Listen.

Part 3: Listen.

I come to on my bed. Eyes swollen and my fist wrapped in a bandage. I try to open my fingers but fire like pain shoots down my arm and I scrunch my face in pain. 

I check the clock and its 2am in the morning. Wow, I knocked out for almost 8 hours. I lie back down and release a sigh. I close my eyes and think.

I recall, the few times I see Isabel flinch when she smiles. As if she was not used to the feeling. Or as if her smile wasn’t genuine. But I had always shrugged it off assuming I was just over thinking.

Here I know, I regret. Not asking her alone, if she were really alright. If there were anything she needed to talk about. Perhaps, if she had been able to talk to someone, anyone about her struggles, she would not have taken her life. She would not have jumped off that building.  

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20 years later. 

She smiles, as she receives an award from the prime minister. “most influential woman”. As she holds the ribbon in her hand, she looks up to the heavens and speaks in a barely audible tone: “this is for you Isabel.”

Apparently, it is the 10^th anniversary of the organization this lady started up. It is an organization created for “children without voices.”

“Masters degree in Psychology and Psychiatry.

Dr. Julia Sormes.”

It said on the big poster. I nod, impressed.

I walk up to a table, covered in a velvet black cloth. I smile at the blonde lady behind the desk.

“hi!” she says brightly.

“would you like to sign up to be a sponsor for this organization?”

I smile at her and nod.

She passes me a form and asks me to fill it in.

I shake my head and push the form back into her hands. I take out my cheque book and fill it in.

I pass it to her along with a note and walk away, hearing the gasp directed to my back.

“miss! Miss!” she calls for me. But I walk away and exit the convention centre. I get in 

my car and drive away.

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I stare dumbfounded at the cheque in my hands. Someone had written a 1 million dollar cheque to be banked in for my organization.

“But who??” I ask my secretary, Natasha.

“I don’t know ma’am. She just came and left.” She said a little ashen.

“look at the note attached to the back.” She asks me.

I read the first two words.

Hey Juju.

I stop, feeling my blood drain from my face.

“chair.” I say.

“what?” my secretary asks questionably.

“chair. I need a chair. I’m going to pass out.” I say, my throat dry as sand.

I hear a chair being hurriedly placed behind me and I collapse into it, taking deep breaths.

I close my eyes and recall. Yes. Yes I’m not wrong. But, but how could it be? Only. Only Isabel ever called me Juju. No one else. No one. Not even today.

I open my eyes and hungrily read the rest of what the note said.

“Take care of this organization; you’re doing a great job. I’m very very proud of you. Maybe I’ll see you soon. By the way, I love the name. It fits the reason for the organization perfectly.

Listen.

Xo.”

end.