One cigarette after another, and another after that. Aai was sure an addict now. It was 12.56 am when I was sitting at the door with my chin resting on my knees, waiting, waiting for Baba to come home and fill me in his arms, wishing me a happy birthday with a kiss on my cheek. Baba never failed to get me a birthday present. It was always something I had asked for without asking. One year, he gifted me with a red school bag that had a picture of Pikachu, my favorite Pokémon in the front. He knew I wanted it just by looking at the twinkle in my eye when I saw a similar one on Amit's back on our way to school. But the best part of the present was the letter he wrote with it. Baba always wrote me a birthday letter, telling me about one of his memorable anecdotes when he turned my age of that day. It was a secret letter. Aai never got to read it. It was just between myself and him.
The early December wind was flowing through the window, embracing Baba's favorite curtains. I walked to the window and rested both my elbows on the window sill, where Baba kept his cigarette pack. I could see the moonlight traveling through the tiny leaves of trees and falling on our car as I waited for him. Every Sunday, Baba drove me in his car for my football practice. He would drop me, and return to pick me up with cigarette smell all over him. I loved Sundays the most. Not because it was a school holiday, but because I could spend time with Baba. At times, after the practice, he would take me to Mc Donalds, and we would share stories over the table. He told me about the football tricks he learned as a child and how he had slept at his friend's place because grandma wouldn't let him in if he played after the deadline. "I will tell you about the one time I was four hours late, and your grandma got so scared that she went to the police...." he would say. The police station story was inevitable at every family function, I had heard the same story from him like a million times, and yet I never lost interest in it.
But that day, he didn't come through the door to hug and wish me. It was Aai who entered, with messy hair, teary eyes, exhausted body, and blood-stained sleeves. Aai, all alone. She pulled me in her arms, that smelt of dried blood, and cried for what seemed like an hour. Finally, after an eternity of silent whimpering, she smiled and said, "Happy birthday beta, kaka will take you to his place for a few days, be a good boy ha Shona."
She didn't utter a word when I asked her about Baba and so didn't kaka when I went to his place. Later, when I returned home, Aai told me Baba had gone to a different country, which is too far from ours, and he will be staying there for a few years. Since then, it was Aai who walked me to school and taught me math instead of Baba. She accompanied me to my football matches and helped me learn raise one eyebrow individually, the way Baba did. My next birthday, she told me Baba left me a present. "Did he come again while I was asleep?" I asked her narrowing my eyes at her. "Yes beta, you were sleeping, and he had a flight to catch. Look, what he got you this time!" she said with excitement in her eyes. I unwrapped the present, and it was a remote-control toy train. I looked for the letter, and I found one. But it had no mention of any living memory.
I can't smell cigarettes. Baba always brings the smell of cigarettes to home," I said to Aai. And that's how Aai started smoking secretly.