatever last night offered, says.

You had secretly rooted for Katrina yourself, and this realization that she is on her way to becoming the next Idols fattens your heart. The two of you, sharing this coffee table this morning are aspiring musicians. You watch Idols every Thursday, and want to be there someday. Your mother, however, doesn’t think so. She thinks you should put everything to that Law Degree, lest you become like your father whom she says wasted his youthful years attempting to become Ray Charles.  How many times has she reminded you that no great musician ever arose from her lineage or your father’s?

Damaris stirs up her own cup of coffee and looks at you. You should tell her something. It’s why you are here.

‘’You look like your father,’’ says she, lifting her mug up- said it like she was just meeting you today.

‘’Mother says you can’t come anymore,’’ you say.

She is silent. You’ve said all you wanted to say- and it did not take two seconds. You hope she will understand. But what if she does not. So you let your tongue roll a little more.

‘’It’s to do with me really. She thinks I’m not giving everything to schoolwork. And my music, well, you know how much she hates that.’’

Damaris stayed silent. You wished she would say something. Anything.

‘’Okay.’’

She said okay.

It’s cold, yet it burns your heart. You say that’s not all.

‘’I’m also quitting music.’’

‘’Okay.’’

You head off to school. You want to be there before 10 am.

******

Damaris had, within two years of college, woven herself into a thorough web of substance abuse. A childhood friend, this had shocked you to the core, yet this was unknown to her parents- or so you thought. Only you- from Hampton Street knew of her dealings in school. It did pain you, but you never understood why she still never missed your music practice sessions. Drugs, you had read, changed people completely- but the music in Damaris never waned. If asked in secrecy- you would have sworn that she sang better whenever she arrived at your sessions with eyes bloodshot. ‘’It’s nothing, trust me,’’ she had told you a couple of times whenever you tried to make her talk about it. ‘’I’m good. Just blowing off steam.’’

But Damaris did blow more than just steam.

You came home from school one evening to find half a dozen cars of Drugs Enforcement Department (DED) thronging Hampton Street. A raid at Damaris’ house next door had seen the DED enforcers harvest 20 pounds of cocaine. Her father, a banker, walked handcuffed to one of the cars while Damaris and her mother stayed back- agape at what had just happened. You couldn’t understand too. But you would soon.

Damaris’ father had taken the bullet for her dear daughter, it later emerged. Laid claim to being the owner of the illicit drugs when DED enforcers- with the aid of sniffer dogs, landed on the carefully sealed package.

So he had known about his daughter all this while, you wonder.

Thursday

‘’Mother said you can’t have her here again,’’

‘’Why not? You told her?’’

‘’I don’t know.’’

‘’You don’t know if you told her? Come on.’’

‘’I don’t know why. Also, I don’t know how she knows. Now get on with it.’’

You drove your little sister to school.

You could not have Damaris over anymore, and you wondered why. She had been your mother’s favorite barely six months ago- and all that time you have grown up together along Hampton Street. His father and your father had been college roommates, and you had been neighbours for as long as you could remember. One of them was, however, deceased, while the other stared at possible incarceration. Your little haven along Hampton Street had given up its Utopia just around the time you were bound for college. Father died. Cancer. Your old man was a good man. Left behind a son that looked just like him, a daughter – most hit by his demise, and a wife that stood at his bedside till the night he drew his final breath.

Damaris’ parents had been supportive around this time. His father, you recall, would stay up late in the week prior to father’s burial, recollecting their youthful days and coloring our otherwise dull evenings. He talked about him as a true bosom friend, said he would never forget day father locked him out of their room because- as your old man claimed, he needed to get his vocals right, and his roommate had the habit of interrupting his vocal sessions. Your father was an aspiring musician.

It would be the night of Idols tonight, you- however, have very pressing matters at school and have two deadlines to beat by ten in the mid-morning tomorrow. Also, mother has not stopped reminding you that music was never meant for this family.

Saturday

‘’Why did you do it?’’

‘’Do what?’’

‘’Send her away’’

‘’I did not send her away. You did.’’

‘’You asked me to do it, right?’’

‘’Look, son- you knew this day would come. I’d suggest you don’t fight it.’’

‘’I’m not fighting mother. I just think we could have helped her.’’

‘’What daughter does that to her family?’’

‘’She may not be daughter of the year I agree. But what now? What is she to become? She had hope in music,’’

‘’Well, good for her. You are the last man on this street, and I have my eyes on you.’’