Teeya's Story

A typical summer’s night in the city; where the lurid stench of humidity densifies the air of the concrete jungle. Sweat steadily creeps out of those lying drenched in the duvet of inescapable heat; heads roll on moist pillows and fans pointlessly circulate thick air.

In the deeper parts of the city jungle, bodies are gyrating through rivers of moisture, relishing in the freedom of release to pure adrenalin. Loud music combats in the air, clothing molds to pulsating bodies, and dull, jarring lights illuminate the smoke enkindled haze of the dance. Dust-clad fans and open windows face the heat in force, serving only to embrace heat and circulate haze.

Standing in a corner you would see an echo of what you hear; beat for beat, matched and married, pulse for pulse. A fluidity of passion erupting from the act of souls searching for freedom. Souls that would otherwise be locked in the prisons of their lives; but here each one mirrors the intensity of the rhythm engulfing them as they reverberate sound with the movements of their bodies. Movements encapsulating dreams, desires and destinies that become part of the smoke and haze that circulates to nowhere.

The early hours fall and the music loses its battle: the battle of the body to push ecstasy to reality and stimulate the air to offer release from the dullness of the day ahead.
The music dies. The fans stop their inefficiency. The windows close. The dancers leave; each one sweat-drenched and mind-numbed. Weaving over the threshold to disintegrate the unity of the experience and dissolve into the pavements outside with each step away from the door.

Teeya clutched the straps of her bag over her shoulder as her feet left the stairs and found the pavement. She reached the street corner and as she turned she saw the sunrays pushing through the buildings ahead of her. She stood there and gazed at the shafts of light that were stronger, higher and brighter than any other man made lights. The strength of that sun was her strength. The light and the warmth caressed her skin and her heart. No matter how bad it got, no matter what hardships her days may hold, each day her sun would have some strength for her. She carried on walking. With the precise timing of many rehearsals, the bus arrived and stopped as she did. She boarded and dozed to her destination.
“Teeya.” She opened her eyes, gave the familiar driver a soft smile, gathered her bag and descended to the street below. She looked back at the driver and the two nodded to each other, in respect, in appreciation, in understanding.

She walked to her flats and let herself in. Flat number 3 wasn’t far away. She unlocked and stepped inside.
She dumped her bag and closed the door behind her.

On the table to her left was a picture of a 2 year old blonde girl. Teeya kissed her finger and placed it on the girl’s cheek, “Morning my sweetheart. Hope you have a beautiful day today. Don’t you worry, Mommy’s feeling better today.”
She slipped off her shoes and went through to the bathroom. She drew back the mildew stained curtain around the bath and turned on the shower, holding her hand there until the water temperature was hot. She closed the bathroom door and pealed off the clothing that had become her second skin; lethargically placing each item in the wash basket that lived behind the door.

She stepped into the bath, closed the curtain and stood beneath the heated jets of water. The water streamed from the top of her head down her face, back, and front; down her legs and around her toes. Her tired arms reached for the strawberry shampoo, a small dollop in the palm of her hand found its way to her hair. Slowly she massaged in the gel-like liquid, creating a thick, white, cleaning foam. In a sloth-like fashion she ran her fingers through the strands of her hair, separating and straightening each one. Then the jets drained the foam. Her hand reached down to cradle a bar of soap. She worked her way from removing the make-up on her face, down each arm, armpits, chest, stomach and legs; in small circular motions she applied enough pressure in her exhaustion not to tire herself more, but enough to make sure she was clean. When she had finished the motions she stood under the jets and allowed them to drain away the sweat, the lather, and the leaking tears.

Lethargically she turned off the water, opened the curtain and stepped out of the bath. She reached for her towel and slid it from its hook; she wrapped it around herself and looked into the mirror. A fuzzy picture met her. A looking glass misted with steam held the image of a stranger. She tilted her head and lifted the corner of her towel to enlighten the mirror. The mysterious stranger vanished and a set of tired, sad eyes met hers. She bit the corner of her lip nervously, knowing that if she stared too long, she wouldn’t make it out of her bathroom. The nervous kneading won as she reached for her thick black comb. She teased the tatters into their straight, comfortable home and finished with the comb. She cleaned her teeth rhythmically, a soft echo of the last song swirled in her mind, like the drip, drip, drip of the water that leaked from her tap. She rinsed and spat. She reached for the moisturiser applying it with her tired ritual. She briefly looked into those sad eyes again, and drew herself away. Today would be okay.

Her hand moved to the door handle, her body moved through the frame and found her bed. She glanced over at her bedside clock; she had 2 hours to wait. Exhaustion overcame her as her heavy eyelids refused to stay open. She mustn’t sleep, she mustn’t sleep. Her body had to sleep. Her mind couldn’t. Both would win. Her eyes resisted her fight. Her body lulled. Her body found slumber. Her mind found the dreams that made her yearn for awake...