Page 75 of Sing For Us

Fucking hell, I sound pathetic.

I go downstairs, and I see Sara waiting for me.

“Don’t you look nice for your big date.” She motions for me to twirl and I flip her off. This woman is like the little sister I never had. Sara proposed she could bring me to the restaurant, and I agreed instantly.

I need someone to talk to me on the ride there.

“It’s not a date,” I tell her.

“Of course it’s not a date. It doesn’t negate the fact that she does want to talk to you. And God knows how long you would have wanted to do this.” I don’t know about any divine intervention; what I do know is that I want this.

“Let’s get going before you start to pray.” I joke as we get in the car. Sara does believe in her God, but she doesn’t practice her religion every day. Most of my friends are religious, and I respect that, but it’s not something I ever stood behind.

When my mama was sick, she prayed every day that she would get better.

Better never came.

Death did.

I wasn’t religious before my mama’s death, and I certainly wasn’t afterward. That’s why you will never see me in a place of worship or with a religious leader.

“What has gotten you so deep in your thoughts?” Sara asks me.

“Nothing. What do I talk to her about?”

“Whatever you deem fit. From what I have gathered from my conversation with her, she seems pretty open. And understanding.”

I wouldn’t be fucking understanding, but that’s just me.

***

Sara is driving towards the restaurant, and Sarajevo is as beautiful as ever. I acknowledge its beauty and at the same time how empty my city feels. When I look outside the window, I feel a little bit better because of the scenery. The sun is still shining, barely, and the orange hues of a gorgeous sunset are about to ascend on us, and I wish I could close my eyes and bask in it. My mama always loved the sunset as it brought her peace; something she desperately needed in her life.

This whole situation makes me reflect on basically everything, and I probably shouldn’t do that, because my heart constricts every time I think about my mama. I could have saved her, but I didn’t. My mother had me when she was young, and she had nobody. My grandparents died when I was a child, so my mother was left with no one.

Only my piece of shit sperm-donor.

Even though I grew up surrounded by violence and death, I didn’t realize what domestic abuse was. There was a reason why Dario sent me away for training and hit me all the time—the abuse of my mother. A couple of years before she passed away, I came home, and she was stroking a picture I wasn’t allowed to see. When she looked up at me, she had tears in her eyes, and internally, I exploded. I asked her why she didn’t leave Dario, and she responded that she couldn’t.

Why? I don’t fucking know.

I offered to arrange for everything for her to escape, and she didn’t take it. I’m afraid I will never know why. I should have forced her to leave him. I should have…

I should have done so much more.

I have no qualms about committing immoral acts; what I do care about is the people I love and completely innocent parties.

Just like this one.

We arrive at the restaurant, get out of the car, and my hands can’t stop shaking. Sara notices.

“Do you need a minute?” Her question is etched with concern, and I lessen that worry by hugging her.

“That shit was awkward as hell. But thank you.” She’s being sarcastic like always, and it’s just what I need before I go into the restaurant.

“I need to do this, Sara,” I sigh. My friend looks at me with pride in her eyes. We are standing outside the restaurant, and my feet are not fucking moving. This is probably the hardest thing I have ever done. My soul is on fire, and she might be the only one to give me some relief.

“You can do this, Noa. I believe in you.” Her words ring through the air. Sara taps me on the back and slightly pushes me forward. Her little movement tells me she knows that I needed that push, literally. I make my way towards the restaurant, and when I open the door, I’m greeted by the scent of delicious food—typical Bosnian cuisine.