Rudo’s introduction
The sound of wheels rolling along ceramic tiles. The flicker of cold light bulbs against blue and white surfaces. Older women huddled together in the parking lots of prayer houses. It all catalyses an implosion that straps Rudo right back into her childhood body. A time when helplessness was the standard order of the day and escape was nothing but a word straddled in the pages of the Nancy Drew books she was obsessed with.
It's 9 am. Visiting hours have just begun and Rudo’s Mama is trying her hardest to strap on a worn pair of Velcro tackies onto her babygirl. Her task is near impossible yet she persists, now trying to flatten the tufts of material sprouting from the bottom strap of each shoe. Rudo (slowly being pulled out of the car by her mother’s efforts) captures the eyes of another little girl. Slightly older than her but not nearly as healthy. She’s got the loopy breathing-thingy on. The same one my brother has to wear every time we drop him off here. Mama gives up and takes out her frustration on the 5-year-old arm that can’t seem to keep up with the urgency of the current situation.
It's 1 am. Rudo’s on her 4th beer. She’s 1 ahead of the Rugby captain and 2 away from the kind of notoriety that defines a weekend spent at the Clubhouse. She feels the momentum of the room shift as she lunges for the final red solo cup while Dustin tries to hold back a lurch of vomit gearing to end him up on the cover of Moto Moto; the university’s notorious tabloid. Less than a second later he’s clasping his face as it balloons while Rudo slams her chalice back on to the ping pong table. Stone-cold silence and then a roaring wave of hootin’ and hollerin’ sloshing around the room and spilling out over the balcony. It might’ve been the worrisome volume of alcohol finally making its way to her brain but Rudo could swear her feet were no longer touching the ground.
It's 9:13 am. Mama refuses to let go of Rudo’s wrist even as they stand pressed against a nurse leaning over an empty gurney in the elevator. They’re headed to the 3rd floor. Much better than the 5th one. That’s where we only get to see him through the glass. He isn’t awake when they enter the room but that doesn’t stop Mama from talking to him all the while. She opens one of the windows wider, insisting that fresh air is all he needs. Rudo starts counting all the tubes coming out of him, a new trick she picked up since learning how to count at Créche. She moves closer, intrigued by a new colour she hasn’t seen go inside him before. The back of her tackies squish with each step as she’s taken to wearing them like slides so they don’t slip off. SMACK. The hand of God descends with swift precision. How can she be so careless? Doesn’t she see that her brother needs some rest? How selfish of her to disturb him during his slumber. Mama raises her arm again, almost shivering from the force that the Lord has granted her to instil this discipline. Rudo squeezes her eyes real tight and balls up her fists, pressing them underneath her chin. She finds that stabilising her head makes it less likely for her to fall over after Mama enacts God’s will.
It's 1:07 am. Rudo wonders how she’s ever been content with the world now that she’s seeing it atop the shoulders of two starting Forwards. She scrunches their collars in her fists as they step out onto the balcony to appease the crowd huddled by the pool on the ground floor. In a few years she’ll be forced to realise that all of this uproar is simply the exaltation of mediocrity. But none of that matters right now. Three days of straight debauchery for five minutes of fame. I’m hooked. She enacts a royal wave, clinging to the ephemerality of a moment as the masses’ numbers begin to dwindle. The young men place her back onto the hardwood floor without a second glance. Rudo feels empty all over again. However will she replenish this short-term feedback dopamine loop?
It's 10:04 am. The nurses have arrived to administer her brother’s medication. One injection in his left arm and two in the bottom of his spine. He is woken up by the first, begins wailing during the second and is screaming and thrashing before they can get to the third. Two more nurses rush in to pin him down, neither particularly eager to receive yet another bruise from their repeat customer. Rudo covers her eyes, wishing her arms were longer so she might be able to wrap them round her head to block her ears as well. Whatever is pumping through him now is enough to slow him down. Rudo moves her hands down and locks eyes with her brother. He is staring straight through her. Trapped in a very distant, very cold place. Somewhere no one but Mama can reach him. Somewhere Rudo hopes to never be. She starts crying, hoping her distress will at least help him recognise her, wherever it is he is transported once they have stripped off his ability to fight. The room is emptied briefly afterwards, each nurse momentarily hovering over a child they fail to offer any words of comfort. A child constantly privy to her brother’s suffering.
It is once again 1:22 am and Rudo is finding it particularly difficult to distinguish between that hospital room and the white light bouncing off of ceramic bathroom tiles. How must her inner self rationalise that she is no longer rocking herself back and forth at the edge of rusted, paint-chipped chair? She exits the bathroom, imploding further and further into her tailor-made hellscape. As though lectured in The Life and Times of her brother, everyone around her seems to be staring right through her. No one caring to acknowledge the internal decay seeping through her skin’s surface in the form of dark under eyes and fidgety mannerisms. She takes a swig from a bottle of tequila, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she scours the room for anyone who might do her the honour of truly knowing her. And if tonight she fails she will be back within the week. Chasing the air atop of two starting Forwards’ shoulders and the immortality sat at the bottom of a red solo cup.
— Matikudza Chiromo
