Things could have ended badly for her. They usually did. She hadn't spoken to them in months, may be even a couple of years. It was hard to keep track of these things when you were on the road.
It was hard to remember the smell of burned toast on a Sunday morning and the sudden start of the old taps sputtering blasts of cold water on your skin with no prior warning.
When she was on the road, hopping from one city to the next, flying to different countries every week, drinking precisely 3 cups of chamomile tea a day and singing exactly 8 songs every night (except when she got an encore), it seemed easy to treat it all like an unreal haze. Especially if you counted all the heroin.
She'd squirm, when out of nowhere, a pale, glowing evening sky would remind her of the creaky porch at home and their old blind dog who sat there in the evenings slobbering unceasingly.
Today, she turned 29 years old. Her phone rang and it was them. How could she not say yes? How could she not leave it all to go see that dog that slobbered, the porch that creaked (even when no one was sitting there), the taps that startled and the blackened toast you treasured more than any cheque?
She boarded the plane with shaky hands. In a less sane world in a big city, the bosses were furious. Her phone kept ringing. But she had already answered the most important call of all. Keep calm, she told herself, and leap on.
The plane crashed exactly 40 minutes after it took off. When they found her body, she had the faintest smile etched upon her face.
The traces of heroin in her body which actually killed her, they found several weeks later.
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Too morose? This is a part of Fantabulous February started by this talented blogger. Last day today, but waiting for more bloggerly awesomeness from Soumi.
Love
The Cyniqueen
