Every other night I would escape the shouting. I would find a safe and quiet spot in the corridor, place my little sketchbook on the hard floor and begin to draw. I would draw out the wedding, as Mother fondly described it. I would draw her in that elegant kaba and slit hanging in her wardrobe. Then I would draw Father too, in his golden kente cloth, shining like a true royal. I would draw them sealing their love with a kiss … every other night.
Last night was good and bad. I think I drew my best picture last night. That was a good thing,I suppose. Somehow I did not feel so good about it. But like I said, last night was also bad. The shouting was louder. The words were more offensive. I heard father use words he had warned me never to use. I heard mother talk back in tones she had advised me not to speak in.
Did I already say that last night was good? That I drew my best picture by far? You should see it! I finally etched the right pattern for Father’s kente and I shaded tiny roses on Mother’s kaba. Then I drew something else. I drew Father hitting Mother.
But wait! Did I not tell you last night was bad? Well yes, it was bad. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I should not have drawn Father hitting Mother. The policemen took the picture I drew, you see. They showed it to Father. Father was crying, but they took him away. I think I made Father cry. The ambulance came for Mother too. Maybe it was all my fault. I should have drawn the same picture, every other night.