“Will you do something with me?” I asked a little nervously.
“Anything,” she said.
“I want to post one more thing on social media, and I’m going to need . . . support,” I said quietly.
She nodded. “Whatever you need.”
I smiled at her. “I’ll follow you out of town to where we can get Wi-Fi and then . . . you’ll be there with me?”
She pulled me into a hug. “Of course.”
We left Springdorp behind us, and then drove for another forty minutes until we reached that sign I’d come to know so well over the last few weeks. And when we passed it, we pulled over onto the side of the road together. I climbed out of my car and passed Jess my phone. I’d already taken the photo and written the message—all I had to do now was press post. I’d been thinking about it all night and working on it, and honestly I was still in two minds about it, but deep down inside, I knew it was something I needed to do.
Jess read the message and when she was done, she looked up at me, tears in her eyes and smiled. “This is perfect,” she said. “Do it.”
I nodded at her, trying to draw all the courage in the world towards me to post that picture of myself that I’d taken last night; stretch marks and floppy skin and no make-up and all. My finger hovered over the button for a few more seconds and then I pressed it.
Dear followers,
I have a confession to make to all of you. I’m not who you think I am. I’ve been misrepresenting myself, and now I want to get real. I am not perfect, far from it. I have stretch marks, don’t actually eat breakfast, hate making smoothie bowls, and there have been many days in my life that I didn’t like myself that much. No motivational quote can change that. I have been selling you this image of perfection and a perfect life, but that is all for show. I recently heard some very wise words that I want to share: true beauty is defined by how we treat each other, it has nothing to do with how we look on the outside.
This might seem like the most contradictory message, especially coming from me. But it’s the truest thing I’ve heard in years. So I want to show my true beauty today by finally getting honest with each and every one of you and showing you all my true self. I thought that being a someone to everyone was the most important thing in my life. That being liked and friended and followed and thumbs-upped was everything. But it’s not. There is more to life than that and it’s taken many years to work that out. I also want to tell you all that you are good enough just the way you are. Imperfections and all. I used to think that being prettier and having bigger boobs and being thinner and blonder and more contoured were the things that mattered most, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Love and friendship and family, and even an ugly, one-eyed dog, trumps all of that.
This will be my very last post because I am officially becoming a Wi-Fi refugee. I am putting down my phone and living life. Real life. So goodbye, and I hope each and every one of you finds the happiness that I’m finally finding—stretch marks and all!
Love Frankie
CHAPTER 75
Four months later
We were all there. Samirah, Faizel and the bouncing babies Fatima and Ahmed, Mark, myself, and Harun. This had unofficially become our Sunday afternoon ritual. A ritual we’d fallen into without much thought. Without someone arranging it, or coordinating it. It had come naturally, like the way the desert breathes out in the evenings. Living out here, I’d quickly come to understand that the desert was also a living entity with feelings and moods, just like us.
We were seated on the veranda, stuffed after our barbecue. Fatima and Ahmed were in their carry cots, fast asleep after their bottles of milk. Samirah and Faizel always sat on the swing chair, gently swaying back and forth; Mark and I always sat on the daybed. All of us had a coffee in hand, sipping it. Sometimes we would chat, saying a million things to each other, and sometimes, like today, we would all be still. Wrapped up in our own pleasant thoughts, just sharing this moment of closeness and connectedness without saying a word.
It dawned on me in that moment, the spiritual awakening that I’d been trying so hard to have out there in the desert that day, I’d kind of had it. It wasn’t some lightning moment, some blast from above. It was more subtle than that. And maybe that’s actually how they’re meant to be. Something that subtly, over time, leaks into your consciousness. At first, you don’t really know it’s there, the feeling lurks somewhere just out of reach. But gradually, the feeling becomes a little stronger and more crystal clear until one Sunday, sitting on a veranda in the middle of the Karoo, you realize with every fiber of your being that you are meant to be here. That the strange and peculiar series of events that had started with the elevator had brought you here. To this moment. To this daybed. This place. These people.
I inhaled sharply at the thought and the others looked at me. I couldn’t help the blurry tears that came to my eyes. They smiled at me, no words spoken, as if they understood the moment I was having and were respecting it. Giving it room to breathe and fully form. I reached over and took Mark’s hand. Usually on days like this Harun lay at our feet on his blanket, but today I could see he was restless. In fact, he’d been like this for the last few weeks. Not able to rest and relax, which he was usually so good at.
“What’s wrong, boy?” I finally asked, after the second time he’d paced the length of the veranda. The only words that had been spoken for at least ten minutes.
“He seems restless today again,” Samirah noted.
I nodded. “He does. Come here.” I extended my hand to him. He looked at it for the longest time, before walking over and placing his massive head in it. He relaxed and the full weight of his head was too much for one hand. I reached down and placed another hand under his chin.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as he closed his eye and nuzzled into me. He kept his head in my hands, eye closed, breathing in deeply, as if inhaling my smell. And then, he pulled his head away and took a step back from me, and suddenly, I could feel him going. I sat up straight.
“What’s wrong?” I asked again, as he took another step back.
I stood up, panic seizing me for some reason.
He took another step back. And then, deliberately, slowly and carefully as if he was trying to take a mental image of everyone, he looked at all of us. Samirah first, then he ran his eye over Fatima and Ahmed. Then Faizel and then his eye drifted over to Mark. He seemed to linger there a little longer. As if he was trying to make sure of something. And then he looked back at me and took another step backwards.
I stepped forward. “What are you doing?” I asked. The tears had already come to my eyes, and I had a sense I knew what was happening. He looked at me with that one yellow eye that at one point I’d feared, but over time had come to love and rely on. And then he barked. Short. Loud. He wagged his tail and lowered his head, in what looked like a small bow. As if his performance had come to a close and the curtain was falling. And then, he turned and ran.
“WAIT!” I screamed, running down off the veranda and into the desert where he was headed. “WAIT! What are you doing?” I ran as fast as I could as Harun raced ahead of me. The sun was starting to set, casting shadows here and there, and every now and again, Harun would completely disappear into one and then reappear in a shaft of light somewhere else, as if magical.
“Where’s he going?” Mark shouted, coming up next to me. It felt like we ran for ages, my legs scraping against bushes and shrubs, but I didn’t care. But at some point, I couldn’t run anymore. My legs and lungs would simply not carry me any longer. Mark came to a stop next to me, and soon Samirah followed. We all stood there together, out of breath, and watched as Harun became smaller and smaller and smaller, running off into the now fast-setting sun.
